Zero moose

I looked everywhere today, in their last remaining habitat, for signs of my favorite woodland animal. No luck.

Not in the wide valleys and brushy meadows in Waterton park, or in Glacier National Park.

Not along the Pend Oreille River on its course through northeast Washington and into Idaho. Not along the Kettle River from Canada through Curlew and south, even though we saw a lot of the habitat that moose love.

Not even around the beaver ponds in the highlands above the Pend Oreille river, on the drive to Gardner Cave. The ranger there said she's often seen moose at the beaver ponds, especially in the early morning and late evening hours, but we couldn't wait until the perfect time.

After our cave walk we spent some time at the beaver ponds. It's one of the most peaceful places I've ever seen. I sat beside one of the ponds and wished I could have stayed there for a couple of hours. The light was so beautiful in the late afternoon, and the clouds were reflected in the still surface of the pond.

It would have been the perfect place to be, if there had just been a moose.

Fate, interrupted

We came across this old barn today, after a drive through the countryside south of Colville. It has the look of a work in progress, or a work abandoned. Too many barns have met this fate, being ripped apart for the sake of their beautiful, weathered wood.

What a sad sight, standing now...  but half gone, half there.  The roof is intact, but with the walls gone, it doesn't stand a chance. The winter snows will finish the job eventually.

Surrounded by vines

Here we are in the Canadian Okanagan wine country, surrounded by vines and wine grapes of a dozen varieties. They even grew on this trellis, which shaded the outdoor patio at a winery restaurant where we had dinner the first night of our trip.

But these blooms that grew on the side of the vineyard road completely stole the show.
Sometimes the unexpected is right behind you... all you need to do is turn around.

Salmon sign

We stopped in Greenwood, B.C. to find cold drinks, but first we took a slow drive around town to look at the old buildings and charming Main Street. And around one corner I spotted this wonderful sign... with a delivery truck parked smack in front of it. Hmmm... 

So, all we had to do was wait for the truck to move, which gave us time to wander through the historical museum, find those cold drinks, and walk up the hill to photograph the old customs building. 

The sign was worth the wait.

Summer road trip

Eight days

Eighteen hundred miles
Four people (two of them sisters)

Two countries

Two provinces

Three states

Three national parks
Seven motel rooms in seven towns

One ferry ride

One limestone cave

Three beaver houses

One ghost town

Three historical museums

Four hikes
Two dams

647 photographs

No moose (sigh...)

Fly fishing diaries | the cabin fly shop

This weekend was the first family weekend at the cabin in almost a year. It was also the first time we've ever had such a big group of fishermen there. So we launched our canoe, my sister brought her kayak, and we borrowed a paddle boat from friends up the lake.

Saturday afternoon, when the water skiers were disappearing from the lake in search of their dinner, the fishermen reclaimed the lake. And on our deck, the fly boxes and lures came out for inspection, Dave and Jeromy and Bob passing their boxes around. And I heard the age-old question that all fly fishermen ask: What flies do you think will work today?

Ella was fascinated by the display of feathery bugs on hooks, the subtle colors, the different shapes. Her Uncle Dave was happy to answer her questions and let her touch the flies in his box. But I think at her age, the beautiful, colorful lures used for spin casting were more to her liking!

 

Bob rigged up a fishing pole for his granddaughter, and took her down to the shore to practice her casting. She is the youngest member of a family that loves to fish, and is already an eager student.

The Vivster

Vivian is almost one year old, growing so fast, changing constantly. Like her sister, Ella, she is endless fascinating to me. Funny and wise, with an intense stare that makes you feel like you're the only person in her small life. I am smitten.

Before we came to the lake, my sister picked a bucketful of the sweet, juicy yellow plums that grow at the farm. Vivian reached out with tiny hands when mom offered her a plum, and didn't let go of it. She gummed it and waved it around, getting juice all over mom's pants before suddenly letting it fly, straight into mom's lap.

She's pretty happy to munch away at an apple, too... as long as someone with bigger teeth makes a hole for her first!

Blackberry pie... oh, my!

All those berries picked fresh on Thursday went into the freezer, bagged up for pies. Two big bags went with us to the cabin for Moore family weekend. Yesterday we had too much fun playing with baby Vivian and watching Ella learn to swim, and sending the fishermen (and women) out in various boats to try their hand at catching the perch, bass, and rainbow trout in the lake, to even think about baking pies. Kathie, my eldest sister, mixed up dough for two pies, and this afternoon I blended two filling recipes together into what I hoped would end up being the perfect sweet, not-too-runny, blackberry pie.

Dave found the recipes for me, searching online for the best options, and making notes. He takes his blackberry pie very seriously! My final recipe used both flour (not cornstarch) and instant tapioca mixed with sugar in a big bowl, then I added the berries (9 cups for my deep-dish pie plate) and lemon zest and lemon juice, and stirred occasionally for 20 minutes to allow the sugar to start breaking down the berries and making juice. While that magical chemical reaction took place, I rolled out the bottom crust (with help from Ella, my 5-year-old great niece), rolled it up on my antique rolling pin, then poured the whole gooey purple mess into the pie crust. I chose to do a full top rather than a lattice top; easier to do at the cabin with limited counter space. Ella watched the whole process and asked questions; this little girl is very interested in cooking and baking already... perhaps she'll be a master chef one day.

Into the oven it went to bake for about 80 minutes, longer than the hour specified in the recipe. Finally the juices started to bubble out of the slits, and after leaving it for 20 minutes to cool on the counter, it went into the refrigerator for a couple of hours.

Finally came the moment of truth: when I cut into the pie, will it be set up enough? Well, no.  It was a bit juicy, but not bad. The flavors were wonderful and the pie was judged a success.

The next day I mixed up the second pie and made a few changes to the filling, adding an extra tablespoon of flour and the same of tapioca. My second, slightly shallower dish needed about 8.5 cups of berries, and baked about the same amount of time. This pie set up perfectly, but it was not as sweet as the first pie. We didn't mind... with the Tillamook Vanilla Bean ice cream, it was a delicious combination. And it looked pretty good, too, especially on the rustic table my brother-in-law Bob made for us.

So next week I'll bake Pie #3, and will tweak the recipe again. I'll post the final recipe in my blog as soon as my own personal food critics give me the OK. Stay tuned...

The faces of Ella

This girl, this almost 6-year-old daughter of my niece, Anna, is a mercurial girl... full of life, full of contrast, bright and funny and lovely. It's a joy just being near her, to watch her laugh and tease.

She's photogenic and a natural in front of the camera, but doesn't have that posed smile that too many kids develop. She's just herself.

This morning she splashed in the lake, gradually getting more comfortable in the water, and before she knew it, she was wet to her bottom. And that inspired endless giggles from her (and from her aunt).

Berries on my cereal

It's truly one of the best things about August in the Northwest:  the coming of the blackberries.

Yes, I wail about how fast the canes grow, how they seem to grow over the fence in the blink of an eye (or at least overnight). And that I write about this so often, I have a blog label called "Blackberry Wars."

In July all is forgiven. I stop pruning except for the new shoots (which won't bear fruit until next year), and watch the flowers turn to tiny green berries, then gradually plump up and turn deep purple in the warmth of the long days of summer.

A few days ago, Dave mowed the back pasture, isolating the berry patches, then mowing wide paths through them to make it easier to pick berries. Kathie has taken over the picking chores, walking outside to pick a bowl of berries when the dew is still fresh on the grass. Yesterday morning she surprised a doe, grazing on the newly mown grass. There's plenty to go around, both grass and berries... I just hope the doe stays out of my neighbor's spectacular flower gardens.

Today our breakfast cereal was doubly delicious:  warm-from-the-sun blackberries from my own pastures, and raspberries from our other sister's farm on Vashon. These are my favorite berries, doubly special when mixed together.