Wedding Day!

Jessica and I got married today! We had a beautiful ceremony filled with friends, family and love. It really was a perfect day. We'd like to extend our thanks to all those that helped make this day perfectfor us. We appreciate and love you all!



Special thanks to Timothy Young for officiating, Staci Drouillard for the incredible cake and our friend Paul for taking beautiful photos throughout the day! And a very special thanks to Carah Thomas, Rod Dockan and Al Oikari of Cook County's Most Wanted for providing the awesome music for our ceremony. You guys were incredible and we totally loved the "Joy of My Life" song... you guys are the best! Thank You :-)

Valles Caldera

Sorry to put so many photos on one post but I felt it was the best way to tell about the tour we took of the Valles Caldera. The Caldera, Spanish for when a volcano blows and then falls in on it's self, is about half way between Jemez Springs and Los Alamos, New Mexico. For many, many years we have driven by here on the road seeing only the part that can be seen from the highway. From the mid 1800's to the year .. it was a private ranch owned by several different families. In .. the US Government bought it to make it into a big national park. Over the past 13 years the government has continued to run it as a ranch and let biologist, geologist, and many other 'logist type scientist onto the ranch to see exactly what is there. Not only did two big volcanos explode here but several smaller ones making it a very unique landscape. Because of the volcanos there is still a lot of geothermal activity in the area even though the volcanos are considered extent. We didn't know it but recently a Visitors Center had been built and the road to it is now open for people to come in a see part of the Caldera. Most of it can only be seen if you get special permits for hiking or take one of the bus tours that are run frequently.
















This little creek is considered the upper part of the Jemez River. From the gates we came about 2 miles on a narrow dirt road and across the river before getting to the Visitors Center.







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Parking at the Visitors Center. The red Chevy pickup on the right is ours.



We were glad to see the Center is run by Solar Power. Here is the solar panel and the shed for the batteries. While there we learned of the tours and one that was leaving soon was only a 45 minute tour for only $5.00. We quickly decided to go and were glad we did. We learned a lot more about the Caldera, the geology and history of the area. We got to see most of the orginal ranch buildings that are still standing. We were glad to see that the firefighters were able to stop the big firejust about 50 feet from the buildings. Most of these buildings have been usedin a lotof movies from long ago to recently in the new Lone Ranger movie with Johnny Depp in it as Tonto.






This is one of the older buildings and you can see the sandbags on the left hand side where they are afraid the rains might wash it out due to the damage done by the fire.



These 2 buildings are over a hundred years old.




Volunteers putting out sandbags around the buildings.















This is a round house, made of native stone. I think in about the mid 1950's. Made round as the Navajo hogans are round, and the Pueblo kivas are round. Our guide said there were 8 bedrooms, 5 bathrooms and a big center area with a huge fireplace. It was used for guests, hunters, scientist's, and other special guests. I sure would have liked to have seen the inside of it and the other buildings.




























we didn't get to get out of the van but were told that the Lone Ranger movie was filmed in this area and under the hill here.




The tour van and our guide Tom.











It really doesn't show but most of the trees on the hill side had been burned.


Tom, our guide, whodid a great job. There are other tours that require reservations that are all day, or about 2 hours and one on weekends in the evening for seeing elk, as there are many herds of elk and deer on the ranch.







We had to get some sort of souvenir, so hubby got me a deer horn whistle at the Visitors Center Gift Shop. After I got home I saw on the card where it washand made in Wyoming. Since deer and elk loose their antlers eachyear no animals are harmed for these. They have been cut, and a piece of wood added to make it whistle. It will go well with the 2 bears I have carved out of elk antler.

Approaching Storm

A Storm Approaches, originally uploaded by ParsecTraveller.

While out hiking on Mt. Diablo, we could see dark storm clouds coming in from the north. Eventually they began to block out the Sun, but not without creating a beautiful sky. The lighting quickly became ethereal and ominous.

Anyone else have interesting weather these days?

The Goose Lake Farm

In 1871 William Brubaker purchased one hundred and thirty acres of native forest land bordering Goose Lake in Troy Township, Whitley County, Indiana. I don't know if the house was built before or after the purchase of the property. When Hale Brubaker died on December 14, 1910, my great grandparents Maude and Charles Brubaker were living in Traverse City, Michigan. They moved back to Columbia City and lived for a short time with William and Malissa. William Brubaker died on January 26, 1912 and the property was sold to Charles a year or so later. The family lived at the farm until about 1918 when the house and land was sold.

Home on the Farm at Goose Lake ~ about 1914 ~ Thornton Brubaker (sitting on the stump, half-brother of William Brubaker), Jane, Orville Day (a hired man), Maud, Billy, Hazlette, Spot, and Charles Romain Brubaker.

The house as it is was on August 16, ... A garage has been added to the right, a roof extension put over the porch, the chimney was removed, and they have put in new windows and siding. All of the out-buildings described by my grandmother have been torn down and replaced with a very large pole barn.

There is a partial basement under the left portion of the house, which leads me to believe that the left side was the original house. The current owners have a living room and master bedroom on the lower floor and two bedrooms upstairs. The kitchen is in the right side of the house. It now has all of the modern conveniences.

My grandmother, Hazlette Brubaker Phend, describes the house in her autobiography:

From the wood shed to the door and into the summer dining room we have been walking on a brick walk. And the small yard in front of the dining room and around the windmill was brick. This brick must have been there for years because even in 1909 it was green with moss.

I think that summer dining room was quite unique. There was an iron water tank in one corner that was enclosed by a modern cabinet with a lid on it; the tank held about forty gallons of water. This room was screened in on the north and south with a storage room to the east and the kitchen to the west. There were wooden doors that enclosed it all in the wintertime. There was as large cupboard that had been built years before and Grandma always had the room looking cool and nice.

The next room was the kitchen. I guess I can hardly tell you anything good about it, yet I learned to cook there on an old wood-burning stove. The entrance to the cellar was a trap door in the floor, you opened it and went down the ladder and hoped no one would fall into the opening while you were down below. The cellar was where the potatoes and onions were stored along with the canned fruits and vegetables; a hanging shelf was our refrigerator. The kitchen table was in the space beside this trap door and many was the time that we would have to open the door for milk or cream after we were all seated at the table. The ones that sat on the side near the door, usually Jane and Me, had to stand guard till the trip for cream was made.

On the other side was the buttery and pantry; it was just a big dark place to put everything. There were shelves and a table or sink. It was always dark as night, there were no windows and no kerosene lamp could take the awful dark away - or at least that is the way it seemed to me! There was a plastered room for meat and anything else eatable that freezing wouldn't hurt. This room was always locked.

There had been an addition to this kitchen and in the space between the pantry and the back door was a cistern pump with an iron sink. In 1909 this was quite a modern improvement. The stove was opposite the sink with the wood box and a cupboard.

It really seems very primitive but there were many delicious meals prepared and eaten in that kitchen. There was a screen door between the kitchen and the dining room, which was used as a dining room only on very rare occasions. But the screen door had been put up when we were very small so that Mama could keep an eye on us while working about the kitchen.

The dining room had wainscoting about three feet high all around and this room was my favorite. It had the heating stove beside which we kids would always get dressed on cold mornings. There was a table upon which we played games and got our lessons, Grandma had a nice cupboard here and a couple of rocking chairs. There was a wall desk that I just adored - the front came down revealing pigeonholes with lots of things in it that us kids were not to touch! The telephone was in this room, which was the heart of the house.

And it was in this room that I recall my first Christmas tree. It was just before Billy was born. I had kept saying that I wanted a yellow doll (a doll dressed in yellow) and after all the gifts were removed and opened from beneath what I thought was an enormous tree, Papa lifted me up and there in the tree was a beautiful doll dressed in yellow!

Off this room was the parlor. When Grandma lived here it was very cold and formal. In fact I don't believe we ever went into this room except for Uncle Hale's funeral. But when we moved into this house in 1911 all that was changed and we used it always whenever we had company. Later Papa bought us a piano and we took music lessons and I guess this room just came alive.

Off this room was the great bedroom, which became Jane's and mine when we grew older. There was another bedroom off the dining room, which was the master bedroom. Mama would let me stay in that room sometimes when I was sick; I remember the pink roses in the wallpaper. This room was at the back of the house but you could see the orchard from the window. It was really lovely in the spring.

There were two large rooms upstairs and an enormously interesting attic. The large room in front had a closet that ran the full length of the room, this was Hale's room and it was sacred to Grandma and was kept locked. But after Uncle Hale died and we moved into the house this is where we kids slept. It was papered with a white rose paper that was lovely. The crab apple tree, which even now stands west of the house, would then touch the windows of this room and the perfume from the blossoms was so lovely, I can still remember spring mornings in that room.

The other room was never papered, the stair well was here and the entrance to the attic. And oh, what an attic! We were allowed to play here on rainy days and it was delightful. Grandpa had a civil war gun with musket and his knapsack. There were candle molds and the butchering equipment was kept here - sausage stuffer and lard renderer, the great big meat grinder attached to a bench. There were trunks of old clothes and books that I would give a lot to see now. This room had just one window but the chimney came up through here and it was always cozy. It also had mice and wasps, which nearly scared me to death - but I loved to go there anyway.

Cycling and the Summer Sun

After weeks of freezing temperatures and rains, the past few days have been super-sunny, hot and humid. The rapid transition has plunged me into a frantic search through my abode for appropriate attire and sufficient sunscreen.

Complexion-wise, I am pale - with purple rather than orange undertones. Venturing out after a winter season, I tend to look like something from Flowers in the Attic. And I am ridiculously sensitive to heat and humidity, to the point where a mere stroll down a street without shade on a summer day can result in heat stroke or sun poisoning. What then, of the miles of sun-drenched bicycle routes in greater Boston?

A long bridge over the Charles River (Longfellow Bridge), its menacing sunshine ready to devour me.

A hazy view of the city from the bridge.

Massachusetts Avenue - the most popular bicycle commuters' route through Cambridge - with hardly a tree to defend from the sun's rays (picture taken pointing backwards, while stopped on red).

The way I've been dealing with the sun so far, has been mostly via the avoidance method. In my head I have a sort of alternative bicycle map of the areas where I frequently ride, with tree-lined routes at the ready if a day is sunny and hot.

I also tend to avoid being outdoors in the summer from mid-morning till late afternoon, trying my best to schedule my trips and meetings during times when the sun is gentler. Sometimes these methods work, but other times they are insufficient.


I do drink water, wear loose and light-coloured clothing, and use sunscreen - but that too has proven to have its limits. Until recently, it had always been my understanding that the potency of sunscreen beyond SPF 35 is marginal and that higher SPF numbers are mostly a gimmick (and potentially hazardous). However, last year - when cycling daily on the open roads of Cape Cod for two weeks at the end of September - I repeatedly got burned while wearing my SPF 35 sunblock. So this year I have purchased SPF 80 sunblock and pray this does the trick, while on some level being uneasy about the possible adverse effects of overusing this stuff.

If anybody has advice on this issue, please share. Last year, I noticed visible damage to the skin on my face and hands after a summer of cycling, and I want to avoid this in future. Are there other pallid and sun-averse cyclists out there, who have gotten adept at combating the sweltering heat?

Forty-Nine Palms Oasis

The signpost for the Forty-Nine Palms Oasis trail, located in the north-central part of Joshua Tree National Park, identifies the three-mile round-trip as moderately strenuous. And I would have to agree with that description!

The trail goes up one side of the mountain, circles around to the other side, going up and down (of course) then goes down into a canyon where the oasis is located.

A view from along the trail to the Forty-Nine Palms Oasis.

There may have been forty-nine palms at the Oasis at one time, but no more. These are Desert Fan Palm trees, which can grow to 75 feet in height and live for 80 to 90 years. The Cahuilla Indians (pronounced: Ka-wee-yahs) used palm thatch to make their homes wind-and- waterproof. The leaf fibers were woven into ropes. Baskets were made with the palm fibers and sandals from the palm leaf fibers.

There weren't many flowers in bloom yet at Joshua Tree, but the few that I saw, were gorgeous! Found along the trail, this Canterbury Bell was about 12 inches in height and was nestled against the rocks.

A closeup of the Canterbury Bell. Beautiful.

Heading back. You go up, then down, around, up, and down... definitely a good workout!

Through the Hedge Backwards

On Monday morning I went on a scouting ride to theDark Hedges. The site is just outside the village of Armoy, about 10 miles inland from where I am staying. The inland roads here are flat-ish by local standards. The weather was looking good. It would be a nice and easy ride. And of course, I would finally see the mysterious old trees. I had elaborate photographic plans for them.



I set off after having breakfast in town. As a reader has astutely noted after a previous post,every exit from Ballycastle is uphill. I picked one that was relatively mild - though not the mildest, as I wanted to avoid the congested main road that leads out of town. The climbing began straight away.







The terrain in Antrim is difficult to describe to someone who has never been here. Coming from New England, it was a jolt to my system. We do have hills in New England of course, but they are "rollers" mainly - relatively short, if steep, ups and downs where the momentum from a descent can be used to get up the next hill fairly easily. If we want more serious hills than that - either steeper or more sustained climbs - we have to seek them out. And almost any route involves plenty of flat stretches as well, providing opportunities to rest from climbing and descending.




Here in Antrim it is rather different. Most routes I have ridden so far have consisted of long climbs at a mild grade, punctuated by shorter but steeper climbs. There are almost no truly flat stretches, along the central part of the coast at least, no opportunities to rest. It is either a long up or a long down. Even at a mild grade, sustained climbs are draining for someone who is not accustomed to them. Being used to New England terrain, I have learned to "attack" hills, but that approach does not work here. When there is no end in sight, attacking just saps energy - it is far better to relax, get into a low gear, settle in, and spin while enjoying the view.




The landscape en route to Armoy is pretty enough. But on the coast of Antrim one soon gets spoiled with astonishingly dramatic views, and these were fairly plain in comparison. Farms mostly, stone walls, lots of adorable lambs basking in the sunshine.





The morning was a sunny one, but the skies were a dark slate-gray. The combination created a moody landscape that I kept wanting to stop and photograph. But I decided against taking photos until the return trip, because I wanted to make it to my destination while the weather was good. You never know here from one hour to the next.






Still, half way through I was seduced by a particularly fetching view of heavy skies over a dilapidated farm house. I could not help myself and stopped to take a quick picture.




No sooner than I took out my camera and composed the shot, the sun disappeared. Now it was just the dark sky, and the scene looked rather dismal. As I debated whether to wait for the sun to re-emerge or get back on the bike, it began to rain - so suddenly that I barely had time to shove my camera back inside the handlebar bag.




And then I felt something sharp on my face. What the...?




All at once, it was hailing. Hard. The morning light disappeared entirely as shards of ice pelted the earth - and me - with violent force. At first I was too stunned to do or even think anything. Then I began to panic. I had stopped in the middle of nowhere, with the nearest settlement 5 miles away in either direction. There was no shelter here - no trees, no canopy of any kind. The dilapidated farm house was separated by a barb wire fence, so I could not hide out in it. The temperature kept dropping. The hail kept falling. "Am I going to perish here?" I thought. I did not know what to do.




But then I realised... that I didn't really need to "do" anything other than pull up the hood of my raincoat. I had dressed warmly. I was wearing a waterproof coat and shoes. Everything was fine. I could simply enjoy this natural phenomenon... and hope there would be no lightning.





Thankfully, there wasn't. The hail soon let up and it was just the rain now. I got back on the bike and soon reached the village of Armoy. The Dark Hedges would only be a few miles from here.





I should mention that I had seen no other cyclists on this route up to this point, and very few motor vehicles had passed me outside of settled areas. It was just me, all alone, in what was now almost comically terrible weather.






When I reached the village of Armoy, it looked eerily abandoned. Houses on the main street boarded up, shops and pubs closed. Finally I passed a small grocery store that was open and came in to get a hot coffee from the machine. Nine Inch Nails played on the radio, contrasting wildly with the quiet shuffle of the two elderly patrons.




The pale, lanky teenager at the cash register (ah that explained the music) took an interest in my "wee folding bike" and confirmed the directions to the Hedges. He then refused payment for the coffee - which I have found happens here often. I left the money on the counter anyway, in case one of the other shoppers was short on change.






It continued to rain, though less violently, as I turned onto Gracehill Road, then finally Bregagh Road. On the corner an old man was sitting inside a bus shelter - a solitary figure in an otherwise desolate landscape. Simultaneously we waved to one another as I cycled past.




Now the road grew narrow and the vegetation wild. I began to climb a tedious hill as rain obscured my vision. I thought that I'd be able to see the famous trees in the distance by now and that this sight would at least encourage my progress, but the top of the hill blocked my view of what lay further. I realised how exhausted I was at this point from all the climbing I had done on this "flat" route, and from the rain, and from the cold. Honestly, I just wanted to get it over at this point and was no longer even excited about the Hedges.




But just then, at long last, I crested the hill. And at that exact moment the sun came out. And the rain turned into hail again. And that is when I saw them.






The Dark Hedges - in the hail, fog, and sunshine simultaneously. Descending under the canopy oftwisted branches was like passing through a tunnel. I then turned around, propped the bike against a tree, took out my camera and spent the next hour taking photos - about 500 of them, capturing the ethereal sight in a variety of weather conditions. "Four seasons in day," as they like to say here.




I've since visited the trees again, and I might write about them in more detail later. But on this occasion it was really a matter of the journey more than the destination. The experience of seeing the long-awaited Hedges as I crested that hill... no photo can capture it.





It was not the weather for tourists, but at some point a car drove past and pulled over on the side of the road. Just as the rain finally stopped, a couple jumped out to take pictures. Seeing me there, they asked whether I could take one of them both. I did, after which they took one of me. Rather appropriately, I look like I've been dragged through the hedge backwards. What a ride this turned out to be.