The Italian cyclist in Alaska

Encounters while traveling are most interesting and invigorating when they occur without plan. Random, haphazard, chance meetings of people always flavor our wanderings.

Here is an example from our recent trip to the far north: It was in Seward, Alaska. She sat alone in the coffee shop, studying a laptop computer intently. He was slightly disheveled, wearing pieces of bike riding togs. I gently inquired, "have you come here by bicycle?"

She regarded me quizzically, studying my face and uncertain of how to respond. Finally she answered, each word coming slowing, as if she were leafing through her mental dictionary. It was then that we began a halting conversation which left me scratching my head and wondering again about the human spirit.

Her name was Micky and she was Italian. She spoke very little English, but, she was somewhat fluent in Spanish, so we proceeded as best we could.

"Where did you begin?"
"Patagonia," was her astonishing reply.
"How long has it been?" I asked
"A year and a month," she replied.

Enter now another woman who had recently discovered her on an Alaskan byway and invited her to stay in her home. She had discovered Micky on a camping trip one morning, seeing her struggle out of the trees and onto the road. They connected, and Micky stayed with her some few weeks, taking a job washing dishes in a local restaurant to save money for a ticket back to Italy.

"Este Viaje, escribe?" I asked Micki, wanting to know if she would write about her experiences.
"No, pero esta en mi corazon, she replied. (It lives in my heart.)

Between the two women we pieced together the story. She made the complete trip alone. She bicycled from the tip of South America to the northern most road-linked point in Alaska, Prudo Bay. She did it for someone she loved and who is now gone. She did it in memory of them.

She was a remarkable woman, unpretentious, forthright, yet proud of what she had done. She and people like her are why I feel energized after traveling.

From her email after arriving home in Italy: "......thank you all if I spent an unforgettable year thank you for all the emotions that I experienced, and fortunately very beautiful thank you thank you heart micky"

China Comes to Rock Eddy Bluff Farm

A wonderful couple departed today. We were entranced by them. We could not talk to her as her English is quite rudimentary. However she had a pocket translator and she and Kathy held a prolonged conversation by passing the translator back and forth. She wrote a comment in our guest book in Chinese characters, then used the translator to convert into English. Here is the translation:

"I arrive at here with my husband today. When me go under sedan. Look around all around. Very surprised very beautiful. That feeling. It is a besides lifetime peach garden. In a fairy tale to say. Melt at one body with nature. At last enthusiasm. I and husband appreciated woman host very much receive." Wei Wei

Her husband, an American, told us that she has been in the USA only 30 days. But, he says, "By tomorrow evening Rock Eddy Will be known in the whole southern part of China.

Our guests keep us interested in the world. Thanks Steve and Wei Wei!

Blackberry Winter

The temperature was forty one last night and is predicted for the high thirties tonight. According to Ozark natives, this cold snap is to be expected. "It almost always gets cold when the blackberries are blooming," they say . That is what's called "Blackberry Winter".

The problem, of course, is that in some years the cool "winter" weather dips below freezing and spells doom for many of the blackberry blooms. Then too, if the blooms make it through the Blackberry Winter, the weather can turn dry and the berry crop will suffer from lack of moisture. Big blackberry crops are quite dependent on the vagaries of weather.

The other major problem is human: folks cleaning up their pastures will "bushog" everything down, including the patches of blackberries.

Here at the Bluff, conditions are good so far. We have a great start with lots of blooms. If the temps stay in the upper thirties at night, we will have passed that hurdle. The neighbor has not mowed his pasture this spring and there are huge patches of berry canes. The weather could cooperate as the canes mature into mid summer. That would mean a huge crop of berries.

Should conditions converge for a good crop, the only remaining detriments to great berry pies and cobblers are ticks and chiggers. They love blackberry patches. You can scratch while you are eating.

If you go berry picking spray yourself well. But if, while speaking to a friend, they comment about how cold it is tonight, just tell them, "It is supposed to be cold; its blackberry winter!"

Still much like it was

It was a wild place when I was a boy. Folks said an old hermit had lived up there in a cave. I never saw him but I thought about the man they called 'Old Red' and how it would be to live up that long, deep hollow where there was no evidence of civilization. No farming, no timber cutting, no cattle, just pristine Clifty Creek running cool under limestone bluffs , rippling and glinting over the rocky Ozark stream bottom.

It is still wild up there. Oh, there is a little more evidence of human activities - an occasional hiker, a lone person lugging a camera. But, the place still retains its essential character. It is a special setting. Looking westward from our lofty perch atop the bluff, your gaze follows the course of Clifty Creek up the hollow until it divides at the location of the natural bridge. Often we watch storms moving toward us down the length of Clifty hollow, anticipating the minutes remaining until the deluge breaks over us at the Bluffhouse.

Two things have happened which may keep Clifty Creek wild for years to come. First, the L-A-D Foundation (that is Leo A. Drey) acquired a section of the hollow that includes the natural bridge (often called the Natural Arch). Later the Department of Conservation acquired an adjacent piece of land. Together, these public use properties total 486 acres.

Guests at Rock Eddy Bluff Farm often enjoy hiking the 2.5 mile hiking loop that will bring them to Natural Bridge. They can also choose to go and come via the same trail portion. The shorter section (one mile) perhaps covers more diverse terrain and lends itself to some ad lib hiking as you can drop down into the creek bed and follow it downstream to the natural bridge. The longer section (1.4 miles) maintains the ridge top for much of its length and traverses interesting Ozark woodlands before dropping into the hollow and crossing the creek well upstream of the natural bridge.(click on the map to enlarge)

A small parking lot is nestled in a cedar grove at the trail head on Maries Country Road 511 (Yes, that also brings you by our mailbox.)

Clifty hollow has been a constant feature in our lives here in the hills, so we can direct you to the clear pools, the big curving line of bluffs where ferns cling to the rocks. And, if you are interested, we can put you on to where you will find the cave where Old Red once lived.

The Ol' Hired Man at Rock Eddy

p.s. Thank you guests for these photographs

Guest Blog: Line Camp vs. Chicago Hotel

We enjoyed this commentary by a recent guest at Rock Eddy Bluff Farm.

Observational Equivalents

Just the occasional observation on encounters with the world as it flys by.

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Contrasts in Luxury

Posted on 01/04/2011 by Observational Equivalents

I am logging in from Chicago, where I am comfortably ensconced in the Sofitel on E. Chestnut. I recommend it highly. It is a stark contrast to last weekend in the amenities offered but not in the luxury it offers the mind and body. Last weekend, we spent several nights in the Line Camp cabin on Rock Eddy Farm. Not only does it not have room service, a flat screen television, and turn down service, it does not have running water, electricity, or centralized heat. There is an outhouse, a hand pump outside for water, and a wood stove for heat, though. So where is the contrasting luxury you may wonder.

Let us compare.

First, the Sofitel is some 32 floors tall and made of much glass and steel.

It has a number of excellent restaurants and bars to accompany its very modern appearance

Line Camp cabin, by contrast, is one floor and one room only. Though to be fair, our room in the Sofitel is one room only, too, but with an additional bathroom.

In the foreground, just to the left of the window is a wooden box with an upside down bucket “suspended” over it. The bucket covers the hand-pump, which is the water source. And off to the left, half out of the photograph is the outhouse.

The views are not comparable from the two, either.

The Hancock Tower in morning light from our room:

Late evening snow from the front porch of Line Camp cabin:

And a short walk from the porch is the Gasconnade River. After the previous evening’s snow it made for a nice bit of quiet solitude:

And what of the amenities they each offer? A very wonderful shower with limitless hot water in the Sofitel and a bucket bath in Line Camp. Hmm. Again, each has much to offer. The first is a great refuge from the mind cluttering assault of city and people (especially when you are locked into a conference). But the latter is wonderful in its own right, to be cleaned of the grime from basic living and then to wrap yourself in fresh clean clothes is a great pleasure in itself. They are both rejuvenating. No need for graphic evidence.

The food prospects are an interesting contrast, too.

Breakfast in the Sofitel: fresh papaya and coffee:

Breakfast in Line Camp: home fries and coffee (there were eggs, too, just not at this moment):

I can’t decide. Maybe a closer comparison?

They are both excellent, like each of the accommodations. They offer their own forms of comfort, which are very nice so long as you are in a state of mind that is ready to appreciate the strengths of each: urban splender and business in the former and calm, uncluttered quiet in the latter.

It's one of those special days in the Ozarks

As they would say in the hills, "I think we have it whupped now!" They would be talking about spring and the shedding of winter. They would be taking to the woods carrying a poke (that's a sack) for the mushrooms that are akin to ghosts on the floor of the forest. (And ever so yummy.)

These photos from our morning walk are fresh. They depict a spring of 2011 that is still in its infancy, but coming on like gang busters.We were able, this morning, to catch dogwood blooms in stages of development. Soon those trees will appear like white smoke drifting through the pale green woodlands.

Guests in the cabins this morning are trying their hand at fishing in the river. We will await a report later today.

It is a rare day at Rock Eddy Bluff.

On our next foray we will be looking for mushrooms. We will let you know how that turns out.

The Hired Man and Missus

Check availability for spring. We have several openings for you..

A Spring Surprise

The weather report says to expect warm, sunny weather for the coming weekend. But Monday morning we awoke to a wondrous early spring snow that clings to every limb and twig in the woods. It is a lacework of snow covering the hills beyond the bluff.

In the cabins, guest are snug and warm and being treated to a memorable scene outside their door. There are pets in both cabins that no doubt enjoy scampering and dancing in the fluffy whiteness. Kathy and I and our pups actually envy them.

Our friends in Aunt Phoebe's Cabin tell us that the Farmer's Almanac has predicted every snow storm that has occurred in this snow-filled winter. They say it has been a perfect record for the Almanac for the Columbia, Missouri location. I suppress my natural cynicism and say, "That so?"

Well, we are past the vernal equinox, so this must be spring. Once this snow melts, I say "Let's get on with it." Under todays snow the daffodils along our lane are wildly in bloom. Service berry and redbud have begun blooming in the woods. On milder days the spring peepers grow hoarse from calling.

Warmer and bright on the weekend is the prediction. . That will mean a healthy dose of both winter and spring in the span of a few days. Typical Missouri weather!

A recent guest at Aunt Phoebe's log cabin sent these photos. There are clues to spring in each photo.

Right now I have to put another log on the fire.

The Hired Man

• Check available spring days here

Spring comfort

It is the time of year that the weather does not quite know what it is up to. It is erratic. It is like a teenager entering puberty. Things change day to day, hour by hour. It seems there is no reasoning with March weather.

Still, as the brown hills begin to awaken and dream of the coming green, there is comfort to be obtained during the lengthening days. Here is one: Fire. A gentle blaze is always a comfort here at Rock Eddy Bluff, but when cool March winds envelope the hills, a fire in the stove or fireplace is certain to provide a special comfort.

Here is a prescription for relaxation at The Bluff: A long walk in the woods and then a fire. Outside, the buds are swelling, daffodils are poking their shoots upward, while inside the cabin there is the crackle and the flicker of fire.

There is also comfort food. We now propose to add to your recipe collection for Pie. Coming through New Mexico recently, we stopped at Pie Town, a small, mostly abandoned village on the historic cattle drive route. There, the drovers could always depend upon pie for all the hands. “Get into Pie Town and bring us some Pie”, the foremen would command. So, we stopped there at the Daily Pie Café. A scrumptious breakfast was followed by a piece of New Mexican Apple Pie. It was top notch and slightly modified from ordinary apple pie. And, they were willing to divulge the recipe.

_________________________________________

New Mexican Apple Pie (From Daily Pie Café, Pie Town, NM)

Ingredients

4 large granny smith apples, peeled, cored and sliced
1 c. sugar
4 T. flour
2 t. cinnamon
¾ t. nutmeg
2 ounces of New Mexican (Hatch) green chili, hot or mild or more! to taste
2 ounces of pinon nuts
1 T lemon juice

Peel, core and put apple slices into large mixing bowl. Add all other ingredients mix well.
Set aside to blend flavors while the crust is being prepared.

Pastry crust (makes four crusts)
This recipe will use two crusts.
The other two can be frozen for future use always handy and makes for a speedy pie.

3 cups of flour
¼ t. baking powder
1 t. salt
½ c. salted butter
½ c. shortening
1 egg
1 T. white vinegar
1/2 c. ice cold water

Combine flour, baking powder and salt. Cut in butter and shortening to pea sized pieces with pastry knife or fork and knife(do not use your hands yet). In separate bowl, mix egg, vinegar and water. Add wet mix to flour mixture small amounts at a time and blend with spoon or pastry cutter until dry ingredients are moist and form a ball (more or less water may have to be added depending on moisture content of flour).

Roll into a ball wrap with plastic wrap and refrigerate 1 hour. Divide dough into four sections. Roll out one section on a floured board to fit 9” pie pan. Put crust into pan. Place apple mix , mounded in the center. Top with one rolled section of crust. Flute edges, cut vent holes into top crust. Brush with egg wash and sprinkle natural sugar on top (optional). Bake at 425 degrees for 15 minutes, turn, then 400 degrees for 45 minutes to an one hour. Pie is done when golden brown and juices bubble thickly around the outer edge. Serve with vanilla ice cream (highly suggested).

They say it is the little things in life...... The Hired Man

En Todos las playas en todo el mundo

This always happens when I come to a beach. I consider a number so large that I cannot conceive of it. Yup, it is the sand that does it.

No wait! Stay with me. It is a little exercise for the mind. Move your mind from the beach to the universe. Still with me? Now, scientists have estimated -- postulated, roughed out, even SWAGed (that is a scientific wild-assed guess) -- that the number of stars in the universe is roughly equal to all the grains of sand in all the beaches in all the world.

I can't count the number of grains in my hand. I can't conceive of the numberof grains on this beach within my view. My mind hiccups when I try to think about all the beaches in all the world.

Carl Sagan called this number a googleplex (I think) and it was a number so large that it confound any attempt to consider it.

Well that is the universe we live in. And we think we are so smart.

Please think of this when you go to the beach.

Los Tres Vagabundos in Mexico, Tom, Kathy & PeeVee

Pollo Muerto

What are we going to eat? An old comic reply: “Dead chicken”. Then, the chicken somehow loses some off its taste appeal. But, here in the Mexican town of Puerto Penasco, we believe the lowly bird died for a good cause. Here they do wondrous things with dead chicken.

It is called Pollo al carbon, a type of roasted chicken, but not cooked with any type of flame. It must be roasted on a wood fire. And then there is the seasoning…. My Spanish is not good enough to discover much of it, but I know the marinade is chiefly orange juice.

We have recently returned from the chicken joint on Calle Benito Juarez and we need a nap. We are likely going to skip supper tonight and go directly to the hot tub where we will watch the sun sink into the sea.

I am really disappointed in myself, but my attention seems to have slid toward gluttony and other pleasures of the flesh. Already we have planned breakfast. Awakening slowly in The Minnow to the sound of the waves, we will lightly pan fry in butter some huge, fresh local scrimp, some asparagus, and a few new potatoes. Yes, that is breakfast, or perhaps we should call it brunch.

We promise to do better….in a day or so. Meanwhile, every day here on the beach is an awful struggle.

Los Tres Vagabundos gordos

Pollo Muerto

What are we going to eat? An old comic reply: “Dead chicken”. Then, the chicken somehow loses some off its taste appeal. But, here in the Mexican town of Puerto Penasco, we believe the lowly bird died for a good cause. Here they do wondrous things with dead chicken.

It is called Pollo al carbon, a type of roasted chicken, but not cooked with any type of flame. It must be roasted on a wood fire. And then there is the seasoning…. My Spanish is not good enough to discover much of it, but I know the marinade is chiefly orange juice.

We have recently returned from the chicken joint on Calle Benito Juarez and we need a nap. We are likely going to skip supper tonight and go directly to the hot tub where we will watch the sun sink into the sea.

I am really disappointed in myself, but my attention seems to have slid toward gluttony and other pleasures of the flesh. Already we have planned breakfast. Awakening slowly in The Minnow to the sound of the waves, we will lightly pan fry in butter some huge, fresh local scrimp, some asparagus, and a few new potatoes. Yes, that is breakfast, or perhaps we should call it brunch.

We promise to do better….in a day or so. Meanwhile, every day here on the beach is an awful struggle.

Los Tres Vagabundos gordos

Pollo Muerto

What are we going to eat? An old comic reply: “Dead chicken”. Then, the chicken somehow loses some off its taste appeal. But, here in the Mexican town of Puerto Penasco, we believe the lowly bird died for a good cause. Here they do wondrous things with dead chicken.

It is called Pollo al carbon, a type of roasted chicken, but not cooked with any type of flame. It must be roasted on a wood fire. And then there is the seasoning…. My Spanish is not good enough to discover much of it, but I know the marinade is chiefly orange juice.

We have recently returned from the chicken joint on Calle Benito Juarez and we need a nap. We are likely going to skip supper tonight and go directly to the hot tub where we will watch the sun sink into the sea.

I am really disappointed in myself, but my attention seems to have slid toward gluttony and other pleasures of the flesh. Already we have planned breakfast. Awakening slowly in The Minnow to the sound of the waves, we will lightly pan fry in butter some huge, fresh local scrimp, some asparagus, and a few new potatoes. Yes, that is breakfast, or perhaps we should call it brunch.

We promise to do better….in a day or so. Meanwhile, every day here on the beach is an awful struggle.

Los Tres Vagabundos gordos

Pollo Muerto

What are we going to eat? An old comic reply: “Dead chicken”. Then, the chicken somehow loses some off its taste appeal. But, here in the Mexican town of Puerto Penasco, we believe the lowly bird died for a good cause. Here they do wondrous things with dead chicken.

It is called Pollo al carbon, a type of roasted chicken, but not cooked with any type of flame. It must be roasted on a wood fire. And then there is the seasoning…. My Spanish is not good enough to discover much of it, but I know the marinade is chiefly orange juice.

We have recently returned from the chicken joint on Calle Benito Juarez and we need a nap. We are likely going to skip supper tonight and go directly to the hot tub where we will watch the sun sink into the sea.

I am really disappointed in myself, but my attention seems to have slid toward gluttony and other pleasures of the flesh. Already we have planned breakfast. Awakening slowly in The Minnow to the sound of the waves, we will lightly pan fry in butter some huge, fresh local scrimp, some asparagus, and a few new potatoes. Yes, that is breakfast, or perhaps we should call it brunch.

We promise to do better….in a day or so. Meanwhile, every day here on the beach is an awful struggle.

Los Tres Vagabundos gordos