It's kind of a crappy photo, so this is going to be one of those instances when words —albeit most likely shy of one thousand— will have to do.

We were seeing patches of snow in the shaded areas along the road, so I'll guess we were somewhere around 4,000 ft up the mountain. I have tried to see if I could pinpoint the exact location of this spot in the road on Google Earth, and believe I have found it.

If so, we were close. We were very close to having a spectacular view of miles and miles of mountains and the valley below.

As you can see, the road sticks close to the mountainside. And, if this was a better photo, you'd be able to see the small waterfall beside the road instead of a faint blur. You can, however, see the little mound of rocks and gravel that has accumulated at its base. And you can also get a sense that the road eventually jogs a little to the left, again, following the mountain. About 150 yards further, it then winds to the right around the mountain.

In the shadow. However, you can see the washout.

At the first set of markers the road looks to be fairly wide. Yet, by the time one hits that second set, the road has narrowed, I'm estimating to about ten feet. I say "estimate" because we didn't make it that far.

Again, what you can't see is that I am on a repaired road, one that shows evidence of many washouts. I was standing on just such an area when I took this photo. We had in fact driven up to that first marker, and from my cab I could see that fresher repairs lay ahead.

I have a little experience on these mountain roads. If one wants to get a view, one has no choice but to explore them. Yet, when I hit that first marker, I was overcome by a sense of dread. Not nerves. Dread.

And I said so to my niece.

It may have been the fact that I could not see around the bend. It may have been the sight of the waterfall so close to the road (culverts don't always channel all of the water and erosion can occur). But I felt doom was immanent and knew I had to stop.

You might remember a post from last fall about a fishing trip I took out to the coastal river I like. If so, you will recall that I had a similar feeling then, only not nearly as strong. I sensed impending danger yet continued to fish. "Just one more cast and then I'll go. Okay, maybe just one more." And then the state cop showed up to check my license. I had it, but I also had bait, which both he and I knew was illegal on this stretch of water. I was fortunate that my jig was bare and the shrimp behind a boulder. Ignoring that feeling again was not something I was going to do, especially when magnified by a factor of five.

Now, mountain roads are usually dotted with turnouts, not so much for folks to pull over to see the sites but more for that rare occasion when one meets oncoming traffic. The idea is one vehicle pulls over to let the other go by. And, should one be caught between two turnouts, a skill in driving in reverse is recommended. I can do it, although I'd rather not, especially when the road is narrow only because there is nothing on either side of it except steep mountainside.

Although I had decided to go no further, I had no recollection of where that last turnout was. And in that we were already using switchbacks, I imagined it was further than I cared to drive using only my sideview mirrors.

I surveyed the road in our immediate vicinity. Twenty yards back was an area that looked like it might hold potential for a K turn or five. Yet, it was also clearly an area that had been repaired after a wash.  I paced it off in relation to the size of my wheel base. I figured I had about two feet between me and the canyon floor. I instructed my niece as to those parameters and put the rig into low four-wheel drive. Steering was a bit rougher but I knew I'd need every edge I had.

It's tough to put your trust in someone else and rely on her perception of the situation, but she's an intelligent young woman and understood the gravity of the situation. Regardless, better me than both of us taking the quick way down.

It took us four tries to turn the rig around and off we went, but only after I took the picture. There was another road we passed on the way up and I thought for a moment to see where it went.

Naaaahhhh. Time to go get pizza.

I never promised you a rose garden

This is just to say

No, no plums in the icebox, even though there are a bunch of other goodies in it, all as preparation for a niece's visit. Crumpets and such. Ribs are thawing. Spuds galore.

We have some things planned, weather permitting, so there may be photos, but not for a couple days.

At least.

It's all good

The trip north was postponed a day, so that makes today the day. Could be why I arose early. The anticipation.

The trip north? Referred to a couple posts ago and much on my mind for a couple months now.

Had a scare in this regard a couple nights ago.

(Oh, and I'm of the school that "a couple" generally means two of something; "few" indicates three. More or less.)

The scare: Communication has been via emails and text messages. Short little things that indicate a busy schedule on one end and a respect of such on the other. And, as I've written elsewhere, brevity is a bugaboo.

Names have been added to the schedule, not of my assigning. Names I know yet not relevant to this tale. My thought upon receiving this information: This is going to be a long day, what with her three and my three (few plus few), which led to a string of thoughts, the substance and sequence of which I have forgotten except to know that they led to the dread that perhaps I had misread and therefore over-stepped by adding to the list.

The subconscious drive toward desires is a powerful force.

And so, I reread the correspondence and found the phrase, the ambiguity that I ran with: "Take us a round to a few more" with no names attached, and so I took it upon myself to add them. Chauffeur vs connoisseur.

It kept me awake night before last, not so much kicking myself but wondering how to make amends and save face at the same time. We were scheduled to talk —actually speak— to finalize plans for the day and I had promised my three to have said schedule set by last evening. I did not want to end up apologizing all around and have hard feelings remain. Not to mention the gossip mill turning away from my favor.

Well, the call came and clarifications were made. I had not accounted for the graciousness of my friend from out of town, nor her explanation of how she came upon adding names to her schedule. In the end, she was depending on my suggestions to cover her bases.

There is one other aspect to this that deserves some space on this page. In the aforementioned back-and-forth, I made clear that today was an inconvenient day to run around as it is the wife's birthday. One of only three days this month that I had something else planned. Go figure.

Well, the wife is of the mind that this day is more of a day for reflection than celebration, although she will allow for the latter, the reasons for this more than I need to elaborate here. And knowing that all of the rigamarole may end of helping yours truly in some manner, she made known her requests that would make the day: Dinner last evening and a lemon tart carried back home when I return tomorrow morning.

I will need a short nap before stepping into the rig today. But the dishes are done, the animals will be cared for and presents waiting for her when she wakes this morning.

Run off

It may be none of my business or my place to comment on the wisdom of the practice, but nevertheless, I am curious why folks are using their irrigation while it is raining. Not spitting. Raining as it has been doing the last two days. I have thought about this practice every spring since moving out here, things on my place seeming to grow quite well without the extra assistance. Yet I mention it now only because I note that one local guy has been digging a new well and it still very early in the year. Or, maybe he's just running new pipe down or some such the last few days. Still, the not knowing for certain did not prevent me from mentioning the whole water thing.

Our little pond would most likely have dried by now had we not put a hose in at a trickle. But there would have been a little water put back in this week, albeit too late for the tadpoles and salamander nymphs. And then there were the ducklings, same as the last few years, swimming around for a day or two before Momma leads them off to parts unknown. I tend not to worry about the extra usage, so I may very well be a hypocrite were I to have made some explicit pronouncements above.

Only five ducklings this year. Last year there were twelve. See the hen's dark beak? She's getting old. If it is the same hen.

Working out

Well, the back still hurts. Not so much an obsession with my past glories and disappointments. No, not that back. My lower back, mostly on the right side. Yet, all is getting better, slowly but surely. It may be of some interest that mention of the infirmity on social media has garnered more response than anything I've posted regarding art. My back and my dead brother. Close, anyway.

I am not discouraged.

I mention this because of another comment received about my most recent art review: "A terrific piece of writing that catches the feeling of the paintings themselves. No art jargon, just the guts." This coming from a guy who used to do a similar job as mine some years back and who is quietly smarter than most folks I know, aging gracefully and with wisdom. The kind of guy who you want to hang with in hopes that some of it rubs off.

A big weekend coming up. I believe I've mentioned its eventuality before, some months ago, yet a quick look-see garners no link to relieve a retelling. The problem is relating it in such a fashion that keeps the SEOs at bay. 

Let's just say a friend who carries great influence in the world I play in is coming to town. Not to knight me but to choose among others those to be knighted. I have been asked to select some potential candidates, and again, if not for this appointment then perhaps for other opportunities she is prepared to offer. (This has not stopped me from preparing my own materials, just in case.) 

I have made my choices, and brought joy and anticipation to three of the well-deserved. And here's the thing, the afterglow, if you will: When word gets out, because it will, it's going to piss off some folks, maybe even some friends, for only one of the three can be said to be one. It will also bother at least one other who thinks he is the voice that must be heard above all others when it comes to who is worthy of what. 

Should be fun.

Meanwhile, I have two more reviews in the queue, a road trip to prepare for that will garner another essay and a helluva lot of photos, and some back exercises to do.

Nobody warned me

I've been accused of being unreadable more than once. Usually it is of my own design, not that of a template glitch like I found this morning when I came to this blog: black print on a dark grey background. I'd apologize except I haven't a clue how it happened, plus I am beginning to resist feelings of guilt when others are inconvenienced through no fault of my own. It's another small step toward doing as I damn please here in this space, even if it means an increasing number of click-throughs.

Within moderation, of course.

Of course, one wouldn't think that a little work with a circle hoe in the yard would have brought about the amount of back pain I have, either. Unless it was more the misstep into a hole or some such thing that jarred the muscles, an event that may have happened but forgotten.

The work was Monday. Tuesday morning was the pain. Wednesday afternoon was the chainsaw work for a friend. Thursday was the backpack sprayer in the side yard. Friday was excruciating and Hydrocodone.

Wonderful dreams last night.

But I digress.

No flags.