Fresh Snow

Post Labor Day weekend storms have delivered new powder to the mountain. Big swings in freezing levels and large volumes of precipitation will bring dynamic conditions to the mountain. Come prepared for a variety of challenges.

Seven days of stormy weather and complex conditions have shut down both independent climbers and guided parties from reaching the summit. Check out updates to the DC and Muir Snowfield for photos and current conditions. Photo taken from Camp Muir during a stormy sunrise.

!French Doors!

From the time we moved in 8 years ago we haven't cared for the sliding glass doors that led to the back yard. So on Friday we went to Lowes Home Building Store to get a new light to put in the yard as ours had quite. We did get the light but found French Doors on sale at a price we could almost afford. So we splurged and bought them. The first photo is of the old door after we pulled it out as I forgot to take a photo before it was removed. Next are photos of the opening for the door from inside and outside. Then come the photos of the new french doors as we got them in place and then got the lock on the door. We really like our new door but it has really confused the dogs and cats. The sliding glass door opened on in the left corner for them to go in and out. The new door opens in the middle. They keep going to the corner to get in or out. I hope they learn soon. I am sure they will.

Variations on Red and Green

Growing up, red was my mother's favourite colour. And my mother was a tirelessly creative woman back then. She sewed, she knitted, she made things. Consequently I was dressed in red sweaters and coats. I slept under a red patchwork quilt. You get the idea. I did not know how to communicate my dislike for this colour. When I was 3 years old, I was gifted a red tricycle and stunned my parents by breaking into tears at the sight of it. I loved riding that trike. But when no one was looking, little by little I began trying to scrape the paint off. My parents grew concerned and eventually got rid of it. They must have thought I was eating the paint.




As a teenager, I gravitated toward all things drab. This was the '90s grunge era, so that was easy enough. Army-navy stores, denim, plaid, combat boots. I rode a matte black bicycle then, and even peeled off its bright decals. When asked what my favourite colour was, I did not have an answer. In college I wore black. I made large charcoal drawings. I took black and white photos.






Sometime in my twenties I saw a weathered old bicycle locked up to a farm gate by the river. It was a lady's bike in the signature English shade of bottle green, and the weak East Anglia sunlight was hitting it just so. The enamel paint had a special quality to it that made it resemble an aged candy wrapper. I saw it and I knew right away that I liked it. As an adult, it was a thrill to learn that I had a favourite colour after all. I began to experiment, to chase after the perfect green. Somewhere between sage, chartreuse and olive, this ideal shade existed and was waiting for me.




After that I relaxed about colour. Blues and lilacs began to sneak their way into my surroundings, mingling nicely with the greens. Accents of pinks and reds appeared.



A couple of summers ago, I was staying in Vienna and looking to buy a vintage racing bike to bring home. A friend found me the perfect one and took me to see it. It was a bright red Moser. I remembered the trike of my childhood and laughed. "I love the bike, but I hate red." I got the Moser anyway and rode it for two years. It wasn't just red, but an unusual shade of strawberry with a subtle golden sheen to it. Everyone complimented the colour, protesting when I revealed my plan to eventually repaint the frame. "But the red is great, and it's so you!" Soon I began to receive red articles of clothing as gifts. I remembered how, as a child, I hated being known as the girl in the red coat, the girl on the red trike. But now it just struck me as funny. I still dislike red, but I guess I no longer think that's important.




I talk to lots of people about their fantasy bikes, or bikes they are nostalgic for, or bikes that simply stick in their memory for some reason. Red bikes and green bikes are mentioned more than any other kind. The colours play an important role in the story, but for reasons the story teller cannot clearly express. They will just keep repeating that it was a red bike, or a green bike, stressing the colour as if this information is pertinent to how special the bike was. It's not always a straightforward, cohesive story, just like mine is not. I suspect a lot is left out, possibly the most relevant parts. Of course we could break it down to the basics. Colour, motion, emotion. Excitement, tranquility. Stop, go. Red bikes, green bikes. But who wants to see it like that.

The reason my head hurts

I tried several times to get a picture of the pollen that had collected on the water's surface after the rain. I must not have been holding my tongue just right.

I had just gotten through saying how everything looked better in pictures than in real life, so the pollen had to mock me by looking exceedingly bland.

Last week I was momentarily excited when I noticed (after only using it for a year or two) that one of my photo programs has a button labeled "quick fix".

It didn't take long to realize though, that its idea of a fix is good for a laugh but not much else.

But the "fix" of this pollen picture turned out to be interesting, bringing to the foreground the tree reflection that had been hidden.

No Happy Dance – Yet – Still Hopeful

It's been a slug-fest here at the Family History Library the past five days. I've been chasing the needle in a haystack on several family lines, without success. But, as Carol says, at least now I know I don't need to look at those sources. Ah, ever the optimist, she is!



We've been taking an hour break for lunch every day. It helps to relieve the “stress” just a bit. Our break yesterday (Tuesday, May 24th) took a little longer as we walked through Temple Square to the cafeteria for lunch. The flowers are absolutely gorgeous!!





The Mormon Temple with Gabriel high atop the spires.



The flower beds are jam-packed. So colorful. So Pretty.See those large reddish flowers on the left?



This is what they look like before they burst out of their pods.



Up close. An orange one of the same variety. Fabulous.

More Tractor Work

Two Fellows Home From Camp Taylor

Columbia City Post, Whitley County, Indiana
Saturday ~ December 29, 1917

Vic Phend and Earl Bordner are both home for short furloughs from Camp Zachary Taylor, Louisville, Ky. The former came Thursday evening. He is in the engineers and likes his work very much. He has grown heavier, weighing about one hundred and eighty pounds and he looks every inch a man now. Earl Bordner is in the medical detachment of the engineers and he, too, has benefited by his training. He is a half inch taller and is also heaver. He will be here until Tuesday, visiting with his father, R. J. Bordner, and others.

Grandpa (Rolland Victor Phend) enlisted in the Army on September 19, 1917 and went as a 'substitute' for someone else. He was 24 years old at the time and about six feet tall. He often commented that he thought he had gotten 'special' treatment because he was an enlistee rather than a draftee. He attained the rank of Sergeant and served in England and France as a member of the 309th Engineers. Though he never said anything about being in combat he was gassed while on a patrol and suffered for many years as a result. At one point the doctors said he wouldn't last six months. He fooled them all by living until the day before his 98th birthday! Mom says she remembers, when she was little, that he often slept sitting up in a chair because he couldn't breathe if he laid down. He received a very small disability pension. At one point when he was in his 80's, the government decided that he was no longer disabled and took away his meager pension. He contacted one of our senators (I don't know which one) and after some delay, his pension was restored.