The Wren and the Elk

United Spiritual Gathering Councilfire Part One:
We drove to Neah Bay Friday afternoon, spending the morning packing for camping and food prep, etc. I let Pearl drive from just before the Hood Canal Bridge to Port Angeles, then let her rest, then around Lake Crescent to just past Sekiu. She was doing fine, but being the responsible person in the passenger seat puts me in a wearying high state of vigilance.

After worrying about rain, as in recent years there has been a lot of bucketing rain, we never had a drop of rain the whole weekend. Sunday the sun even came out.

The United Spiritual Gathering Councilfire has been held on the Makah reservation on Hobuck Beach Campground for over forty years, I believe. Participants are guests on the reservation. We feel welcome and honored to be there. Here is a story as I remember it, told by Scott Tyler:

The Wren and the Elk:
The Small Forest Animals enjoyed singing, but they had a problem. Whenever they sang in the forest, along came the Elk, tall and imposing, calling out, "Who is singing in the forest? Stop singing or I will stomp on you!" Then all the Small Forest Animals would immediatly stop singing and scurry away into the woods. Finally, having had enough of this, all the Small Forest Animals met and consulted about what to do about the Elk.

They chose the very Smallest of the Forest Animals, the wren, to perform a special mission. They began their song, and sure enough, here came the Elk, stomping up. "Who is singing? No singing in the forest! Stop at once or I will . . . " and at that point the Wren flew up the nose of the Elk. The Elk began to sneeze. He sneezed so much that he fainted away and fell down, vanquished. The Wren emerged, showered, and all the Small Forest Animals gathered again for their song.

Jammin'? Too Bizarre!

Jam N Tube Part Two:

A jam tasting is always an elegant affair, but the setting on Sunday was informal. In the spirit of Unity in Diversity there were jams brought in from everywhere. A true variety of jams, of course tasted on the premier of toasts--a good, basic whole wheat bread with just a hint of butter, not to obscure the delicate flavor of the jam. There was a modest gooseberry, a robust strawberry, quite a few middle-of-the road raspberries, a succinct currant jelly [brought in just in time] and rather a pretentious huckleberry, as well as a good spread of basic marmelades.

Ah, the art of jam tasting! A bracing Earl Grey tea to cleanse the palate. An appreciative sniff, a tentative lick, then to roll the whole bite of jam and toast around to savor the essence of all the delicate flavors. A devotee of jam can divine the year the preserves were put up, the county of origin, and a real expert might identify the actual patch where the berries were picked. Jam tasting can be truly an exquisite experience.

There was some music playing nearby, but I was too involved with the jam to really appreciate it.

Not everyone attending the Jam N Tube on Sunday may have noticed the Jam Tasting, but I had a wonderful time.

The Couch Tuber

Pearl, Enayat and I went to the Jam N Tube Saturday, a fundraiser for the Chilean Temple, for the Baha'is, and a secular fund-raiser as well. I dithered all day about whether to go tubing and finally decided to go for it, wearing my swimsuit, lightweight cotton pants that I expected to dry easily, and a life preserver provided by the Lo's, surprisingly one my size. Fred towed us around the bay, out by their waterfront house beyond Purdy.

We had a sort of tube/inflatable raft with a spot for three passengers. I was expecting speed, but my ordinarily sedentary body and brain were startled and completely unprepared for the up and down, sideways movement of bumping along the choppy water, and by crossing the boat's wake. My partners in the raft, fit thirty-somethings, were having a wonderful time. I was in mortal terror.

Reason, which told me I was quite safe with a very low center of gravity, and handles which my arms are still sore from gripping to save my life, but reason fled, and my brain stem was immediately concerned with imminent death. We had prearranged signals for "speed up", "slow down", and "stop!!" Unfortunately, making a signal involved releasing my death grip on the handles.

At last I made the throat-cutting gesture to stop, and transferred to the boat, feeling the great euphoria of having survived--euphoria which is the bread-and-butter of amusement parks. I am easily amused. Pearl, who was riding in the boat, transferred into the tube, and had a great time.

The outcome? A lot of fun, a new appreciation of the silliness of most anxiety, sore muscles everywhere, and a sunburnt left knee.

My Daughter's Back ["What About My Back?"]

I'm a'going fishin' all of the time, baby's going fishing too.
Bet your life, your sweet wife is gonna catch more fish than you.
Sayin' many fish bite if you've got good bait,
Here's a little something I would like to relate,
I'm a goin' fishing, yes I'm going fishin' and my baby's going fishing, too.

It feels like I have my daughter back. It feels good to spend time together. In December when we visited Bellingham with my daughter and her husband in back, one big heap of sullen mope between them, I thought, "I'm never taking them on a trip again." I just didn't know how bad it was with them, how depressed Pearl was. Now we're planning the trip to Neah Bay, and I mentioned the Jam N Tube-- "sounds like fun!" I've been taking her for private drive lessons at 911 Driving School and she's actually driving on city streets and doing well. Smiling, revamping her novels she wrote growing up, doing her art.

On my last day off, Nick showed up and Pearl drove us to Titlow Beach Park, [in her youth, the "Park With The Three Slides"] where we walked the trails and watched the sunset, the rising near-full moon. "I see the moon and the moon sees me, down through the leaves of the old oak tree. Please let the light that shines on me, shine on the one I love." "Shine on, shine on harvest moon, for me and my gal. I ain't had no loving since January, February, June or July."

One Week To Neah Bay

I just switched my Weather Street link over to Neah Bay, WA, watching the weather for the United Spiritual Gathering Councilfire August 14, 15, 16. Looks a bit rainy in the coming week. Hope it clears up next weekend. I'm going, and I don't want to be drenched. Pearl's coming, too.

More later: must go mind my cream of yam soup.

The Garden Kitchen

For many weeks I've been pondering how to make a tapestry [pictorial quilt] on the subject of whole-foods, plant based eating. Visually, vegetables are beautiful, but just a series of vegetables & fruits would be boring. There needed to be a story.

Mentally this morning I was writing to my mom, and thinking how to talk about the diet thing, and came up with some whimsy which might work well for a quilt. It also has kind of a children's book sound.

In The Garden Kitchen
We Eat:

Avocados, not Armadillos
Beets, not Bears
Cherries, not Camels
Dandelions, not Duckbills
Escarole, not Escargot
Figs, not Flamingos
Gooseberries, not Giraffes
Huckleberries, not Hedgehogs
Ices, not Iguanas
Jam, not Jellyfish
Kale, not Koalas
Lettuce, not Llamas
Mushrooms, not Mice
Nectarines, not Newts
Onions, not Owls
Peaches, not Pandas
Quinoa, not Quail
Radishes, not Rhinos
Squash, not Snakes
Tomatoes, not Turtles
Watermelon, not Walruses
Yams, not Yaks
Zweiback, not Zebras
Violets, not Vultures

and I challenge anyone to come up with an edible starting with U.

Pearl likes the idea, and I set her to doing the artwork.

It's What You Do That Matters

In the last week or two of sweating, sweltering heat, multiple admissions at work [which is only air conditioned where people walk in, but not where they live], and other draining things, I've been mulling over this wonderful monologue from Baha'i Views, "How To Tell Someone That What They Said Sounded Racist."

It isn't the are you/aren't you a racist part that I was thinking about, but the clarity of the underlying principle: it isn't what you are, it's what you do, that one can be held accountable for.

This helps me a lot. I feel as if I'm on stage because I'm blogging about my choice to start eating plant foods only. Today I took my daughter to breakfast after her driving lesson, and being Saturday morning in the very popular Hanger Inn in Puyallup, the only table available was smack in front of the door, in the way of the servers, and basically on stage for diners entering and exiting. "Boy, those are big pancakes!" "Thanks, I ordered them myself."

On stage. I use the label "Vegan" a lot online when I search for recipes and support, but I've decided that is not what I am. True Vegans avoid products with glycerin, leather, and every kind of sneaky animal-sourced materials which find their way into our food and so forth, which makes them very picky. I love leather. I love the way it smells and feels: Vegans would say, so did the cow/deer/elk/horse/pig/sheep.

I'm not a "Vegan." I'm just a person who mainly eats just plants.