Just Some Pink Roses for Suzday

 

            Suzday greetings! 
            Whether it's hot or not, wishing you a lovely summer day.

            Suzie is very proud of  her day, and she hopes it lives up to it's reputation!

            Love, p

💮💚💮

In Celebration of Catfurday, Open Thread

 The sense memory never goes.

The love never dies away.

This is Henry having a nap in my arms.

Oh, he was a glamorous beast!

All of them were.

Bless  their fur and whiskers, and their tails too!

For they are love embodied.

💙

1954, The Backwoods of Washington

 

Grubby backwoods children.

 

            They were living in rentals in Seattle. I think he was still driving for the Metro. He was 26 years old. She was 23. There were four children ranging in age from 5 to 1 year. I don’t remember, of course, why they decided to move out of town. Maybe it was a sort of leftover farmer urge to own a little land.
            What they found and purchased was a ¾ acre plot of land, partially cleared of the second growth forest, with a shell of an unfinished two bedroom house, built by an actual Eskimo guy who was building these things and selling them unfinished. No power. No water. No plumbing.
            The price was $4000.00, $40.00 payments. I remember some tension surrounding getting those payments in. It sounds like a fairytale now.
            It sat in what would eventually become the suburbs north and east of Seattle, maybe 20 miles from where they had lived before.
            My clearest memory of those days involves the oddness of living among unfinished walls, merely framed in. It was like a forest of 2x4s! It was dark at night except for the kerosene lantern, and the bit of light from the also kerosene heater. It was almost like camping, but in a building. Mom hung up blankets to divide the space up a little. I remember bathing in a zinc watering tub!
            At that time, I kid you not, they were driving a Model T Ford. I don’t know the year.
            That first summer, before the waterline was put in out on the road, they fetched drinking water in milk cans from a free to anyone artesian well on 164^th, which means nothing to anyone but people who live here. There is now a major I-5 exit there. That was about a ten mile drive for two ten gallon milk cans of water.
            Of course, there was no bathroom. So, he had to dig a hole and build the dreaded outhouse. Thankfully, living with the “wee housie” didn’t last long.
            My father, at 26 years, wired the house. He plumbed it. He finished the inside too. It was never fancy. It was plain and adequate.
            Since he was incurably of that farmer mindset, the next thing was to clear the lot. I remember that we were sent inside when trees were falling, or he was blasting stumps. We burned all of those trees in the stove in the house. I remember a cheap sheet metal oval shaped thing in the living room. I still have the smell of alder smoke in my nose. It’s distinctive.
            He left a few trees, but cleared enough for a large garden. We children spent a fair amount of time "picking rocks." The ground was full of rather large round pebbles. Maybe a glacier left them there before wandering off.
            He cut that old Ford down and made a tractor of it. I learned to drive by helping him plow with it. I was about ten then.
            In a few years, he built three more bedrooms.
            They planted a row of fruit trees and two rows of raspberries.
            In those years, my mother had her hands full just wrangling the four of us. I remember having quite a bit of responsibility for the younger ones.
            Every bite of food we ate came from her hands. There were no trips to McDonald’s. No snacks. It was good. She did a good job.
            Our grocery shopping was done out on old 99, in Lynnwood and Alderwood Manor, some distance from home. There were long drives down gravel roads between stands of trees, just to get anything.
            I was sent to school that fall, by bus, to first grade in Bothell, WA. Strangely, I was taught to speed-read. I remember sentences projected on a screen. My next youngest sister would have been in Kindergarten.
            Ah, so it goes, or so it went.
            Now it seems that they were some kind of special beings, to do so much while so young. But, you know, I think that’s how it often was in the ‘50s, and before. Things are different now.
            It wasn’t all fun. There was a lot of real scraping by, and not much in the way of Christmas or birthdays. There is a reason I took up sewing my own clothing on my great grandmother’s treadle Singer! (I still have it and it works fine.)
            But, hey, the first time I heard the Beatles, I was sitting on the grass in that back yard listening to a cheesy little transistor radio. The tune was “I Wanna Hold Your Hand.”  It’s all one very long story, and here I am in 2026, trying to let you sense a little of it.

🌳🏠🌳

Oh My Goodness, It's Warm! June 25th, 2026

 

Cats don't take gravity too seriously.

This youngster is Sweetie, in a real pose in the old closet.

It seems to be his favorite place to sleep.

Anyhow,

A fine day to you!

Ralph sends his love. He is very sleepy too.

"Evermore!" says Maeve.

💗

Any Cabin In A Storm

 

            It was raining in the foothills of the Cascade Range. The further he hiked up the trail the heavier the rain came down. He thought that maybe if he kept going he would emerge above the rainstorm. But it was not to be.
            It was windy too. Bursts of wind blew rain in his face. Water ran down to the tips of fir branches, dumping it right in the middle of the trail. It was getting cold, and what passed for daylight in these conditions was rapidly fading.
            This whole exercise began to feel extremely foolhardy. He began working on plan B, or plan C. Plan B involved finding a nice place to shelter. Plan C amounted to finding any kind of shelter. Both plans finisheded with hiking back down the trail and going home in the morning.
            He didn’t carry a tent. It wasn’t that kind of hike. He carried water, which seemed ironic at this point, and four Fuji apples, a jar of natural peanut butter, and crackers. He had two big bars of dark chocolate too. That was it, besides a flashlight, and a large folding knife. He had his phone of course. Oh, and a lighter.
            Joe was near the Great Forest, but not actually within its confines. Its location is a little hard to pin  down anyhow. He continued walking uphill. Water ran eagerly down the trail, heading ultimately for Puget Sound. It had a long way to go, and it wanted to get started, evidently. His socks inside his boots were getting wet. His jacket was soaked, his wool beanie did its best, but it was wet too.
            In the last bit of gray daylight, Joe saw something promising off to his right, somewhat below the trail. It appeared to be a manmade structure of some kind. He saw ragged tarpaper covering what appeared to be walls, and maybe a roof. It had to be a cabin left to rot away in the forest.
            “Well, shelter is shelter,” thought Joe. He turned off the trail, walking carefully over the thick layer of forest duff and leaves, hoping not slide to the cabin on his butt. He made it without falling.
            It didn’t look like much. The roof seemed intact. A rusty stovepipe poked crookedly out of the roof. The tarpaper curled in shreds. “When did they even do that?” thought Joe. The single window was mostly broken out. The door hung open. There was a large granite boulder on each side of the single step.
            Joe didn’t see the very large Raven sitting in one of the firs, with rain running down her feathers, watching him. Her black eyes blinked, and then she rose into the stormy wind and rain.
            He stepped inside, hoping that the floor wouldn’t collapse under his feet. If it had he might have fallen all of a foot, but it held.
            Looking around inside, Joe saw two wooden chairs, one intact, one having only three legs. There was a very rusty stove attached to that stovepipe. The door to the stove was missing. Joe laughed. “How does that happen?" But maybe he could make a fire and wait out the storm. He might even be able to dry his socks!
            He couldn’t hope to start a fire with anything outside, so with his knife, he began shaving some bits off of mostly dry broken chair. Using his lighter and a crumpled paper towel from his pocket he got a small fire going. When it looked pretty steady, he broke up the rest of the chair up and added it to the fire.
            He knew he was going to have to go outside and find a big branch or something. The chair fire wouldn’t last very long.
            Leaving his pack inside the cabin, he took his flashlight out to look for fuel. There is always deadfall in a forest, so he was successful in bringing in two large dead branches. He was able to break the smaller ends of the branches into pieces. He had no way to cut the heavier ends. He thought maybe when the time came he would just stick the ends in the fire and inch them forward as they burned. It would be smokey, he knew that.
            So, the storm blew, the rain fells, and Joe, sitting in the one chair, barefoot, with his socks arranged on his backpack before the fire and steaming, got very drowsy. Then he remembered he had food and water. He drank some water, ate a chocolate bar, and basically went to sleep sitting upright.
            An hour later, something woke him. After the shock of seeing where he was wore off, he noticed a horrible smell. It had not been there before. This was new. It smelled like rotten blood, and dog, along with a strong hormonal pong.
            “What the hell?” said Joe.
            “Hell, indeed,” said the dark figure crouched further into the cabin, maybe where a bed had once stood. The stench seemed to be stronger in that direction.
            “You’re kidding me,” said Joe, with a very sick feeling in his stomach. “You don’t exist.”
            “Wanna try me and see?” said the dark smelly thing. Its eyes glowed a dull yellow over there in the dark, and it snickered.
            “I was here first,” said Joe. “Why don’t you pack up and leave?”
            “I’m here to eat your liver, stupid, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
            “My liver? Are you nuts? Do you know you stink?” said Joe, putting his socks and boots back on, just in case he got a chance to make a break for it.
            Several things happened in quick succession. The shaggy dog raised itself to its full height, heading for the man in the chair.
            The man in the chair grabbed his pack and sprinted back out into the rain.
            The burning ends of the big branches fell out of the stove, still burning.
            The talking canine nightmare stepped on the burning branch and commenced screaming.
           Joe ran one way, and the injured dogthing ran the other, further downhill, howling like a jilted Banshee the whole way.
            When Joe got back up to the path, someone was already there.
            “The Raven said you needed help,” he said. “But you seem to have done alright on your own.”
            “Did I?” said Joe. “I hadn’t gotten that far yet. Who are you? Are you real too? Or have I entirely lost my mind,” said Joe.
            “I’m as real as this mountain. People call me Ralph, I’m sort of in charge around here, more or less, depending,” said Ralph, with rain sheeting off of his deep brown hair and dripping off of his nose and beard.
            “I don’t like those darn dogs,” said Ralph. “He’s darn lucky he ran off so quickly.”
            Behind them, downhill, the cabin burst into flame, totally involved. It lit up the whole area, so that Joe could finally see Ralph, all nine feet tall of Ralph.
            Joe laughed a little hysterically, but hung in there OK. “Hey! You are real! I heard you guys really like apples. I happen to have some. Could I offer you an apple, Sir?”
            “Why, yes! I would like an apple, say what’s your name?” said Ralph.
            “Joe. Humans call me Joe,” said Joe, a little breathlessly, pulling the apples out of his bag and handing them up the Ralph’s enormous hand. “How about some peanut butter?”
            “Sure, I’ll take your peanut butter,” said Ralph.
            “I guess I’ll head on downhill, Ralph,” said Joe.
            “Nice to meet you,” said Ralph.
            “You too, Brother,” said Joe.
            As Joe headed on down the trail, Ralph couldn’t help but notice that Joe had a long tail hanging out of his jacket, and pointy ears popping out of his beanie.
            “Well, I’ll be! I’ve never seen one of those,” said Ralph. “I can’t wait to tell Ramona!”

            Subsequent to all of that, though it didn’t happen instantly, the cabin burnt to the ground, leaving only the two boulders and the rusty doorless stove to prove that anyone had ever been there.

🌲🧝🏼‍♂️🌲

On The Other Side of The River

 

                                                                

            After talking with Ramona about his day, the abandoned campsite, and the mishap with Rick’s computer conversation with Mrs. Rick, Ralph was still puzzling on the question of what exactly could have spooked the campers enough to make them flee without their stuff.
            “Whatever it was, Baby, you are probably more equipped to handle it than the sheriff’s department is,” said Ramona. “You know what I mean.”
            “I do,” said Ralph. Though it has not been documented, this blue tent was the fourth tent he had discovered in that state. It was a real mystery. He kept picking at the bits of it in his mind. He knew that Ramona was probably right, she had a pretty good record of being right.
            He figured that this called for another trip across the river, and maybe seeing if he could find anything over there out of place.
            He knew all about Dogmen. But he  hadn’t smelled any of that and anyway the Dog guys knew to stay out of the Great Forest. So, though a Dog would have been enough to send the people flying, he didn’t think it was one of them.
            He waded across the river again.
            Apparently the sheriff’s department doesn’t clean up campsites. All the stuff was still there, though some animal had eaten the cold eggs, and knocked the cups of coffee over.
            He still didn’t smell anything. He looked all over the ground for footprints. There was nothing but a few obviously human prints. One larger pair of boots, and one smaller. Probably a couple then. He looked up into the trees around the campsite, not sure what to look for, but searching. There were some singed maple leaves way up high. Interesting. He wondered if maybe their campfire could possibly have done that, but decided no, it hadn’t.
            So, he walked northward along the riverbank. Everything seemed fine. The river murmured, and the wind sighed. Birds uttered small cries between themselves. The sun was getting lower behind him, to the west, but it was still warm enough to dry his hair.
            Ralph’s eye was drawn to something at last, and he wasn’t sure why. But he stopped walking to pay attention. It wasn’t remarkable. It was a mass of vegetation growing through the branches of a dead bush. Blackberry vines threaded in and out of the branches, as if it were a trellis meant for them to climb. Wild tiger lilies bloomed all around the bush. Some white daisies grew lower to the ground, and spikes of foxglove completed the picture. “Very pretty,” he thought. “Dreamlike,” he thought again as he stood looking at it and wondering why it had drawn his attention.
            The birds went silent. It was like the forest suddenly held its breath, waiting for something.
            The pretty picture began to morph. It appeared as if the bank of flowers and vines had folded in half. It folded again across the first fold, creating a fractured mirrored image. Then it did it twice more. The leaves and petals arranged themselves into a sort of circular pattern made of fractured sections of the image before Ralph. There appeared to be a sort of flower at the very center made up of bits of the total image. This flower grew and changed as it grew. The whole thing pulsed and changed becoming more and more complex.
            To say that he had never seen anything like this, is to say nothing. Its pulsing and changing made it almost hypnotic. But not quite. It was incredibly beautiful, but strange and fearsome at the same time.
            The center design vanished leaving a hollow place. The hollow place grew until it took up most of the whole image. At last, Ralph knew it for what it was. A portal, but so foreign to his gentle world. He knew that something must be coming. He stood his ground, dark and immense as he waited.
            A head appeared within the opening. It was reptilian in its basic form, and jeweled with scales made of gems, in blues and greens. It was huge. The eyes burned with a golden light. A snakelike tongue emerged from the vast maw, tasting the air of the Great Forest.
            The dragon’s head came some distance from the hollow space, followed by its shoulders and forearms. Behind the great body black leather wings billowed in some outlandish wind. The dragon smiled. His teeth shone in the light of the setting sun.
            “Hold, Beast,” said Ralph, “Come no further. I know your name!”
            “Do you bandy words with me, Bloodpod?” said the dragon, spitting a bit of fire on the ground at Ralph’s feet. Some grass sizzled and sparks littered the ground.
            “Indeed I do,” said Ralph, laughing because no trace of awe remained in his heart.
            The dragon advanced no further.
            “Say my name, if you know it, Pigbreath,” hissed the dragon.
            “The power is in the knowing, not the spewing, poor dragon,” said Ralph. “You don’t know my name, dragon, or the Power I serve.”
            “I will roast you where you stand,” said the unnamed lizard.
            “No. I call upon the Power to quench the fire within you!” said Ralph.
            The dragon’s gems dulled into plain scales. The fire in his eyes died, leaving ordinary lizard eyes. His wings fell flat and vanished.
            “Say my name,” said the shrinking beast in one last desperate yelp.
            “No. You are not here. You shall not be anywhere at all, lizard,” Ralph laughed again, looking at the thing as it dwindled away.
            Ralph watched, singing his Song of Reversals, as the strange image made of leaves and flowers unfolded and they went back to their proper nature.
            “This place is sealed forever” pronounced Ralph. “So let it be done.” And so it was, according to the Power Ralph served.
            It was still a pretty scene, though some burnt grass remained, soon to repair itself in the natural order of things.
            “I bet that fatheaded lizard is who scared those campers,” he said to himself. “I wish they would come and collect their things. But maybe they won’t,” he said to himself.
            He thought he could tell Ramona about it, but maybe not Rick.
            It was getting toward evening, and he was hungry.
            The sun was setting as he waded back across the river and set out for the Home Clearing.. Further down the path, he saw the fire of home and Ramona and Cherry waiting for him.

🐉

    *Image from Zubi's Storybook on YouTube.

He Found Another Abandoned Tent

 

            Ralph went out one morning early that hot summer to sweet talk another batch of trout. He carried a burlap bag, and he was already humming his fishing song even before he got over to the river. He passed Rabbit Town with its many burrows on his way.
            “Good morning, Bunnies,” said Ralph. “You’re safe from me. I don’t hunt Cherry’s friends. Going for fish today!”
            The very Cautious™ Bunnies heaved a sigh of relief and went back to bunny pursuits.
            When Ralph got to the riverbank, he saw that many fish were already lined up and waiting for him. But, when he looked across the river there was something unfamiliar on the opposite bank. A tent. It was a sort of shocking electric blue color. It really stood out.
            He decided to wade over and take a look. It looked deserted.
            “I’ll be back!” he told the fish, and stepped into the stream. You or I couldn’t wade this stream because we’re too short. But Ralph could, though in the middle only his head was above the surface. That makes the very deepest channel of the Silver River about 8 feet deep.
            When he got to the other side, dripping wet, the campsite looked even more deserted. No one was there. The blue tent was unzipped. There was a spot where there had been a fire, but it looked like it had been days since there was a fire there. There was a backpack inside the tent. Ralph thought this didn’t look good. There was no sign of struggle exactly, but it looked as if someone had left in a heck of a hurry. A skillet containing cold congealed eggs lay near the cold fire, along with two cups of cold coffee, and a couple of plates and forks.
            “Maybe Rick should know about this,” Ralph told himself. “Looks like somebody ran off. They might need help.”
            He waded back to the other side, taking time to submerge the burlap bag when he got there, to allow a crowd of enthusiastic trout to push their way in.
            “That’s all today!” he told the others.
            He took the dripping bag of wriggling fish to Ramona. Cherry was going to clean this bunch under the watchful eye of Ramona. It was one of those skills a Firekeeper needed to be good at.
            “I’m going to go talk to Rick, Mona. Somebody abandoned their tent and all their stuff across the river. It might be something he needs to do something about,” Ralph told her.
            “Might be, Baby! Hurry back!” said Ramona.
            “You got it!” he said, though that was purely speculative.
            It was only a quick stroll to the Ranger Station. Emerging from the forest behind the station dumpster, Ralph noted with a grunt that Rick’s truck was parked right where it should be. The hood was cold. So, he’d been there for a while. Ralph gave the hood a friendly whack, and headed for the station office door.
            As per usual, Ralph knocked on the door and then opened it. And there was Rick, as always, with his laptop open.
            Ralph called out in a voice like boulders tumbling down a mountain side, “You in here Rick? Oh, there you are! What cha doin’ there? Anything good?”
            Before Rick could open his mouth, Ralph slipped behind the desk to look at the screen.  What he saw there was a woman, Rick’s wife he presumed, looking at the screen in total shock with her mouth open and no sound coming out.
            Rick slapped the computer shut and pointed to the other side of the desk. Ralph can take a hint, so he moved around to his side of the desk and sat down. He started to open his mouth to make inquiries, naturally, but Rick made a zipping motion across his own mouth. So Ralph shut his and waited.
            Rick put his screen back up.
            “Rick!” a woman’s voice said, “What the hell was that?”
            “What was what?” said Rick, stalling for time to think of a good one.
            “That big freaking hairy SOB I saw behind you, Rick!” the woman continued, “with a voice like a tornado! Nobody talks like that!”
            Ralph, shocked, stuck his lower lip out, but didn’t say anything.
            “Oh, that must have been Bill in his costume, Honey! They’re having a Bigfoot festival in Stanwood. He was just showing me his costume,” countered Rick, hopefully.
            “Who the hell is Bill? You don’t know anybody named Bill,” she said.
            “Not a close friend, Honey. Just somebody who camps here a lot. I’ll talk to you later, Sweety! Bye!” said Rick, and he closed the computer.
            “Smooth move, Ralph!” said Rick. “You scared my wife. Now I have to play dumb until she forgets, like she’ll ever forget the sight of you over my shoulder!”
            “Sorry,” said Ralph. “Maybe you should introduce me and your wife?”
            “She’s a talker, Ralph. She knows everyone in the county, and she’s a talker, bless her heart,” said Rick, looking a little queasy.
            “What’s up, anyhow?” said Rick.
            So, Ralph started with the reason he was at the river, told him about the trout waiting to get into his burlap bag, and about seeing the campsite across the river, and what he found when he waded over there.
            “I thought whoever it was might be lost or need help or something, so I figured I better report the incident to you,” said Ralph, finally. Then, “You know it won’t work to have me find them. Word gets around.”
            “Ralph, the other side of the river is not in the park. I don’t have the budget or the jurisdiction for a search over there. But, I tell you what. I’ll call the sheriff’s office and hand it over to them. They will be interested for sure,” said Rick. “Thank you, it was kind of you to let me know.”
            “I wonder why I keep finding empty tents in the forest?” said Ralph.
            “Oh, something spooks ‘em, and they run like rabbits,” said Rick. “Maybe they saw you slinking around!”
            Ralph laughed. “Hope not! Next thing, they might be ‘investigators’!”
            “Saints preserve us, Ralph! Not that. I can only juggle so many sightings around here and keep my nose clean!” said Rick, who was now laughing too.
            “Give Mrs. Rick my love, I gotta go home and tell Ramona the tale,” said Ralph.
            “Oh, go home, give my love to Ramona. Skedaddle before Hannah sees you too!”
            So, that’s just what he did, after checking to make sure the coast was clear.
            Rick could hear Ralph whistling happily as he vanished back into his domain.

⛺