Moab, we love thee.

I'm going to take you on a little travelogue into a world that defies all scenic imagination.

Utah's Canyonlands.  Unbelievable even when you're standing there in the middle of it with your mouth gaping open.  And included in our latest trip, were a few happy hours with the three most awesome siblings and siblings-in-law who conveniently live along the route as we travel to this favorite vacation land.  Score, score, and score!

Moab, I am proud to say, lies deeply in my roots.  My very own grandparents, Emerald and Geneva Stout, lived there in the 40s, 50s, and early 60s, before it was discovered by air conditioning and tourism.  My vague, early memories recall an average small, sleepy town with one main street, complete with a corner drug store and probably a grocery store, gas station and a five-and-dime.   They owned a small farm within a few blocks of the town on a dusty road near a creek.  I remember very little, sad to say.  But I do remember the giant black walnut tree that stood near the house and although the farm was replaced over half a century ago with a school, the remains of the tree still stand.

Today it sits in a dog park.

The dusty road is now paved, but the creek is there.  What I wouldn't give to go back in time and revisit my grandpa's farm, confront his turkeys that terrorized me at age three, and eat the fresh peaches with the sticky juice dribbling down my neck.  

Then

Now

Today Moab is a tourist's love affair.  Outdoor sports like mountain biking, four-wheeling, rock climbing, etc. have awakened the town and it is decked out with all the cute shops, galleries, and restaurants that I, as a female, cannot help but adore.  If only all towns could follow suit.  And then, there is the scenery......  Oh.My.Gosh.  Within a short drive in every direction we have the wonders of Canyonland, Arches National Park, Monument Valley, and incredible vistas as far as the eye can see.  Picture in your mind the Roadrunner and Wile E. Coyote chasing through those canyons, cliffs, and plateaus, and you kind of get a hint of it.  To THIS Pacific Northwest native, southeast Utah might as well be on the moon.  Talk about contrast from home.  But enough talk ..... let's look at some pictures, thanks to my photographer husband.






Our wheels, whose purpose is road trips such as this, against a sampling of the famous red cliffs.

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Below is Corona Arch, gracing the end of a 1.5 mile hike (each way).  Worth every step.

This arch has recently acquired a dubious history because of this now-gone-viral video:

Hence, there have been some horrible accidents there because of copycat foolishness.  In fact one such accident happened on the day before our visit, requiring a team of rescuers and a life-flight helicopter.  I will spare you the photo of the blood on the rock floor below the arch.  As far as we've been able to find out online, at least initially, he survived.  But the 22 year old who tried it last year, didn't.

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Into Arches National Park we go and our first stop is Balanced Rock.  The picture does not do it justice.  The thing is HUGE.

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Below is Double Arch, one of my favorites.  The little green speck is me.  What you don't see is the deep gulf behind me, between the two arches.  

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Then there's Sandstone Arch, and the best part about it was the short hike to get to it through narrow slot-canyon-like rock walls.

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It's incredible that Landscape Arch is still with us.  A large chunk fell from it in the early 90s.  We did this hike later in the day and the wind was fierce.  But we made the effort because it may not be there next time.

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Mesa Arch is about an hour out of Moab in Canyonlands National Park.  We discovered this one-of-a-kind wonder a couple of years ago.  It's a short quarter mile hike from the parking lot and as you begin to see the low arch, you think ..... cool, there it is.  But as you get up to it, you realize in a chilling, jaw-dropping sort of way, that just below and behind it, the entire world disappears into a vast abyss.   Previously unbeknown to us, this arch has a world-wide following.  Photographers come to capture it at dawn because the rising sun lights up the underneath of the arch.  So of course, Husband had to give it a go.

We got up at 4:15 a.m. and drove out there in the dark.  On our previous trip, we were there late in the day when it was getting dark.  It was then when I had my first and what I determined would be my ONLY encounter with a rattlesnake and so THIS time, as Husband trotted off on the short walk to the arch, I remained in the car waiting for daylight.  As I waited, more and more cars pulled up and finally when a humongous tour bus full of camera-toting Asians arrived..... I figured all snakes must have fled the premises.  So I walked out to join Husband at what had become Grand Central.  People were everywhere with their cameras and tripods, all poised for the sun to creep over the horizon.  It was tricky to get some shots with 60+ people crowding the scene.  But in spite of the mob and the haziness, Husband managed some good ones.  On the walk back to the car, another photographer told us it's like this every morning, spring to fall.  Who knew?

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Lots of petroglyphs.   They are supposed to tell stories of successful hunts, but I kind of wonder if ancient cave-kids simply got bored and found something to pass the time ...... probably earning a "time-out" for drawing on the walls.

In addition to a few motel/hotels en route and a homey church service on Sunday morning in Torrey, Utah, we camped four nights just outside of Moab at an immaculate although somewhat noisy campground.  I highly recommend Moab Valley RV Resort (we were in a tent), just be prepared for the highway noise and fellow campers who don't realize how sound carries.

We forgot to take a picture so I stole this one off their website.

   

In May, the summer heat has not yet arrived, making camping a terrific option compared to the high-priced hotels in town.  Each morning we'd head out to experience the sights with hikes, drives, and more gawking at the beauty, then return to our camp swimming pool and hot tub where we met and shared our day with people from various parts of the world.  Then we'd hit the showers and a clean set of clothes and head into town for dinner.  Life does not get better than that.

                       Icamping.

This will go down as one of the good ones, as far as vacations go.  And we WILL return in a year or two, for our next Moab-fix.

If you've had the means, but haven't been there, please excuse me as I pause and stare at you for a moment.  I would be feeling a mixture of dismay in that I CAN'T BELIEVE anyone would waste time in places like Hawaii and neglect THIS .....and envy that you have your initial never-to-forget, eye-popping introduction ahead of you.  (Kind of like the envy I feel for anyone who has not yet seen either of the latest two movie versions of Pride and Prejudice.  There's just nothing like the first time.)  But in this case, the second, third, fourth, etc. etc. times are lacking for nothing because there's always something new and incredible to see in this land-like-no-other.  And we haven't even talked about the BIG canyons (to which we didn't go this time).... like Bryce, Zion, and that little number called GRAND.  Another trip, another blog post .......

Our Attempt at the Portland 4T Hike

When the rain stops, the sky clears, and it's Friday when Husband occasionally doesn't have to work ...... we play.

Things we like to do:  Ride bikes .... shop ..... hike ....... road trips .... and, um ....  Okay, so our list is small.  Always needing to burn some calories, I investigated a hike I'd heard about, presented it to Husband, and got the green light.  The Portland 4T.

The 4Ts are trail, tram, trolley, and train ... in that order, and it went like this:

We started at the zoo, or rather in the zoo parking lot where we stashed our car.  Then we headed south on foot across the freeway and up a trail that was still soggy from the downpours of the two previous days.  Stupid me for not thinking about mud in my choice of footwear.

This trail wound up through typical lush, soaked-in-green Oregon forest.

 Beyond this initial trail, we had the option of more trails or streets.  We chose the streets and left the mud behind.  There are 4T signs along the way, not to be confused with SW Trail signs which promptly led us off in the wrong direction down a road near where I lived during my high school years.  I love these older neighborhoods with unique designer homes that were obviously built before the concept of production building and "cookie cutter" sameness and before anyone had thought through the eventual need for a garage and actual parking.  Each home is a work of art, with colonials, craftsmans, victorians, cape cods, moderns, tudors, etc., all perched along the narrow roads.  No two are alike and I love them all.

After discovering our mistake we headed back up and arrived at Council Crest Park, the highest point in Portland, where the radio towers puncture the clouds.  The view is spectacular.

And when you are at Council Crest Park, you MUST stand in the very center of the rock pavilion and declare boldly, "Portland Rocks!"   I did not make this up.  Just do it and see what happens.

Then we wound down through more delightful homes wherein, I'm sure, people live happy/cozy lives, and made it to OHSU among Portland's massive complex of hospitals, medical school, and other health-related institutions, and to......

The tram (2nd T) ..... which gave us a free ride down to the valley floor (you only pay going up) and then we did another half mile walk to the Spaghetti Factory which we sadly discovered was closed for the afternoon.  Darn.  So we caught the trolley heading downtown (3rd T).  Now here's a curiosity:  You are supposed to buy a ticket at a machine at the trolley stop, which we did ....... but no one ever collected it.  We never even saw a driver.

The trolley took us (and a friendly but very loud woman with her "therapy/service" dog NAMED  GINGER AND SHE IS FIVE AND A HALF YEARS OLD, AND THEY'VE BEEN TOGETHER SINCE SHE (the dog) WAS TEN WEEKS OLD AND SHE'S THE SMARTEST DOG IN THE WORRRRLD, BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH ............, to the grand old County library on 10th, where we escaped and began a search for food.  A few minutes away, we found a block full of sidewalk food venders and decided on Thai.  Then we found a low stone wall on which to sit, well away from the scruffy looking fellow asleep on a bench.

The food?  Meh.  It was so-so.  But the little gal inside was sweet.

We then headed a couple of blocks back to catch the Max .... Portland's public transit train ... AKA the last T. Again we dutifully bought our tickets from the machine and again, no contact with a driver and no one collecting tickets.  You have to wonder if we were the only dopes on the train who paid for the ride, because you just walk on and walk off.  No wonder it needs to be subsidized!  It can't be making it in fares!

The Max dropped us off in an underground station where we boarded elevators that brought us back up to daylight and ..... VOILA!  The zoo parking lot!  Right where they said it would be.  Who would have thought!?

All in all, it took us about four hours with about five miles of walking, and we're giving it a thumbs up.  You get woodsy forest, fascinating homes, gorgeous views, the city, and a few rumpled panhandlers tossed in for good measure.

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Tips:
1. Don't depend on the signs.  Either carry a good map or access to the internet and/or a GPS.  You will need it.
2. They sell fudge at the Zoo shop.  Just saying.
3. You may or may not decide to buy trolley or train tickets, but you didn't hear it from me.
4.  Pass on the Thai food.  You're better off with a burger.
5.  Plan for mud.  This is Oregon.  It rains here.

(Update:  I heard they do random checks and there's a nasty fine if they catch you without a ticket.)

Home-made clothes and root beer

(I was rereading some old drafts for posts never published.  Found this one, dusted it off, and added some pictures and updates.)

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I am reminded again why I don't sew much anymore.  I used to sew everything.

My sewing history goes back to about age 12 or 13 when I learned from a patient combination of my aunt, home-ec teachers, 4-H teacher, and grandmother who gave me a used machine.  I have always loved clothes and for many years, this was my only way of having any.  I remember gleaning fabric from a couple of old wool skirts found in a trunk in our basement, to sew some culottes, which were popular back then, so that I'd have something new to wear to high school.  If I didn't sew it, I didn't have it.  I made pep-club uniforms, boy scout shirts, costumes, and even a swim suit which proved to be a mistake.  I've sewn for hire and for favors.  I've made countless window coverings of almost every type, quilts, cushions, and have even re-upholstered a boat.

(Husband says I need more pictures in my posts, so here you go.)

I sewed my prom dress, my simple wedding dress, and even my mother-in-law's Mother-of-the-Groom dress.

Us, many years ago, sandwiched between the folks.

Mother-In-Law, in her sage green dress, is standing next to the groom

 who was still in his short-lived post-mission-extreme-hair phase.

My step mother, next to me in her lovely non-homemade turquoise dress, unknowingly did not comply with my attempted color scheme.  Oh well.  (Thanks, Lins, for cleaning up the old photo.)

When I had children, I sewed everything they wore too.

And of course the Husband sported many home-made shirts.

It was just what one did if one couldn't afford to shop ready-made.

Not anymore.

I recently decided to re-use some fabric from a failed window shade project to make a new duvet cover for our bed.  I pieced together the top of the duvet and then headed out to the distant BIG fabric store to look for the backing.  Good freakin' heavens!  The cost of fabric is ridiculous!  Get this:  It would be cheaper if I bought a new set of king-sized sheets and used that for the bottom piece, than to buy the fabric.  And if I didn't already have the fabric for the top piece, it'd be cheaper to just buy a finished duvet.  How can that be??

How can unused fabric cost more BEFORE it is made into something, than after?  Doesn't labor count?

The sad thing is, if fabric cost what it does now, back when I was a teenager, I would have never learned how to sew.  I couldn't have afforded it!  It is no longer cheap, nor practical, to make one's own clothes and my frugal-to-my-bones nature is aghast.   And if you do take out a second mortgage to invest in some fabric for a project .... once that project is done, you'd better be happy with it because you ain't taking it back.  And need I mention the price of patterns?

Hence, I fear that sewing will become a lost skill.  Like the home-made root beer my dad used to make (not the dry ice variety, but that which you bottled and kept in the basement like wine) ..... no one does it anymore.  Sewing used to be a big part of my life.  Not that I miss it, because, to be honest, I don't.  But I see the value of what it taught me for those many years.

So now I'm looking for sheets of the right color, for the right price, to finish my project.  And I WILL find them because another skill I have honed to near-perfection, is ...... shopping.   And now that I've discovered and embraced RESALE shopping .... my frugal bones are ecstatic.

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Update:  I ended up using an old sheet from my own linen closet, made the duvet, and now it remains stuffed on a shelf in my closet because the darn thing is too heavy to sleep under.  THAT is the problem with home-made ..... no returns.