In Honor of You Know Who Open Thread

Northwest Coast Indians Musical Instruments

Proprietary songs and dances are punctuated by extra-musical effects provided by whistles, rattles, and specific vocal utterances.

 

Raven Rattle

        So it turns out that in addition to beautiful drums, the native artists of west coast indigenous tribes made beautiful rattles and whistles.

Whistle

A Couple of Modern Drums

James Sawyer (Gam Nan K'ihl Nuens) - Haida painter and artist - Haida Raven and Eagle drums

EVERMORE!

🖤

The Strange Drummer

 

            It was a nice day. There were robins, the usual crows making comments, even a gull, who must have gotten lost somehow. Blue sky, poofy clouds, temperate breezes too. Mighty firs stood for solidity and time. If it had been anywhere else, it would have looked too good.   But it wasn’t somewhere else, it was the Mt. Baker-Snoqualmie National Forest, so it was supposed to look that way.
            Into this perfection, an alien sound intruded. It was a hypnotic, rhythmic, throbbing sound, as if someone was drumming. It wasn’t very loud, but was audible, especially to Maeve, the observer and recorder of all things forest.
            Maeve soared over the canopy until she located the source of the strange persistent sound. Then she sought out Ralph.
            “Boss! Can you hear that?” called Maeve, drifting in for a landing.
            “Now that you mention it, yeah, Birdie. I was sort of ignoring it,” said Ralph. “What is it?”
            “I found a woman sitting on the ground in the meadow out by Marge and Twigg’s gifting stump. She’s drumming Boss. She’s sitting there with her eyes closed, in a strange dress, sort of spaced out looking!” said Maeve. She said this right into his ear, insistently.
            “Hm! I suppose I better go see what’s up before every talking animal in the forest comes to tell me about it,” said Ralph.
            Ramona was right there. She had been walking in and out of the cave, doing this and that. She heard the news too, in bits and pieces.
            “I wish you would, Baby,” said Ramona. “It’s kind of getting to me. I’m not sure I like it. I don’t get headaches, but I think I almost could!”
            “OK, Mona, me and Birdie here will go see what gives with this drumming girl,” said Ralph.
            So, Ralph and Maeve, on her shoulder perch, strolled out of the Home Clearing, through the tree line and out into the open meadow. The drumming was a lot louder out there. And there she was, just as Mave had said.
            She was sitting cross legged on the grass by the gifting stump, working away on her drum, with her eyes closed. She was mouthing words silently and swaying to the rhythm of the drum beats where she sat.
            Ralph was naturally intrigued. He came closer and watched for a couple of minutes. Then he sat down on the grass near the girl.  He was listening to her closely.
            “I see you!” the girl said, with her eyes still  closed. She had turned around facing away from Ralph and Maeve. “I welcome you!” she added. “You and your daughter are beautiful!” She went back to drumming.
            Ralph laughed. Maeve giggled in Raven.
            “I’m over here, Lady,” he said at last.
            “What, no! I see you and your daughter over there!” said Ophelia, which happened to be her name, for real. She had stopped drumming and was looking a bit confused.
            “No, really, I’m over here. My daughter is not with me. I have Maeve, a Raven with me. I think you should open your eyes. Look this way, Lady,” said Ralph, as kindly as he could.
            “I don’t know why you’re saying that stuff, and if I open my eyes I won’t be able to see you,” said Ophelia.
            “It won’t hurt to try it!” said Ralph. “If I’m not really where I say I am, then you’ll know for sure.” He sat waiting, sending out comfort and peace, as he does.
            Slowly, Ophelia turned toward Ralph. Then she sighed a great sigh and opened her eyes.
            “Hi,” said Ralph. “See, I’m right here, this is the Raven I mentioned a minute ago.”
            “But I saw them so clearly. A mother hairy person and her daughter,” murmured Ophelia, in a bit of shock.
            “What’s your name, Lady? I am Ralph and the bird is Maeve. I’m kind of in charge around here,” said Ralph agreeably.
            “You mean, you’re real, as in everyday regular real?” said Ophelia. “Oh, I’m Ophelia, like in the play.”
            “Yep, we’re real! You can see us with your eyes open because we are really here! You can see best with those blue eyes open, Ophelia! Would you like to shake hands, just to make sure?” said Ralph.
            Ophelia’s slender white hand reached out very tentatively toward Ralph’s very large hand. He very carefully took her hand in his and gave it a little shake.
            “See! Big old warm hand, Ophelia! I’m just as real as you are. I’m not a dream or a guess or a funny story. I’m not a lie either,” said Ralph. “And I am very pleased to have met you! Please stop with the drumming around here, it’s giving my wife almost a headache she says.”
            “You have a wife?” Ophelia said weakly.
            “I do! And I have a son and a daughter and two pumas in the family!”
            Ophelia stood up. “Of course you do! Why wouldn’t you?” she laughed. “Hey, do you think your kids would like a drum?”
            “Yeah, probably. If you’re done with it?” said Ralph.
            “Yeah, I think I’m done drumming,” said Ophelia.
            “Me and Maeve are going to stroll on home now. Remember, eyes open, Ophelia.”
            “Eyes open, Ralph. You got it,” said Ophelia. She started walking out past Thaga and Ooog’s place on that little path we’ve heard of before. Her step was light.
            “Untying knots is what you do, isn’t it, Boss,” said Maeve.
            “I guess so. That’s a good way of looking at it,” agreed Ralph.
            Mission accomplished, they went on back into the forest and home. Ralph was carrying Ophelia’s drum. He thought the kids would indeed like it.

🌸

Uncle Bob's Song

 

Uncle Bob looks like an unmade bed. He seems dusty. He seems innocent of muscle tone, unlike his boyhood friend, Ralph. He could almost hide in a thrift store just by sitting on a greyish old chair. He’s only about 6’ tall! Maybe all of that smoking did stunt his growth!
        And yet, and yet in his hazy abstracted way he is an acolyte of word. He is an unspeaking servant of that ticking, internal, relentless pressure. Poor Uncle Bob. He is a poet.
        Once upon a day, Ralph went walking up through his forest kingdom and out into the open, scene of the logging days in the Great Forest. He was looking for his old friend, Uncle Bob. He was heading for the Stump House.
        “Hello, Firekeeper,” said Ralph when he saw Suzy, who was in fact tending a small fire. “Good fortune, Lady! I’m looking for my old friend and I don’t see him.”
        “Look up, Sir! He’s not on earth!” laughed Suzy, in Saslingua, her usual language.
        “Has he taken wing?” inquired Ralph, with a big grin and eyebrows up.
        “Observe!” said Suzy, pointing above the Stump House.
        And there was Bob, just like a fiddler on the roof without a fiddle.
        “Bob! What are you doing up there?” said Ralph. He hadn’t been aware that Uncle Bob  was capable of climbing a large stump.
        “I’m thinking,” said Bob. He sat up and looked down at Ralph who was squinting up at him. “I found this chair in a house where nobody lives, Ralph. It’s a good place to think. I figure when the rains start, I’ll burn it.”
        “Why up there?”
        “Up here I can’t hear anything but the words. It’s not so confusing up here, Ralphie,” said Bob.
        “You amaze me Bob. What words are you talking about?” said Ralph.
        “It’s a song. Kind of a song,” said Uncle Bob. “Do you want me to sing it?”
        So, Uncle Bob sang his song in a soft tenor voice, which Ralph had never heard before. It was sung in formal old Saslingua. It’s tough to translate without sounding terribly old fashioned,, but one does one’s best! Below is Uncle Bob’s song.
 
 

I behold the world at my fingertips,
As I, dreaming, reach out. Ah, golden
Are the threads of air. Tender. Diffident!
Let me approach it. Ah, sweet!
I bear witness to foliage! Friends,
Gather near! Come blossoms!
As trees are my witness, I adore thee!
Massive, this cathedral of temperature, this atmosphere!
I am here! Fishes! Feathered beings! I am here among you!
And there is power, beating
In the heart of these rocks!
I am listening! I am here!
Maker of all things! I am here!
I adore thee!

 
        “I don’t know what to say, Bob. Now we know!” said Ralph.
        Bob climbed down from his stump, awkwardly, landing with a thump on the ground.
        “What do we know, Ralphie?” asked Bob, landed at last.
        “Well, who you are, I guess, Bob,” said Ralph. “I feel like I need to re-calibrate a little bit.”
        “Um, Ralphie, why did you come looking for me today,” said Uncle Bob.
        “Oh, Ramona sent me. She thought it would be nice if I came myself. So I didn’t send Maeve. She wants you and Suzy to come for dinner. Timbo is still there, and we thought you might like to get together with him again and have some music. You could sing your song again Bob!”
        “Yeah, Ralphie! Sure, we’ll come!” said Uncle Bob.
        “I caught a little buck, and she cooked him, all of him! She thinks we might need help eating all of that!”
        “Music and dinner! Wow, Ralphie,” said Uncle Bob.
And so Ralph, and Uncle Bob, and Suzy walked together back into the forest, finding their way to the Home Clearing.

💚

Wednesdays Are Still Cats' Days!

 

            So Willie jumped up on the desk extension and tapped me politely on the elbow, with just the tips of his claws out-for emphasis. I knew I may as well pay attention to him, or I’d never hear the end of it.
            “What’s on your fuzzy little mind, Wilfred,” I said.
            “The main thing, and we want you to know this, is that every seventh day, starting tomorrow, is Cats’ Day,” he announced.
            “So, you claim Wednesdays?” I said. “Didn’t we already have some kind of Cats’ Day discussion. I think I remember something like that.”
            “See, that’s it exactly. We think you could do better to celebrate us on this Wednesday business. We don’t know why you pinkies name days, but you do, so there’s that,” said Willie.
            “Did the rest of them send you to complain, Willie?”
            “They all know you listen to me!” he said, complacently.
            “Tell you what, I’ll write it on the calendar. And, you can have butter on Wednesdays, and I’ll write stories about you guys once a week. I’ll publish all your little concerns.”
            “We like butter, and that mackerel you were eating the other day,” said Willie.
            “Don’t push your luck, Mr. Chubs,” I told him.
            “Mrrrp?”
            “Yeah, mrrrp yourself,” I giggled. He looked at me with shiny eyes. Full of confidence, he was.
            “Alright, Mr. Envoy, what else is bugging you little predators?”
            “Well. You asked. Funny names. It isn’t respectful to give lions funny names!” said Willie.
            “None of you, except Mr. Baby Sir, have funny names. What’s the prob.? Well, maybe Skinnies, but that’s not my doing!”
            “Oh, Mr. Baby loves his name!” said Willie. “He loves hearing people say it!”
            “I don’t think you have a problem. You just want attention, doncha, Baby?” I said.
            “I do, but this is serious. You named a cat Candida. One you called Diagonal! What the heck? You called one poor girl Botulism? Why?” cried Willie.
            “Those were different times, Willie. That was a long time ago. Things were different then. I can hardly remember what that girl was thinking about. I’m not likely to change your name to anything weird. You’re safe. Even the next kitten is probably safe,” I said.
            “Where do you even get these names? Like Sleeky Sue? Come on?” he said.
            “Well, the old timers used to say that they had a “muse.” This was usually a chick..”
            “A chicken?” said Willie.
            “No, a female spirit or something that gave him his ideas or maybe just inspired him to write in some mysterious masculine process..” I wandered off, thinking. Then I said, “Names just come out the air or something. I need a name for a character and there it is, all ready to use!”
            “Lady, that is the weirdest excuse for naming a cat something random that I have ever heard,” announced Willie. “Why not just admit that you do it on purpose?”
            “Oh, ho ho, now you’re getting into the weeds, Cat,” said I.
            “What do you mean?” he cried.
            “It’s a matter of authority. Where does purpose come from? If I do a thing, whose purpose is it, anyhow? It might not even be my purpose. Did you ever think about that?” I inquired. “Maybe a Greater Hand is directing my path! Hey? What about that?”
            “You’re making my head feel funny, Lady. When I say you did it on purpose I mean you set out to come up with a funny name for a cat and you cooked one up,” he said.
            “That’s possible too,” I said, and scrunched his ears a little so his head would feel better. “Do you know what your whole name is?”
            “No. I thought I was Willie,” he said. “Brrrrt?”
            “It’s Way Out Willie. We named you for a guy who danced with his hands!”
            “I rest my case!” he crowed. “That’s plain weird.”
            “Teehee, we thought it was cute. Suzy’s whole name is Suzy Q, or maybe Suzy Creamcheese. It’s hard to remember now. It’s been nine years!” I said. “Cat, you’re so blessed that we didn’t name you some of those things that Irish Mountain Hare got called. You have no idea! They were, um, earthy, in the extreme. So rest easy, Butterball!”
            “So, do we have a deal, Lady? Butter on Wednesdays, and a little more respect?” said Willie.
            “Sure, Willie. We got a deal,” I said.
            “I’ll remind you by doing that goofy pose you think is so cute,” he said. “The one where I expose my belly and fold my paws and look sort of brainless!”
            “That’ll work,” I said, seriously laughing now. “When I see a cat’s belly exposed I’m bound to think ‘that there cat needs some butter’!”
            I guess he must have delivered his message to his satisfaction because he hopped down off of my desk and went out to just check on the buffet. He’s a very busy cat with a lot of responsibilities.

🧡

Mrrrrp!

           

A Wish For Pretty Weather & Open Roads

May the storms pass you by!,

And the sun shine upon you.

May the road ahead be clear. 

And may God bless you always.

🤍

Family Matters

 

☘🤍☘

                Now, as everybody knows, his kingliness came into the world as the first of eight young ones. He was first in all ways. Largest, smartest, funniest, and most handsome. Leadership settled like dew on his handsome dark brown coat.
            However, as in many families, there was a younger brother or two. We haven’t dealt with any of those characters yet, but today we shall deal with one of them, the youngest brother of five brothers, not forgetting the three sisters at all.
            Timbolino Brown, his self-chosen name, was a sort of wandering troubadour. He was only about 6’5”, well within hairless’ range, his coat was gingery, his eyes were icy blue, and his skin was a sort of pale olive color. It was as if his parents had kind of run out of strong genetic material.  He had a full ginger beard, fierce eyebrows and a sweet, sweet smile. He wore clothing when performing in bars and clubs and such.
            Timbolino got around. Lately he had returned to the Northern Forest, his home when he was at home, from Ireland, of all places. In Ireland he passed for Scottish. If the locals knew better they said nothing, as they love that kind of thing more than food and sleep. They kept his secret and loved every minute of the jest.
            In most ways he was a self-made man. He carried an old Martin acoustic around and knew how to work it too. He even wrote his own material. His songs were a hit all over Ireland.
            It was always a little jarring for Timbo, as his close friends called him, to come down from the stage, and his artificial persona, and go back to slipping around the Norther Forest like a regular Hairy Man. So, he decided to soften the blow with a visit to his elder brother and entourage. Ralph just had way of making it work smoothly.
            On the day in question Timbo suddenly popped out into the morning air of the Home Clearing. There was a flash of bluish light, a slight boom, and there he was, looking all around with the guitar case held firmly in hand. He wore his stage getup.
            “Woah,” said Twigg, who was the first to see him. Then, “Mom! Somebody is here!”
            “Hey, Timbo,” said Ramona. “Good to see you. Why the fancy duds?”
            “Hi, Ramona! Is Ralph around?” said Timbo, grinning  his winning grin. “Oh the outfit? It’s for my gigs. Can’t do it hairy, you know!”
            “Yeah, he’s here, Timbo. But he’s a little outside of right here. He’s up at Uncle Bob’s Stump House. They’ll tell you the story, no doubt.”
            “Twigg, honey, will you take your uncle out to the Stump House?” said Ramona.
            So, that’s what Twigg did.
            Ralph was having a little dandelion salad with toasted hazel nuts with Bob and Suzy. An extra meal here and there doesn’t hurt a thing was Ralph’s belief.
            He stopped chewing when he saw Timbo and Twigg coming up the path. Everyone sort of froze, understandably. Timbo had that effect on the Hairless too.
            “Who’s the guy in pants, Ralphie?” said Uncle Bob, jumping to his feet.
            “What next, Timbo?” said Ralph. “He’s my brother, Bob. Hold your horses. No need for alarm except possibly on the fashion front.”
            “Greetings, all,” said Timbo. “I come from the land of many shades of green, and tussock leaping hares! I’ve just popped in from Dublin!”
            “Where’s that,” said Uncle Bob.
            “Oh, kind of on the other side of the world. It’s an island,” said Timbo.
            “Why?” said Ralph.
            “Would you like some salad?” said Suzy, proffering a bowl, for lack of anything else to say.
            “I was going from bar to bar, and all sorts of outdoor venues singing and playing some songs! They even paid me!” crowed Timbo. “I had to dress up a little.”
            “We have hares here too, Timbo,” said Ralph.
            “Oh, mountain hares in Ireland are shape shifters! Uncanny Bunnies! That’s a good band name huh? But they aren’t bunnies. They are hares. They are supposed to guard the wilderness. Old timers think all kinds of weird stuff about them,” said Timbo. “They must be placated or there is hell to pay!”
            “I think our hares might be related, “ said Ralph. “We’ve had some very funny business with some kind of rabbit things and Plaidies. There was some shape shifting involved. I’m not sure who was to blame for all of that. Though I tend to put most of the onus on the Plaidies!”

    "What's a Plaidie?" inquired Timbo.

    "Pfffft, Timbo. I guess you could say they are faeries," said Ralph.

    "Oh!!! Faeries! Don't ask!" said Timbo.
            “You play that guitar?” said Uncle Bob hopefully.
            “That’s what they pay me for,” said Timbo.
            “Oh, boy! Do you know any Dead songs,” said Uncle Bob.
            “I do,” said Timbo.
            “Salad?” said Suzy.
            “I’m stuffed full of Shepherd’s pie, Suzy darlin’” said Timbo. “Thanks, nope!”
            “Will you play Mountains of the Moon, I’ll sing too,” said Uncle Bob.
            “Sure, but first I want to go native,” said Timbo. He then peeled off the heavy Irish knit sweater and the plaid britches and the socks and the boots.
            “Gosh, it’s great to be hairy again,” said Timbo. And he sat right down and took out his guitar. He played three or four Dead songs, Uncle Bob and Ralph sang along. Twigg had no idea his dad knew this stuff and he was purely agog. Suzy just watched in amazement.
            Then Timbolino played and sang a song he had learned in Ireland about hares, with directions on how to effectively placate them, to save your good luck.
            “We better go down to the Home Clearing now and tell Ramona all about it,” said Ralph.
            Timbo folded up his outfit, after asking if Uncle Bob wanted it. Since he didn’t, Timbo brought it along.
            “That was really fun,” said Uncle Bob. “Come back again if you want!”
            “Maybe I will, old man, maybe I will,” said Timbo.
            And so Ralph and his little brother, the troubadour, and Twigg, all strolled back down to see Ramona and Cherry. It had been a lovely visit, and in fact, Ramona was waiting for them.

The Lore of the Irish Mountain Hare.

Sunday Greetings, May 25, 2025, & Open Thread

         Just a couple of photos today. This one is a shot of St. Helens in 2020. I'm sure my daughter took the shot.

         This one is just a raven on the Oregon coast in 2016, on one of our drives down the coast. I think we made it to San Francisco, and a bit further.

        I hope you all have a most pleasant day, the best! Always!

    🤍

In Which The Forest Has Its Own Way

 

 

            They thought of themselves as researchers. Or, maybe explorers. They were on a mission.
            “This is the spot,” said Henry. “He wouldn’t tell me what happened, but he said they’re out here in the woods.”
            Henry parked the Research Vehicle, 2000 model Land Cruiser beater, on the widened verge at that spot on Highway 20. It was a dusty navy blue in color, with some damage here and there.
           
            “Alright,” said Jim. They had been explorers since 4^th grade, but now, they had wheels. Jim was the camera guy, and Henry was the idea guy. Jim had a GoPro on a stick, and Henry had a lot of ideas, and wheels.
            It was summer break between their Junior and Senior years. They went to school in Mt. Vernon, WA, a location steeped in the lore.
            “I know for a fact that they’re out here. All we have to do is go out there and find their camp, er whatever home for forest apes is called!” said Henry.
            “Yeah, I know,” said Jim. “That old blowhard told you that, so it must be true. I’m a believer, Henry!”
            Henry locked up the Land Cruiser and put the Research Vehicle placard he had made under the driver’s side windshield wiper. They stood there in the fog surveying the scene. No one was coming from either direction which was odd really. No traffic on 20 was just weird.
            “It’s kind of a creepy morning, Henry,” said Jim. He was short and thin and dark. Maybe Grandmother was a Mexican.
            “You worry too much,” remarked Henry, the all American blue eyed boy. He was looking into the stand of old Douglas firs on the other side of the L.C.
 
            The biggest raven either one of them had ever seen was watching them from a branch fifty feet up a nearby fir. She watched them getting ready to enter the forest, laughed a long raucous laugh and took off into the air between the trees. The fog obscured her departure.
            “Weird,” said Jim.
            “Here’s the path,” said Henry. “Come on. This shouldn’t take long. We’ll have lunch in town.”
            It’s true. There was a path there. It was narrow, inhospitable. Bushes shoved in from both sides, dropping cold water on the researchers. A bit down the path it seemed darker than it should, maybe. Henry walked on, first in line. Jim came up behind, glancing all around.
            Fighting bushes with every step, they walked down the little path for a good half hour. There was nothing but more path. But then there was a sound.
            It sounded like a river. It was a river. The path dumped them out on the bank of a fair sized mountain river. It was lined by boulders of various sizes. The water ran on obliviously, revealing nothing.
            “We must have missed a corner,” said Henry. “Let’s go back and find it.”
            They plunged back into the forest. But the path didn’t look the same. Even the bushes were different. They were infant alders this time, not huckleberries. They were tall enough to interfere with the view.
            The fog thickened. Soon they didn’t hear the river. Silence closed in as they followed the path leading away from the river. The path curved here and there. It meandered around stumps and trees and even a couple of huge erratic boulders. Finally the darkness backed of a little and they hurried toward the lightening.
            It was a parking lot. On the other side of the lot was what appeared to be a ranger station. They stood by a big bear proof dumpster looking at the building. The lot was empty. No one was parked there this morning.
            “I don’t want to discuss our morning with a ranger,” said Henry. “He would either tell us we’re crazy or just clam up.”
            “Probably,” said Jim. “Let’s fade back into the trees. We need to think for a minute.”
            “Is somebody laughing?” said Henry. “I swear I heard someone laughing.” He frowned.
            Damp, cold, tired and confused. Both boys knew that none of this made any sense.
            “We can’t just stand around here all day,” said Henry. “Let’s go back. I know their camp is out here. Why can’t we find it?”
            “Why didn’t you get the old coot to draw you a map, Henry,” said Jim.
            “He said it would be obvious, once we got into the trees,” admitted Henry. “And trees don’t laugh. Come on!”
            Once more the trail seemed different. It was wider and drier.
            “Here we go!” said Henry, speeding up. Jim followed without comment.
            This trail had a few tricks also. It was very steep in places and then dropped off suddenly. It went in zigzags. A small fir stood right in the middle of the way at one point. It was as if the trail had a goofy sense of humor.
            Something like a mountain lion peeked at them. Then disappeared. They weren’t sure that they had really seen it later when they talked about it.
            “I saw eyes,” said Henry.
            “I think I saw a tail,” said Jim.
            At last, the trail led them to a huge downed cedar log. It blocked the way. But a tiny little path led off in another direction. Henry and Jim really had no choice but to follow it. So they did. They walked and walked for another long time. Soon, they could hear traffic and see a lighter area ahead. They hurried toward it.
            There was the Land Cruiser, harmlessly parked beside Highway 20. Cars zipped past going both east and west. The sun was burning off the fog and the boys were really hungry.
            “Let’s go back to town, Jim. I’m hungry, and when I find that old fool, we’ll have a little discussion. I bet he did this on purpose!” said Henry.
            “Maybe, yeah. It’s most def. lunch time. Maybe he doesn’t know as much as he thinks he does,” said Jim.
            Henry threw the Research Vehicle placard into the back seat, when they opened the doors, and then they took off for Mt. Vernon.
            Ralph stood just out of sight at the edge of the forest with his arms crossed. He seemed slightly amused, his default setting.
            “What do you think, Boss, “ said Maeve, from her perch on his shoulder.
            “I think somebody sold those two a bum steer,” said Ralph.
            “That’s too bad, huh?” said Maeve.
            Ralph turned and strolled back into the Great Forest, with Maeve flying just over his head. 

💚

It Was A Question Of Coffee Beans

 

The very things themselves!

☕

 
            As everybody knows by now, Ralph and Ramona had become coffee drinkers, if they could get some coffee by one of two or three methods. Sometimes Millicent would send a bag of Bargreen’s Organic French, pre-ground. It was lovely. Sometimes Ralph would trade some firewood for a bag of whatever kind of coffee Ranger Rick had picked up when he was in town. Rick was not a coffee snob, so it might be anything. Once it was canned Safeway store brand coffee. (One shudders!) Sometimes faithful friend Thaga sent a bag of her home roast and ground coffee. It was pretty good. Maeve could carry a 2lb bag quite easily. She did this for Millicent also.
            Time went on and the coffee fever in the Home Clearing deepened.
 
            Meanwhile, somewhere further afield than Ralph generally roamed, there may have been some far-ranging by mysterious means involved, he came upon a warm dry valley where once upon a time some Original Dwellers had lived. He could tell that they had moved on a long long time ago. There were no houses of any kind left, whether skin, or bark, or wooden he didn’t know.
            It was so ideal that Ralph wondered how they could have stood to leave it. He shook his head, sensing that perhaps trouble had come to the sweet little valley. It was so perfect. There were trees for shade uphill a bit, there was a small stream for drinking water and washing babies and such, a little small for fishing, but “who knows,” he thought. Deer slept in the shade of the trees as it was midday. Ralph could smell and hear them up there.
            As he was looking at the signs of habitation remaining, he found an interesting stone. It was granite and about the size of a large sofa cushion, more rounded though. It had three bowl shaped depressions on the flattish top of different sizes. Ralph knew enough about rocks to see that these holes were made by the hands of man, or more likely, woman. But, he wasn’t quite sure what the holes were for.
            Since no one was there using it or needing it any more, he decided to bring it home to Ramona. He thought that maybe Thaga and Ramona could find a good use for a nice big stone with some obvious signs of historical usefulness on it.
            He tucked the interesting stone up under his left arm like you would a three ring binder once upon another time and did a few complicated steps with his big feet. He smiled, thinking of home, and hummed a little tune quietly. Then the little valley dreamed on without him.
 
            “Hey, Mona, look at this neat rock I found,” called Ralph when he got home.
            She looked up from teaching Cherry how to tie useful knots in strings and said, “Let’s see it! Oh, it is a nice rock, Baby. I wonder what it’s good for?” said Ramona.
            “I’m not sure,” said Ralph. “But somebody put these hollows in it somehow. I thought maybe you and Thaga could find a use for it.”
            “Hm. Maybe,” said Ramona. “She will probably know who did that and why.”

            Then, just as if she knew she was wanted, Thaga appeared carrying a sack of something.
            “Ramona, I have an idea,” said Thaga. “Wait until you hear it!”
            “I can’t wait,” said Ramona, smiling at her good friend.
            “I have a great big bag of green coffee beans at home, and I decided to teach you how to roast your own!” (Thaga has her sources!)
            “That sounds like fun. What’s in your bag there, Thaga?” said Ramona, as if she didn’t know.
            “Green coffee beans. Of course,” said Thaga. “We need your big flat pan for this!”
            So, Ramona went into the cave and got her big flat pan and brought it out to the fire. Thaga instructed her to lay it on her grill. Then Thaga dumped the green coffee beans on it.
            “You have to keep stirring them while they roast, Ramona,” said Thaga. “They need to darken to about the color of Ralph’s hair! That’s why your coffee is dark brown, the roasting.”
            So, while Ralph and the kids watched, Ramona tended the coffee beans until they were just about the color of Ralph. Then she set the large flat pan on her little stump table to cool. It smelled wonderful, almost too much wonderful though. Roasting coffee beans have a strong scent!
            “Now that the roasting’s done, you must grind them somehow,” said Thaga. “How do you grind nuts? That ought to work on coffee too.”
            “I just kind of mash them with a rock on my little stump table here, Thaga. I don’t know if that will work for these hard beans,” said Ramona, while looking all around for something that would work better.
            Both ladies, were a little bit stymied, but they knew there had to be a way.
            Then just as if the heavens opened and a choir started singing, Ralph got a brilliant idea.
            “Hey, Mona! Show Thaga that cool rock I brought home today! I bet I know what those bowl shaped holes in it are for! Of course!” shouted Ralph. “I bet thousands of Original Dweller mothers ground nuts and whatever in those holes! Can you imagine how long it took to make those holes?”
            Thaga was a reader. She had seen photos of these things before.
            “You’re right, Ralph. For sure! Ramona just needs the right tool to fit into the holes now.”
            “I already have it,” said Ramona. And she did. It was a stone thing about 8 inches long. It had a narrow section like a handle and a larger end that that mostly flat on the bearing surface. She had been using it forever to crack nuts and things like that.
 
            So there it is. Ramona learned how to make her own ground coffee after roasting it herself. And it turned out that the neat rock Ralph brought home was very useful after all. A kind of circle was completed.
            Maeve arrived just as the big blue coffee pot was settling. She was just in time for a little bowl of coffee.  Of course Ralph and Ramona and their friend, Thaga, enjoyed it because these were very special cups of coffee!

            Twigg didn't care for it, nor did Cherry.

            Bob and Berry demurred, but smiled at the coffee party in the Great Forest.

💚

Tell Me A Story? Open Thread

 

There's the old guy now, with my aunt, and a pony!

🌸

            When my grandfather, Mom’s dad, was still with us he would often try to get us to talk. Maybe I was shy. That’s possible. He would say, “Tell me a story, even if it’s a lie!”
            I think that was meant to inspire. Or maybe it was an old man’s joke.
            He was a kidder, that’s for sure.
            I also would love it if one or all of you would tell me a story, even if it’s a lie, (fiction). I feel like maybe I have used up my allotment of words for the day.
            I’ve been editing the second Ralph book. It contains many words! A terrifying number of words!

            It would be fun, if you would!

Under The Ears: A Cryptid Report

 

 

Agents Suzy and Toots reporting:
 
            “Last night, Agent Suzy, I heard a distinct, but distant, “whoooop!”” said Agent Toots.
            “And where did it come from?” said Suzy.
            “Down by the river, almost for sure, it kind of echoed,” said Toots. “Like over the water.”
            “I’d say that must be a Class Ear experience, Toots. Don’t you agree?” said Suzy.
            “Yeah!” Nodding furiously and looking out of her window urgently.
            Lately there had been a lot of activity in both of their locations. They had worked up a classification system to keep track of these mysterious manifestations.
            A Class Ear was about mid-range in scariness. The whole deal was to gauge the scariness factor. After all, they are responsible for the safety of their people and other cats!
            “Now, Willie told me that last night he woke up hearing a very scary sound! It was like something really big rubbing the outside of the house!” said Suzy. “In a way that’s worse than a Distant Whooping! But still, it’s only hearsay. So how would you classify it, Agent Toots?” said Suzy.
            “If it was anybody but one of us I would call it a Class Nada, but since it’s from one of us, though it is just Willie, I would call it Class Not Good!” said Toots. “Hey, did he smell anything. That counts for a lot!”
            “Yeah! He did! He said it smelled like a rat had died in the garbage disposal about two weeks ago!” said Suzy.
            “Why does he even think stuff like that? Nobody has a rat in the garbage disposal!” said Toots.
            “But as a concept it works. He’s creative. I don’t know why he thinks this stuff, actually,” said Suzy. “How do we classify it?
            “Oh, it’s Class Not Good, for sure. Horrible! Were you asleep at the switch or something? It would be even worse if you had heard and smelled it too!” said Toots.
            “I don’t know how I missed something like that. It does detract from the authenticity a little,” said Suzy. “But Class Not Good, for sure, even if it was Willie reporting.
            “OK, Toots. Wait ‘til you hear what I saw!” said Suzy, with her eyes glowing green into the sliding glass door reflection.
            “Is it Horrible?” said Toots, considering an early escape.
            “Beyond Horrible,” said Suzy complacently. “Class Hide It’s Coming for sure!”
            Toots, shuddering, “tell me!”
            “It was white, or maybe it was black. It crawled like an upside down spider, but it was as big as a man, and it was icky skinny!” said Suzy. “Agent Toots, I was out of my skin I tell you!”
            “What did you do?” said Toots.
            “Willie said it had gotten into my mind somehow and to kick it out, so I did,” said Suzy. “He also said I should be sure and say my Purrs™ and be a good kitty to keep it away. So far, so good.”
            “Thank all that’s Holy for a smart brother, Suzy,” said Toots seriously. “But you know what the very worst classification is?”
            “I do!” said Suzy. “Class Whisker!”
            “I can hardly bear to think of it,” said Toots. “Imagine touching something Class Whisker that was Not Good! That’s two classifications in one! I would hide for a week!” swore Toots.
            “I would be under Blue Fuzzy whether she was there or not!” said Suzy.
            “But we must bear up and do our duty, Agent Suzy,” said Toots. “Where would they be without us to watch over them?”
            “I just don’t know, Agent Toots. I just don’t know….” said Suzy, shaking her head.
            “They would be left to their own pathetic human senses, that’s what,” said Toots.
            It was right about then when Suzy smelled a terrible smell,  and Toots heard a knock on her window right by her reflection!
            Who goes there? Who knows? Because both agents had broken the connection and gone undercover for the night!
            But as we know, undercover is still on the job! So be confident that your agents are on the job for all of you!
            You just have to be careful to pay attention to what they say!