Pumpkins and Owls

I hope there is a photo of pumpkins to the left. It is my favorite Fall photo and I want to share it with all of you. It's harvest time, trick-or-treat time, and owl time, too. On quiet stormless nights, listen for owls yourself. They may be resting in your very neighborhood! And what an appropriate sound effect (not an effect but REAL) for the season. You might even consider driving to a closeby place to listen for owls. Just think: if you wanted to hear wolves howling, you'd have to go a long, long way from home. But owls are accessible. Go owl listening!

Webs and Webs

It is so very definitely autumn even though a jaunt to Central Oregon took Kathy and me back to the memory of summer with a few days of good weather and one day of spectacular weather. On the very good weather day, we played putt putt golf under the brilliant blue sky and I watched us hop from shade spot to shade spot as we made our way around the course. Not that it was hot; no, we just liked saving our faces from so much squinting, I think. She (aka Skullmangler) beat me (tpar) most soundly although she denys it. Pat has said more than once that golf is a game of SELF competition. Yeah, right. But Kathy certainly falls into that category. She is thinking of buying her own putter and practicing at home for next year's round. She hopes to improve her scanty 10-15 stroke lead over me. Ha.
At home, rain is sagging all the spider webs down into unattractive, slightly slime laden ropes of insect stringy string. We have webs outside every window which were once bright, fancifully shaped but now turned into the icky stringy stuff mentioned above and are "decorating" our windows.
At the same time, my new and still under construction website is up. If you want to take a peek, see www.owlgrove.moogo.com. It's only sketchy for now but you can see what we'll be up to in the coming weeks.

Season of Sales

Here's the first visual for our Fall promo. And so it begins. Rather it will begin in November as we go on the road to parts north and south to market, to market. We were invited to two book signings, and we will do three big venues that will all keep us hopping. Pat has constructed a large and attractive owl stand that will display our wooly owl that we picked up years and years ago at the coast. We'll use it as a visual and I'll be sure to get some candy that won't be intended for Halloween. Ready or not-here we come. I'll report about our sales experience as they approach and give some word after we finish. Owl Grove will go even more public than it is now and we are gaining fans and buyers weekly. Here's hoping. . . .

Not an Owl

Doc the Parakeet ended his long days Friday. He spent his last day struggling to breathe and munching a bit of food until he just couldn't hold himself up any longer and succumbed while we were at the park with the girls.
This little bird was a part of our family for at least ten years replacing the original bird named Feathers who was brought into the family by pet loving Amy. So we've always had a bird and sometimes two. We've taken excellent care of them even paying a scary-big vet bill to cure Doc of some kind of fungus that made him look as if he was a thousand year old bird with wrinkly, scaly skin and beak. When he recovered, he looked like a shiny new bird and we all rejoiced and were glad we'd spent the money.
Another owl did come in our lives in a secondary sort of way. Bobbie has been awakened three or four nights by the sound of hooting. She says it is very close and hoots in fours of three shorts and a long. And the owl is answered by another one close by. Imagine her examining the nearby neighbors' trees looking for white bird poop. So far nothing.
Yesterday when she and I returned from shopping at way too many discount stores and taking not enough fall photos at Willamette University, scads of crows were squawking and circling overhead. Bobbie ran around frantically calling, "Maybe they're mobbing the owl! They do that, you know!" She said this two or three different times maybe thinking that I didn't understand. I did but what I didn't understand was what she thought she could do if they were dive bombing the owl. I just sort of watched her as she rushed around shouting about the mobbing. I was both amused and concerned and not just for the owl. When we went out later to check, we spied the crows perched silently on nearby high branches. They seemed to be resting and Bobbie settled down thinking that the invisible owl(s) might be safe for now.

In Between Days

I try to accomplish a little something every day toward the marketing and sale of the book. Things seem to be simmering down and will probably continue in that vein until we have our big venues next month. But I did get one sold at my Curves and Kelly who works and exudes her bigger than life personality there put it up in an attractive display by simply lining it with a bright red piece of cardstock. The green cover really stands out. The book is also on display in the workroom at my school where it has been hardly touched. That seems strange to me. Why wouldn't English teachers handle a colorful book that doesn't look like a catalog or a journal?

Short enough for Brian

Massage. . .smooth blending of touch and sound that lifts me into the sky and transports my spirit momentarily into the universe. . .first, legs and feet and toes; then, arms, hands and fingers followed by waves of pressure and warmth up and down my back; and, finally, gentle stroking of neck, upper chest, face and ears until the final softest of touches on my shoulder. . .all combining to help me meet my mother's soul and the sparkling energy of my granddaughters in a flashing little dance of twinkle and shine before the gentle return to earth.

To Market/Birthday Cake

The evolution of the book has moved to the marketing phase. This part isn't quite so much fun but sparks us up when we make sales. I am repeatedly thinking of "Death of a Salesman." Just about the time my brain starts focusing on this tragic play, however, we make some sales and I feel inspired to be in the marketing department again. We have three big venues and a book-signing coming up in November so our fingers get cramped from being perpetually crossed.
I set up a little table at my school's recent Community Fair. I sold a few books and had some interesting conversations with students about owls and other birds with which the speakers had had intimate experiences in one way or another. I really liked that.
But the most interesting part of the experience was learning from the vendors on either side of me. On my right was a young man representing a credit union. I thought, "Oh sure, fella. These are college students. They never have any money. Some can't even afford books for my classes! You are in for one lonely afternoon." Was I ever wrong. First thing after draping his table and setting out promotional materials, he heaped a BIG pile of candy right on to the middle of his table. That drew possible customers like flies. By the end of the day, he had signed up a good handful of customers who flashed cash at him like report cards with all A's on them. It was the candy that did it. Next time, I'll have my own supply of candy. After all, this is a children's book we're marketing, so I would love to draw attention to our booth with food.
And that brings me to my next topic: cake. My mother had a cake recipe that she said came from the historic Comstock family in California. Those folks, you'll recall, made a boat load of money from the gold mines. California history at its finest. Anyway, this particular cake recipe supposedly came to us from a maid in that household to the oldest sister in my mother's household. Every year since I was a kid and on into the years of my own children and now to the grandchildren, we have this cake. First my mother made it and now I make it. It's a chocolate cake made with buttermilk and leavened with vinegar and baking soda fizzed up and quickly stirred in at the last moment. The cake is definitely not a store "boughten" cake because it its crumb is smooth, and its taste is just this side of almost tangy due to the buttermilk and vinegar. It is my favorite dessert and the favorite dessert of other family members as well. But only two of us knows how to make it-my daughter and me. And Amy hates, HATES to cook so I'm left to carry on the tradition. Amy will make one every few years just to satisfy me that she can do it. So we will celebrate the fall family birthdays tomorrow (including mine) with The Cake which I baked and iced with the usual cream cheese frosting and the chocolate drips down the sides and swirled on the top. I will teach my granddaughters how to bake The Cake as soon as is humanly possible.

Other Trees, Other Places

Weather and trees ruled the long weekend in central Oregon. The weather was cold and we watched the skies for sun, rain, wind, hail and even snow. They all happened. A three and a half mile walk around Suttle Lake had us casting our eyes upwards many, many times. The sun was glorious; the rain was minor; the hail and snow were bothersome at the end of the trail. Greg and I brought up the rear with me in the very rear listening to the squeak of his pants and watching the ground in front of him so I could warn him about any obstacles. His trick Achilles tendon was a concern. He didn't seem bothered, though, and we finished the hike not all that far behind the others. We pretended we were lost and snowbound and played the "how will we survive?" game.
We all commented on the trees on the sunny part of the walk where we could see the results of the Sisters fire from a few years ago along with the trees that had been devastated by the beetle infestation. The burnt trees were obvious and they looked like charred ghosts sadly come to rest on the forest floor. It was difficult to tell them from the bug infested ones. At one point Greg wanted me to take a picture across the lake where the sun had cast its shine on a large V of ghost trees that were topped with fog. It was an eerie and fascinating view but seemed sad to me. I didn't want to take the picture.
Everywhere there were signs of growth and rejuvenation. That was heartening. At the midpoint of the trail when the sun was out in an almost summerlike way, I studied the trees. Wouldn't it be something if I could find signs of owls? I looked carefully and then spotted a tree and some nearby bushes covered with white poop but it didn't look like owl poop. I was disappointed but cheered myself with trying to figure out what kind of bird would pause long enough up above to leave so much poop. Whatever it was, I think it was waiting to dive into the lake for a meal. Osprey, maybe. That's all I can be sure of. My sister and I watched an osprey dive from just such a location on the golf course at Widgi Creek last summer. I didn't see a repeat of that but I was proud of myself for stopping long enough to study the little drama of nature presented there on the trail.

Closed

Owl Grove will be closed until early next week. We will be in
Central Oregon with friends having fun and maybe looking for owls. See you soon!