Crooked River

Fallen forest and fireweed

A few living sentries among the many dead

On Monday, J had his last furlough day, so he picked out a new trail for us to explore. It's about an hour's drive from us, and is a place that one of his fly-fishing compadres had liked fishing. The Crooked River Trail area was swept by the Pioneer fire in 2016. . .a fact we didn't realize until we got there. The Pioneer Fire lasted a long time, had Boise in smoke on and off for months, and devastated thousands of acres.

It was interesting to see how the land works at recovering. The river seems alive and well, and the trail winds along the river, sometimes at rivers edge, sometimes high above it.

The drive is absolutely beautiful Idaho mountain terrain until you get to the fire ravaged parts. But after you get over the first gasp at the tree devastation, you start to notice a froth of pink flowers along the forest floor. This is fire weed (Epilobium angustifolium), a member of the Primrose family. It is prolific. A closer look reveals a wide variety of wildflowers, whose seeds have been waiting waiting waiting in the soil on the forest floor for just this opportunity for sun.

The Crooked River and downstream

It's really odd how a few trees survived the fire that took most. Their trunks are invariably fire-scarred, but for some reason they survived where most did not. It reminds me of the Ericoid mycorrhizae I worked with that allowed some plants to thrive where others could not even survive. Different thing altogether of course, but nature's mechanisms are varied, enigmatic, and understudied.

Jasper feeling the heat

In some areas, it's clear that the fire just didn't penetrate completely, but you can see in the distance, that it was was completely devastating.

No post is complete without an image of Sir Jasper of Rockridge. The panting is emblematic of our return hike. We got a late start in the morning and it was 92F when we got back to the car. Not a terrible temperature in this climate (it's a dry heat), especially given that tomorrow and the following few days are expected to be in triple digits. But the trail is so exposed because of the extensive tree death. Sun for wildflowers=excessive radiation for mammals. We stopped in Idaho City for an ice cream cone, where the shop owners were clearly taking the pandemic seriously. A sweet thing in a fraught time. On the less positive front, I just read that a dog died of Covid19 yesterday. Bad news for all of us. It's one thing to be careless with our own species, but others deserve better.

Two early canisters. Thrown. Decals. Cone 10 reduction.

I have been remiss about the clay. For anyone looking for pots, I apologize. I'm including an image of some early work. I'm hoping to get back to the studio soon.

Prison, pots and food

Under Jasper's Protection

Sometimes it feels like we're prisoners here. A nice prison, but it feels like we are trapped. Here's how lovely it is. . . .Jasper's ears from the treehouse. This has become our evening ritual. We take wine (or wine diluted with sparkling water) to the deck with smackerals and compare our days. Jasper sits watch. Or rather, lays down and watches. He is quite vigilant.

I looked at another house today. It is lower maintenance than this one, an easy bike ride or walk to parks. Here's the thing. It doesn't have a treehouse. And it already has 4 bids on it. There isn't even a "For Sale" sign outside yet. That's how the housing market is in Boise.

So we're stuck in this dump. (That's a joke).

Under the Scot's Pine's Protection

So this is what the view looks like, if we look up. Oh, Sure. We can see the sunset should we desire. But it is this pine and it's shade (and dropped needles and pinecones) that protect us from the Western Sun and allow us to sit in the treehouse at 6 in the evening.

Squat White Pot

But. I should also mention pots. I have made a couple that don't embarrass me in the past couple of weeks. Both hand-built. (I need to get back to the wheel, don't I?) But I love these forms. What I don't love is glazing, so I've sort of given up (for now), and am sticking with Matt White, cone 5.

Then, there are the bud vases. The one shown is one that was larger than I meant it to be. . . sort of between a bud vase and a massive one. But still. It's a good size for certain things, including the flowering species I have at hand just now. July.  The woman who planned this garden was so adept. Something is flowering, beautifully, from mid-January through a hard frost.

Larger than planned vase

detail from larger-than-planned vase

My horticulture interests have always been dominated by food crops. My thought process is that food plants (raspberries, strawberries, blueberries, tomatoes, basil) are also beautiful so why bother with all of this flower stuff? But I have been tutored in this by the previous owner of the house. While I miss (terribly) my food crops, I can't help but appreciate the fact that there is no time when I can't gather a satisfying bunch of flowers. . . .highly varied. . .in this yard.

What to do with the first dribble of tomatoes

So. Now let's talk Food. We have tomatoes dribbling in. We've only had a half dozen or so, to date, and the basil is taking it's sweet time too. Still. I have to tell you that the little salad pictured (tomatoes, a firm-ripe avocado, and a dusting of salt and pepper) is one of the best things I have EVER tasted. Oh. My. Goodness. It was so delicious. Served with a pizza on the grill.

Some prison, eh? It's hard to stop the angst. I voice my gratitude (aloud and to myself or Jasper) constantly, and yet still, it's hard to not feel imprisoned. Some Prison. Next time we can talk about the zucchini.

Some great and not so great thoughts. . . .

A view from the Elkhorn Crest Trail

Jasper, during our lunch break

Shooting Star (Dodecatheon hendersonii)

I decided to download some images from our recent trip to Baker City and Beyond. That's partly because I don't want to think about what's happening in Boise right now.

More on that later.

Anyway, vistas like this were abundant, and the views close-up were even more wonderful. And yes, that is snow on those mountains. . .patches of it everywhere in mid-July. I can't tell you exactly why that was so heartening to see, but it was. This hike, last Tuesday, was mostly with just the three of us. The three other parties we ran across were observant of distancing and mask rules, and here's the funny thing about humans. When you're out in a lonely place like this, a few humans are delightful to interact with (briefly), exchange small delights (one couple had to hide from a mountain goat and her baby), and move on. But when there are droves of humans, they seem to forget all manners and respect. As the Navajos say (according to Tony Hillerman), "They act like they have no family".

More on that later.

Anyway, here is our lovely Jasper (who is inexplicably camera shy), as well as a couple of images of the Shooting Star wildflowers that were blanketing areas of the trail. Unfortunately, I thought I had gotten an image of the "blanket" (hundreds of flowers), but we were in a pretty big hurry to get out of that particular place, since the abundant resident mosquitoes found us fair game whenever we stopped. Fortunately we were able to hike above mosquito territory, and after beautiful views of a couple of lakes were on to the mountain vistas.

Flowering in Spring

This is all in sharp contrast to my local hike with Jasper this morning. When I arrived at an 8th Street foothills hike at 7:10am, the place was full of cars. I reasoned that many folks take bike rides together, and most travel singly in their vehicles because of pandemic rules. I donned my mask around my neck (ready for quick action as needed), and took off with my backpack and Jasper. It was so depressing that so many of the folks I met on the trail had no provision for masking themselves. I'd say 80% were not even carrying masks, in spite of the order, and most seemed oblivious. It hurt my heart that we seem to care so little for the health of others. Ada County is in the midst of a huge spike in numbers.  And Boise, Sweet Boise, is suffering the horrible fate that success and discovery brings. We are being overwhelmed with that most successful parasite, Human Beings. With numbers bring disdain, and I'm afraid that ultimately, even if the pandemic ends, we will have become crowded and lacking in care and compassion.

So. I will stay ever closer to home. And I will be grateful that I have such a place to which I can retreat. 

Almost 2 years later

A view from the patio of our "new" house.

[Due to a quirk of Blogger's software, I lost the original version of this, which was my first post.]

We found ourselves in the frenzied housing market of summer 2018 when we returned, so of course, we bought a house. After a year of being nomads, going from one long or short term Airbnb to the next, we were so ready. Once again, we bought a house for the gardens, which were the best planned and most complex I've ever bought. I've made some, but never become a caretaker of someone else's careful planning. Heavy on the perennials and specimen plants, light on the edibles. A good challenge for me.

We did not pay nearly enough attention to the needs of the house, which while formidable, are now mostly taken care of. 

Jasper: An 8-year-old retired working man. . .

Moxie. Lost to us in November 2019 at 10 years old

The dog door goes in this weekend, which should make Jasper's life much easier. Not that he's complaining. Our newest family member (alas, we lost Moxie way too soon), he is an easy-to-please dog. He is our first male dog, though we did have a male ferret years ago. His name was The Artful Dodger; and I find myself calling Jasper "Dodger" more often than a younger self would have.

Is it just me, or is the Blogger format really tough to work with? 

But I digress. As previously stated, we bought this place for the garden. And after a good bit of jostling, we are mostly comfortable here. The yard is too big for me to adequately care for, and yet. . .

 

Late July in Idaho

Porcelain buttons, nichrome wire fired in

Little hand-built porcelain pitcher

We are moving into the dog days of summer, and I'm realizing that I've done a worse-than-usual job of documenting my work. I guess that happens when one closes a business, and just works as one wants to. A luxury, but hard to keep track of.

The temperatures are reliably into the 90's now, and triple digits will be with us soon. The nights still cool a good 30-35 degrees F, which is what saves us. It means that dog walking and gardening are necessarily done in the mornings, and past noon one is best working in the basement on any number of projects, from sewing to painting to my favorite, clay. I made this little pitcher a couple of months ago. I fired it twice, which is why I think that some of the glaze is bubbly looking. Cone 5 porcelain, textured with bisque rollers that I like to make from found objects and bits of leaves and other organic matter that I find while walking Jasper. What a dog he is. He took off after a coyote when J was walking him a couple of days ago. He rarely breaks into a run, being retired and all, but he is occasionally inspired.

 On the left is a hand-built bowl. . .perfect cereal size, made of cone 5 B-mix with grog and glazed with Floating Blue, a recommended glaze from JH, who is a wonderful artist and high school teacher. I like it, though blue is almost never my first choice. Green, of course, is. Plant scientist turned artist, and the plants just can't leave me alone.

Spring in Appalachia. Porcelain. 6 X 8"

These wall pieces were experiments with unglazed porcelain. Believe it or not, they are both that bright white color, but I must have edited them differently when I downloaded them. The first is a piece I made for my friend, K, in an exchange where I received some beautiful handmade copper and sterling earrings.

Poppies. Porcelain. 8 x 8"

Poppies is one of two 8x8 tiles that I just delivered to Baker City, Oregon (a nice little getaway for J and I in the time of Covid) for a show they call the Biggest Little Show, still set to open on August 7th.

I hope they can do it. Baker City looked like a ghost town a week ago, though we found a great little AirBnb that welcomed us and Jasper. Jasper is far and away the more mannerly of the three of us, but try to tell folks that!

We had a spectacular hike on Elkhorn Crest Trail, above Anthony Lakes. It was our first foray into the world beyond Boise since the Covid lock-down on March 15. It really was nice to get away, and wonderful to get back to our spacious shaded nest. We all say it all the time, but it bears repeating. Strange Times.