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Archive for October, 2011

Usually I’ve got my goggles in place, my hands gloved to protect me from stinging nettles and blackberry thorns, hoe in hand, my weed whacker primed and ready for action, but today I’m staying indoors, wearing my garlic necklace to ward off vampires and potential suitors.  They say a picture is worth a thousand words so I’ll spend most of this post sharing pictures of ghouls, goblins and ghosts.  Oh, that’s right, this is Coupeville, so there will be a lot of sweet faces to ward off the would be evil doers.   Janet, Dawn and I packaged three hundred tooth decaying treats for the kids in the parade…thanks to Front Street Realty and the Honey Bear.  Let’s start with “ghoulfriends” Beth and Dawn (DZ) over at bayleaf where I stopped in before the big parade down Front Street.  (Halloween aprons handmade by DZ.)

There were cheerleaders with attitude and those dressed in blue (hope that USA was made in America to help the IOU)There were hatchlings, some new and one nearly duethere were lionsand tigers (Oh, my!)a butcher all bloody with a head in a boxand a vampire king that made us cry, “This vamp rocks!”But I must admit, it was the cowboy fresh off the range that won my heart.  So simple, tried and true; I just know he’s got a horse named Blue.  (Okay, okay.  I hear those groans out there.)

Happy Halloween, everybody!

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Last weekend we celebrated the first pour of Whidbey Island Distillery’s Loganberry Liqueur.  If I had technological prowess, I would add audio of hands clapping, cheering, bravos all around, but I don’t, so I can’t.

But I can tell you this:  The Heising Family (Steve and Bev here)  took that sweet and tangy berry and turned it into a just plucked from the vine masterpiece.   Speaking of masterpieces, Akemi gifted one of her beautiful watercolor paintings to Steve and Bev for the tasting room.  Lily, the fallen mastermind behind Whidbey Island Distillery, made a brief appearance at the backdoor, but photos weren’t permitted.  Once again, friends and fine food made for an awesome evening.

I’ve got my autographed bottle of Whidbey Island Distillery Loganberry Liqueur sitting on the counter waiting to be paired up with some vanilla ice cream…you’re always welcome to join me…but you better hurry.

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I stand corrected.  The guy clearing the land next to me wasn’t taunting me with a CAT, he was driving a Komatsu, and I’m even more envious now that I’ve seen it up close.  Oh, yes, my readers, I crept through the woods, wound my way through the stinging nettles (unsuccessfully, as always, and with no curative Dock plant (that folks up here swear grows right underneath the stinging nettles) to be found), through gravel and muck, to capture a few photos for you.  Please take note how the shine of the sun spotlights the bucket.  Like professional photographers who help you appreciate the size and scope of an object, I probably should have put a dime down next to the Komatsu so you could get a proper scale on this bad boy, but as is my way, these sojourns seem to rise up of their own accord, without warning, so my pockets were empty.

There was only one way to get a shot of the bucket, so I did what I had to do; for you, I might add.  Step one…I can’t show you the rest of the steps…remember, I work alone.

More than anything, I really wanted a shot of me in the bucket, but as you know from this past year, I’m prone to accidents.  The thought of some freak incident where that bucket closed up and trapped me inside was enough to put me off the laugh the photo might arouse in you.  Hey, I’m not getting paid for this, and if you’re like me,  your health insurance doesn’t have a creative genius clause.  And besides, in the middle of everything I had a flashback to 1966…maybe 1967 – the blurry high school years.  It’s near midnight, Hazel and Wendell are gone and (for my younger readers) with their permission, they allowed Shirley to have a party, but preferably not one like the weekend before at Shelley’s house where someone started a small fire in the kitchen.  I was not in attendance, so I can only tell you what I heard.  Anyway, back at Shirley’s house sometime in 1966 or 1967, we were all sitting around listening to appropriate music, discourse flowing freely, while we sipped our Cokes when someone yelled “COPS!”  Given the innocence of the setting I’m conveying to you, it might be difficult for you to comprehend why we all scattered through windows and back doors through the dark, emptying our pockets into Hazel’s flower beds.  You might question why under such an innocent circumstance I would deem it necessary to climb a fence and propel myself into the neighbor’s yard where I landed on their clothes line.  I must digress, because there are more of you out there than not who will be scratching their heads and Googling “clothes line.”    A clothes line was used to hang out wet clothes to dry.   Novel idea, yes?  This particular brand had the heavy-duty T-bars at either end and five lines of heavy, I mean heavy-duty gauge wire running between them.  Somehow my innocent cohorts were able to avoid the obstacle.  I, however, was not so lucky and landed spread eagle on top of the wires.  Did you ever play the string game (go ahead, do your Google…I’ll wait).  So, now you can imagine what it was like as one friend (when they finally realized I was missing and the call of “Cops!” turned out to be a joke) pulled one wire to the right, while the friend, who drank more Coke than the rest of us, did his best to pull another wire to the left.   After I took more thwacks to my head than a harp being plucked by an amateur, I finally fell (hard) to freedom.

And that flashback from 1966 or 1967, my readers, is why I didn’t climb into the bucket…yet.

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If you read my post The Winner Is… you know that winner to be Tess Wixted, who lives up in The Hat (Canada), and who just happens to be a good friend.   I was reticent to admit this publicly for fear my readers would think Contest 5,000 was rigged, but on my word it wasn’t; but it seems it may have been designed as a spiritual teaching tool.  I know you’ve just checked your browser to see if you’re really at Greetings From Coupeville…yes, you are.  To get the whole story from the winner through a Buddhist perspective you should definitely add suhuratdaysend.wordpress.com to your browsing activities.

About the prize.  Yes, Greetings From Coupeville has found the perfect little something to send off to Tess.  I know you’re all curious as to what that might be.  All we can do is hope that Tess shares a photo of her prize in her blog.  No, strike that – let go of holding – it only leads to suffering.  No, wait a minute – what the mind creates, the eye sees.  Or is it…

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Wednesday I took my car in so Lloyd could work his magic on this thingamajiggy and that thingamajiggy before winter arrives.  I walked up the road to the bus stop and watched the morning evolve.  The mist was still slung low to the ground, softening all the hard angles on a dilapidated barn in the field.  A spray of clouds made room for the rising sun; the line of pines in the distance as jagged as my memory some days.  It’s a morning like this that makes my new home so special.

Speaking of home – I’ve been busy hoein’ and mowin’, weedin’ and whackin’ out on the property to get ready for winter.  Although we’ve been blessed with an abundance of sunshine of late, you can feel the change in the air moving through the trees.  The dandelions  are giving way to mushrooms.   I saw what I thought was a little group of mushroom caps and got down low with my camera on macro to get a close up for you.  Damn my eye floaters.  It turned out to be a pile of deer droppings.

I finally found a small grouping to share with you.  They are mushrooms, aren’t they?

While I was out hunting down the spores of autumn for you, I was also burning all my clippings, fallen limbs (trees, not mine), and a few small trees I had cut down.  By the time I was finished, I smelled like a rack of smoke house ribs.  Not that that’s a bad thing.

Next property over where they’ve just cleared an opening,  they were burning a pile of silage that stood about as high as my house, which is two plus stories high.  The guy tossing entire trees on the flames kept taunting me by revving up his CAT Excavator with a heavy-duty excavator bucket that screamed “look at me!”  With a flip of the switch that bad boy bucket was chomping through gravel, clay and rock as easily as a hot knife slices through butter.  I stood there, deer poop at my feet, jaw slack, eyes full of envy, my hoe in my blistered hand; my pitiful fire smoldering. 

And this is what I heard myself say out loud.  “I want one of those.  I could drive that CAT, no problem.”   It’s dark out now, but tomorrow, when no one is around, might be the perfect time to sneak through the woods to the other side and climb up that big boy into the driver’s seat.  No harm in that, eh?  Unless there’s a key.

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And The Winner Is….

TESS WIXTED of Victoria, Vancouver Island, BC (The Hat).  Congratulations, Tess!  I’ll be sending you something in the mail when I’m good and ready.  Not sure what that’s going to be, but I think you’ll like it, ‘cuz everyone knows you Canadians are so easy to please.

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5,000 Hits!!!!!!!

Okay, the next person to post a comment at Greetings From Coupeville is the winner.  Who’s it gonna be?   You, or this guy?

 

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