There's a tame elk in our pasture. He's been there for about 4 days now. We figure he must have wandered over here from the Elk Viewing area - because the elk that are native to our valley are definitely NOT tame. We chase them away when they show up around here - they know they are not welcome and run as soon as we slap our hands and walk toward them.
We are not overly fond of elk - don't hunt so they are of no value to us. They are a nuisance; break down our fences, destroy our trees and plants and generally make a mess in our yard. They also eat a tremendous amount of our pasture grass - which should be available to the animals that we want here. Instead it's necessary to buy hay to feed the domestic animals that inhabit our land because the elk leave so little forage for them in the winter.
This young bull just stands there making chewing noises and looking at us like he'd prefer to be a pet - got a carrot? Even trying to make him run away does not work.
Several years ago a neighbor remarked to us that he didn't feel that he could complain about the damage the elk do to his property because they were "here before us." I explained to him that it may very well be true that the elk were here before HIM but not before my husband or his family. That it is not natural for there to be so many in the area. Forever and ever it was a wondrous thing to see an elk in the valley because they were rare - and it was the fortunate hunter who bagged his animal in the fall. Then some elk group decided that we needed more of the great and beautiful creatures in our area and imported a bunch of them - I think this was in the 1950's.
Now they are a nuisance and cause problems for the people who live here - many of us prior to the importation of these animals. The tourists like to stop at the Elk Viewing area and admire them and take pictures. But, those of us who have to live with the creatures have a different view of them - not quite so idealistic. Mostly we feel that they would look really pretty wrapped in freezer paper in someone's cold storage unit.
This bull is in the velvet - he's just growing his "rack" of antlers. It looks like he'll be at least a 3-point. This means he will be a legal bull when hunting season starts this fall. And being so very tame - he will be easy prey to the first hunter on the scene.
There are two separate elk herds up Dean Creek Road. We call them the nursery herds. Each consists of a dozen or so cows with their calves. They will allow the young bulls to remain with the herd until they become spikes - they are "encouraged" to leave the herd at that time. And when an 800-pound cow encourages you to do ANYTHING, if you're smart, you do it. They probably won't allow this young bull to join the herd until just before the rut this fall. So, I guess he's lonely and decided to join our "herd."
Elk are supposed to be browsers - not grazers. They are supposed to be in the woods and hillsides eating brush. Not in our pastures eating grass. But, it's an easier life for them to graze with local cattle and horses - especially since some neighbors feed them hay in the winter. They have forgotten how to be wild elk. They also have diseases and parasites that they wouldn't have if they were living the way they are meant to live. Some years the elk die off. We've had to bury several that have died in our pasture in the last 3 decades. A few years ago about 10 died up Dean Creek Road and a bunch died at the Elk Viewing area. Local buzzards were very happy - but no one else was. One young, healthy looking calf died in our pasture and the Game Warden I spoke to about it said that from the description I gave him it sounded like the poor thing died of lung worm - something that was only too common that particular year.
Animals, like humans, do not do well when population numbers are too high. Disease and other problems occur that would not happen otherwise. Stocking the area with non-native elk seemed like a great idea in the 1950's, and it was not a bad idea. But, allowing the populations to grow so large is not wise.
Of course I had to take photos and go out and baby-talk him to see how close I could get - about 10 feet was his limit before he would walk away from me and stop and start chewing and waiting for me to come closer. I wonder if I can get close enough to pet him? Yeah - I'm just a softy too. And if someone shoots him this fall, I'll have to go in the house so no one will see me cry over him. Shameful though that is to admit. ; )
These photos were taken just as the sun was going down - so they are not as clear as they would be in bright daylight.
Last year a large, probably male, mink was hanging out in our little wood shed. We discovered this one day last summer because he was making a lot of noise chasing a rat through the wood piles. Actually, the rat was making the noise. The mink was pretty quiet. But we'd see him pop his head up between the stacks of wood and look around and then dive back down to chase the rat some more. Eventually, he caught up with the rat and carried it away into the redwood trees.
Mink are dedicated hunters and vicious killers. They kill for the thrill of it. One time a mink got into the chicken house through a small knot hole in a board. He killed all the hens - every one. Even though he couldn't possibly eat all of them - or even one of them - or carry any of them away through the knot hole. He did this for the shear joy of killing. We saved lids from canned goods and used them to cover every knot hole - 'course it was a little late for that batch of hens.
City people who have never lived where nature is real - have this ideal of animals only doing good - being pure and innocent - better than human beings. That is not true at all. There is almost nothing as cruel as nature in the raw.
A couple of days ago Don was hauling wood from the small wood shed to the wood box that we use everyday for our fires. And he came across a large nest full of some kind of young animals. The mom showed up as soon as the babies started fussing and he could almost see her - but not enough to tell for sure what she was - could have been a chipmunk - or a mink. We were hoping for a mink - we no longer have chickens and they at least kill rodents and are good to have around the place. Chipmunks are a nuisance.
Yesterday the question was answered because we were able to get a good look at the mom. It is a mink. We don't know how many young she has or how old they are - but hope she will continue to live in the wood shed. She's a lot smaller than the hunter of last summer - so he's probably the dad.
I may almost be 48-years old - but in my heart of hearts I'm still a girl. I suspect the same is true of many females other than myself.
We all want to have fun - unfortunately real life interferes. There's school, and college, and marriage, and (for the lucky ones) babies to raise, and work. Then there's always divorce, sickness and death to anticipate in our future or look back to in our past.
But, we do manage to sneak in some fun now and again too. I'd like to share some of those moments here with some of my friends.
She's my alter-ego! ; )
One of my girlfriends sent this oldie/goodie to me awhile ago.
Top 13 Things PMS Stands For:
13. Psychotic Mood Shift
12. Pack My Stuff
11. Permanent Menstrual Syndrome
10. Perpetual Munching Spree
9. Puffy Mid-Section
8. People Make Me Sick
7. Provide Me with Sweets
6. Pardon My Sobbing
5. Pimples May Surface
4. Pass My Sweatpants
3. Pissy Mood Syndrome
2. Plainly Men Suck
And The Number One Is:
1. Pass My Shotgun
Have you seen the movie "Chicago?" It's about a handful of women who are in jail for various murders. Some have been convicted, others are still on trial. In one scene the assorted prisoners explain why they are "wrongfully" behind bars. This line just slays me:
(he was pissing her off for some reason)
So, I took down the shotgun and fired a warning shot -
into his head.
I don't know why I like that so much. Male-bashing humor is not funny to me. White heterosexual males are an easy target for jokes in this period of time. They are about the only group you CAN tell put-down jokes about. I happen to like males. Which is good since they are half the population of this planet and most of my income depends on the good-will of men who employ me. I grew up with 3 brothers (and later another sister and brother - but they are 14/15 years younger than me) and numerous male cousins. My parents were scout masters - so I was also a boy scout (at a time before Woman's Lib - and females forcing their way into places where they weren't wanted or welcome). But, being the only girl in the family (if you didn't count Mom) - it was either participate in boy scout functions or stay home alone. The boys were more interesting. ; )
Ever have one of those days when you really should have stayed in bed?
First the boring part - the starter in our car quit working a long time ago - relatively speaking - last spring or summer. Since they are expensive to replace, Don hot-wired the car - so-to-speak.
He installed a starter button like cars had in the 1920's. You turn the key half way so the electric stuff is on and then press the starter button.
There is also a wire that runs under the car from the starter back to the engine. This is the way the car was manufactured. Which is a really dumb place to put a wire. It's hooked together with an alligator clip and periodically gets grimed up with road gunk - always when I'm driving the car. When this happens the car won't start and someone usually has to drive me home and bring Don back to town so he can crawl under the car and clean off the wire and put it back together. Like, I said - a really dumb way to set up the starter wire on a car. VW made great autos - but something was wrong with the engineers that day. Or maybe they thought it would be really funny to make a car that would stop running every couple of years because this little wire was gunked up and no connection could be made between the starter and the engine.
Sooooooo - tonight after work I stopped at Safeway to get groceries, got back in the car and cranked on the starter button. It cranked and cranked and wouldn't start. Tried it a few more times - no joy.
Well, I thought, maybe I flooded the car (not likely - that's something I never do - having had the proper way to start a car drummed into me 27 years ago - but, you never know).
So, I figured I'd just sit there for 5 minutes or however long it takes a carburetor to dry out and then try again. It's a beautiful, warm night - so I was sitting with the window rolled down enjoying the stars.
While I was waiting a friend and her husband (Jeanne and Bob Taylor) drove in and Jeanne came over to ask me why I was just sitting there in the parking lot. And I explained the sad tale to her. She loaned me her cell phone and I called Don - who suggested that I have someone push me - if the car started then it was the starter. If it didn't then it was the wire. And he reminded me that I should have the car in 3rd gear and all the other things that I should do while being pushed.
So, I put the car in third gear, undid the parking brake, and turned the key in the ignition . . . . . . .
Yep - that's right - I had forgotten to turn on the key before pushing the starter button.
Do I feel stupid or what????
Hit the button and the car started right up.
Jeanne said - Oh, so it was flooded after all.
I did not disabuse her of this misconception - because what I had done was sooooooooooooo much stupider. And would have taken a lot of explaining - well, you just read it so you know how much it took.
There are days . . . . ; )
And then there are other days:
One day I was driving home with groceries in the car and had just reached the intersection at Highway 101 where I needed to turn right onto Highway 38 (this is in Reedsport). Just as I made the turn the car died - it was electrical - there was just no juice to the car.
Fortunately the road had enough of a slope that I was able to coast the rest of the way through the turn and down the road to where I could pull out of traffic (this was before they re-did the Highway and put in the triangle garden - the road was much different then).
The car immediately behind me pulled over and stopped also. In it were a man and his young son - he'd been aware that I was in trouble as soon as I was.
He tried to figure out why the Bug had died and couldn't, then ask me what he could do for me - he wasn't going to leave me on the side of the road. I told him that I lived out Dean Creek Road, that we only had one car, and that we had no phone (we didn't get a telephone until 1990). I also had frozen food in the car. So, he offered to drive me and the groceries home and bring Don back to town to deal with the car. And that's what he did.
Don finally figured out that there was a wire under the hood - right in front of the steering wheel - that was part of the electrical system to the starter or something important like that - it was supposed to be alligator clipped to another wire - but that was never done - the wires where just hanging and touching each other. You could see where the spark had been jumping between them for several years (since the car was new - 1973 and this was probably 1977). The wires finally moved far enough apart that the spark would no longer jump between them and the car died for lack of electricity to whatever it was they were powering.
They attached the two wires together and got the car running. The man wouldn't accept any money for his gas or anything. He wouldn't even say his name. Just told Don to "pass it on". Such a nice man. We saw him around town a few times after that and always said "Hi". Don called him my Good Samaritan. There are some really nice people in the world.
And if by some chance you happen to be reading this and remember rescuing a girl in an orange VW Bug in Reedsport, Oregon in the 1970's - Thanks! I've been grateful for what you did for me for over 25 years.
Is there some law somewhere in the universe that says that if a couple own a car - it will always and only quit working when the female half of the partnership is driving alone? Or is it just bad chemistry between girl and car?
One time when the wire under the car came lose (and it always happened enough years apart that the first few times I'd forget about the dumb wire and have no idea what was wrong with the car. Now I just assume it's the wire) I was at the Crafter's Mall in Winchester Bay and had just closed the store for the day. It was summer - 'cause it was still light when this was happening - and the weather was nice.
I figured the problem was something pretty serious because there was no response at all from the starter. The car was just dead - and not the battery 'cause there was juice in the front of the car - it just wasn't getting back to the engine.
I walked across the street to our friend, Willie's place to ask him to drive me home and bring Don back to deal with the car - but there were several other guys at his house, one was named John. They decided that they could get me started with no problem - just pull me down the road and it would start. RIGHT? Yeah. This was my first mistake - not trusting my own instincts.
They tied a rope between my car and John's pickup and pulled me down the road - car in third, let out the clutch - NOTHING. I think some of them had been drinking and they were having entirely too much fun.
John was in the pickup, a couple of the guys were in the bed of the pickup and a couple of other guys were running down the street along with us (we weren't moving very fast). I didn't know any of these guys and just wanted them to return me to the store. But they were determined to start my car.
They yelled at me to pump some gas to the car. Which I did (stupid - I know better than to do this - Don instructed me very carefully about the proper way to start a car - and this particular car does not need to have any gas pumped to her - ever).
And John pulled me again and I popped the clutch again - Nothing. This kept happening for awhile - they drove me down Broadway all the way to the WB Motel around to Beach Blvd and on out Coho Point - behind Pizza Rays. Then back out to Beach Blvd and on around to the Motel and back down Broadway to Willie's house. The guys who were running had waited for us to come back. They were still suggesting that I give "er some gas" (which I was ignoring by this time). I'd quit trying to start the car a long ways back, was trying to keep the car on the road and out of the bay, and to keep from rear-ending the truck that was towing me all over the village. I was just waiting for them to return me to a safer place.
They pulled the car into Willie's driveway and untied me. All of them muttering together that the problem with the car was that I'd flooded it. Of course it wouldn't start - dumb woman driver. By this time I was more upset from being towed all over town by this bunch than I was from the car not starting.
They all left for where ever they belonged which gave me a chance to finally speak to Willie. It turned out that these guys weren't there to visit him. They'd been having a party in the trailer next door. He knew one of them slightly and the rest not at all. Had I known that earlier, I'd certainly not have allowed them to drag me all over creation.
Willie drove me home and brought Don back to Winchester Bay. Don checked out the car - remembered the wire - crawled underneath and took it apart, cleaned it and put it back together. Car worked fine.
I needed therapy - but the car was OK.
The car doesn't always break down when I'm away from home. Sometimes it decides to quit working at home - when I need to be someplace - like work. I tried to start the car one morning and the battery was dead. It was a holiday (Labor Day or Memorial Day - one of those) - so naturally Stampers Tire (and battery) Center was closed - I guess people don't buy tires or batteries on holidays?
I HAD to go to work - and had to figure out a way to do that. We have a battery charger and it has a quick charge function that will start the car. So, Don removed the back seat from the car (the battery in a VW Bug is located under the back seat - such a handy place) and attached the charger to the battery.
I started the car and drove to work. At the end of the day I ran an extension cord from the car into the store to power up the charger. A few people walked by as I was doing this and we exchanged comments about my "Electric Car."
It runs real well until it hits the end of the extension cord - then - bam - nothing.
You must have a very LONG extension cord for that car?
It looked pretty strange - but it worked. I started the car, unplugged the charger and returned the extension cord to the car, and drove to my friend, Joanne's house for a visit. At the end of the visit I asked her husband if I could "borrow" a cup of electricity to start my car. We've been friends for a LOOOOOONG time, so I think they're used to me by now.
Stampers was opened the next day I was scheduled to work and I bought a new battery for the car on the way to the store. The extension cord was cute - but it limited my stops to only those places where I knew they would allow me to "borrow" some electricity to start the engine.
