Monthly Archives: October 2017

Ophidiophobia

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According to Wikipedia, ophidiophobia

Click to view is a particular type of specific phobia, the abnormal fear of snakes. It is sometimes called by a more general term, herpetophobia, fear of reptiles and/or amphibians. The word comes from the Greek words “ophis” (ὄφις) which refers to snake, and “phobia” (φοβία) meaning fear.[1]

An ophidiophobe not only fears them [snakes] when in live contact but also dreads to think about them or even see them in video or still pictures.[2]

About a third of adult humans are ophidiophobic, making this the most common reported phobia.[3]

This post is a heads up to my readers (ophidiophobic or otherwise), the next four posts on this blog are going to be true snake stories. Consider yourself warned!

The image of the snake is from https://classroomclipart.com/clipart/Clipart/Animals/Reptile_Clipart/Snake_Clipart.htm.

Nobe Young Waterfall

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Nobe Young waterfall is tucked away off the Western Divide Highway (also known as Mountain 107) in Tulare County, California. It shows up on maps of the area, but there’s no sign marking its location. If you want to see it, you might need to ask a local, or you can use this blog post to find your way.

Who was Nobe Young and why is there a creek and waterfall named after him? I have no idea on either count. When I did a Google search, I found no information online about Nobe Young the person. I’m not even sure how to say the first part of the name. Some locals rhyme it with “probe,” while others rhyme it with “adobe.” I don’t know who’s correct.

From the junction of Mountain 50 and the Western Divide Highway, turn left toward the Trail of 100 Giants. Pass the trail’s entrance and the nearby campgrounds. About three miles after the trailhead, look for three tires placed as a landmark in a big turnout on the right side of the road. The tires are immediately before an unmarked road to Last Chance Meadow. (This unmarked road is a shortcut to Lloyd Meadow Road.) From the turnout with the tires, go 9/10 of a mile. Look for another big turn out with boulders to the right and a big log well to the left. Just beyond the middle of the turnout, the land rises in a gentle slope. Park in this big turnout.

Walk to the left, toward the big log and find the trail. Walk 10 or 15 minutes on the trail. The first part of the hike is flat and easy, but the downhill part of the trail is somewhat steep. When I visited, I was glad The Man had reminded me to carry my walking stick. I was also glad for my closed-toe Keens. I wouldn’t want to walk that trail while wearing flip flops.

Very soon after we started out on the hike, I thought I heard the sound of water flowing. The Man contended we were hearing the sound of wind through the pines. I’m not sure who was right. Maybe we were hearing a combination of wind and water.

Seeing the waterfall was worth the hike, even the steep part. The drop in temperature was delightful, as was the moisture in the air. The Man called the falls “Native American air conditioning.” The falls were lovely, with water cascading down boulders at different levels. Bright green grass grew at the base of some of the rocks, and the water splashed as it fell.

I’ve heard it’s possible to walk behind the waterfall; there’s talk of a cave back there too. I didn’t try any fancy exploring. I did climb up onto one of the huge boulders in front of the falls for a photo opportunity and found the wet rock rather slippery. I’m in big trouble if I break a bone or hurt myself in some way that makes working for money impossible, so I carefully got off the boulder and stayed off the treacherous wet rocks.

We followed the water down the rocks to a small pool. The water in the pool wasn’t deep enough to swim in or even for an adult to submerge in, but it was plenty deep enough for wading. The Man and I took off our shoes and socks and stood in the pool. Yowza! The water was cold (although not as cold as the water in the Rio Hondo earlier in the year). I’d joked about taking off all my clothes and lying down in the water, but I wasn’t nearly hot enough to do such a thing.

We’d come down, so we knew we’d have to climb back up. After our feet dried, we put on our socks and shoes and started up the trail. I was really glad for my walking stick on the way up. I struggled a couple of times, but I made it safely back to the van with no injuries.

It was a wonderful afternoon of exploration. With a picnic lunch, I could have spent half a day out there, but it’s also possible to make it a quick half hour or 45 minute trip.

I made a short video of the falls, which I like because it lets me see and hear the water splashing down the rocks. The sound of water flowing is so comforting to me. I wish I could sleep next to Nobe Young waterfall (or at least the sound of it) every night.

I took all the photos in this post and made the video too.

Leaving the Mountain Again

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I left the mountain this morning. I won’t see it again for at least seven months.

I didn’t sleep well last night. I hardly ever do before a big trip, but last night I was filled with worry. I was wide awake at 4:30 this morning. I went ahead and got out of bed and prepared to roll.

Yesterday was foggy and drizzly at the campground. When I tried to open the doors on my van this morning, I had to give them an extra tug because they were a little bit icy and the ice was holding them extra shut. My windshield was iced over too. As soon as I got the door to the driver’s side open, I started my engine and kicked on the defroster. The ice was melted by the time the van was packed.

The Big Boss Man sent me an email last night and asked me to stop by his trailer before I left this morning, so I did. He wanted to tell me that my name had come up twice at the company meeting he’d just returned from. I was the only non-managerial employee mentioned. Two highers-up in the company said what a great job I did in the mercantile this summer. They really want me to come back next summer, which means The Big  Boss Man really wants me to come back next summer. He said when his employees do a good job, it reflects well on him.

It was still dark as I made my way down the mountain. I got to see the sky gradually lighten until morning broke and the earth was blanketed in a beautiful golden brightness. I stopped in the first little town on my route, gassed up and bought a rather disappointing breakfast burrito. This is what I left behind me:

The highlight of my drive was a forest of Joshua trees. I’d driven through this forest in 2015 and have always regretted that I didn’t stop to take photos. Today I remedied the situation.

Despite my worries of last night, my van and I made it fine to tonight’s destination. I did have to get a jump start in the truck stop parking lot. I drove through one of those safety coridoors where drivers are supposed to turn on their headlights. I dutifully turned mine on, but forgot to turn them off. My laundry was almost dry when a man in the Subway portion of the truck stop asked who the van belonged to. When I said it was mine, he said, Your lights are on. Oh no! I rushed outside and turned them off, but it was too late. After folding my clothes and putting them away, making my bed, and tidying the van, I tried to start the engine, but it just wasn’t happening. The nice man parked next to me helped, much to my relief.

I’m very tired, and I can’t wait for the sun to set so I can hunker down at the truck stop and get some much needed sleep. Tomorrow, my adventure continues.

I’m happy to move on to something new, but as always, I’m going to miss those giant sequoias.

I took all the photos in this post.

Do You Know the Way to San José?

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The tourist asked the manager of the mercantile how to get to San Jose. The manager explained the directions to him in great detail—twice. The tourist and the young woman accompanying him seemed satisfied after the second time. They walked out of the store but were back in a few minutes. He requested the manager tell them again how to get to San Jose. They wanted to write down the directions.

Maybe there was a language barrier. The man spoke with a pronounced Spanish accent, so maybe he was unsure of what the manager told him. I grabbed a map so we could show as well as tell.

Take a left out of the parking lot, I said. Go to the stop sign, I told him, and make a right.

His fingers skimmed across the screen of his phone. Apparently he was taking notes.

At the second stop sign, make another right, I said.

Will there be a sign there?  he asked me.

Yes, I said, a stop sign. Make another right.

So there will be only the stop sign I see? he asked me.

Yes, I told him, fighting the urge to beat my head on the counter. At the first stop sign you see, make a right. At the second stop sign you see, make another right. When you get to the town with the stoplight, your GPS should work.

It looks like I can keep going straight, he said, pointing at the map.

I’m not sure, I told him. I don’t know how to get to San Jose, I said. When you get to the town with the stoplight, your GPS should work, I repeated. Or you can buy this map, I continued, tapping on the map spread out in front of us.

What highway is this? he asked, pointing to a roadway shown on the map.

If he had looked closely, he could have found the number for himself, but I did it for him. I looked at the map closely, found the highway number, and read it to him. He continued to study his possible routes.

I think we can go straight right here, he said again, pointing, and I agreed, Yep, that’s what it looks like.

They didn’t want to buy the map, but they did thank us for our help.

When they left, the manager and I shook our heads at each other.

I don’t know how to get to San Jose,  I told her. He wanted me to tell him exactly how to get there, but I don’t know!

Well, I do know, and I did tell him, but he wouldn’t listen to what I had to say, she complained.

I’ve noticed people—particularly city people—expect to find an interstate or a direct route to an interstate up on the mountain. I hate to be the one who has to break it to them, but it’s just not happening. It takes two curvy mountain roads to get to a state highway to get to another state highway to get to an interstate to get to San Jose. I could see how all that could discourage even Dionne Warwick.

Winter Is Coming (But Your Head Doesn’t Have to Be Cold)

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Each of these three pink and purple cuties is extra large and has a rolled edge. They cost $15 each, including shipping.

I’ve been on a hat-making kick. I love to see the way colors come together and working with colorful yarn allows me to have such an experience. I like to keep my hands busy when I listen to a podcast or do a Spanish lesson, and making hats is good for that too.

Both of these hats are extra large and have a rolled edge. Either can be yours for only $15, including shipping.

At the end of last winter, I’d said I was out of the hat business. Rolls of yarn seemed too bulky to store in the van, and I had so many hats already in stock. I don’t really get a good financial payoff from selling hats either; because it takes me over an hour to make a hat, I barely make minimum wage on my labor when I sell a hat for 10 or even 15 bucks. Making more hats barely seemed worth it to me.

These three greenies will take you through to St. Patrick’s Day! Each is extra large with a rolled edge. Each will keep your head warm and save you from being pinched for only $15, including shipping.

Then, in the spring, a sweet New Mexico friend cleaned out her craft larder and offered me all the yarn she decided she wouldn’t use after all. I couldn’t turn down her kindness, and I was back in the hat business.

This hat is brown and yellow and pale blue. It’s extra large for a comfy fit for the big of head or hair and has a rolled edge. It can grace your head for only $15, including shipping.

I noticed the last few times I set up my sales table, the extra-large hats were getting all the attention. Very interesting. Most people, it seems, want a loose hat. Personally, I like a snug hat I can keep pulled down over my ears, but as my dad used to say, if everyone liked the same thing, there wouldn’t be enough to go around. Because more people seem to be interested in extra-large hats, lately I’ve concentrated my efforts on making extra-large hats. I’m asking a couple dollars more for the bigger hats because making them requires more of my time and materials.

Red and grey and brightly colored, both of these hats pop! Each is extra large with a rolled edge. Each will cost you only $15, including shipping.

Most of the hats you’ll see in the this post are new, handmade by me in the last few weeks. Each is extra-large and has a rolled edge. Each costs $15, including shipping. (As always, if you buy more and I can consolidate your items into one package going to one address, I’ll give you a break on shipping.)

The money job was slow one day, so I made a purple and blue hat while I was stuck there. It’s extra large, with a rolled edge and was made from yarn my friend sent me. For only $15, including shipping, it can keep your head warm now and into the future.

If none of these hats entice you, have a look at my newly updated Hats for Sale page. All of the hats shown in this post are also shown on that page, as well as plenty of large hats for folks with smaller heads or those who want a snugger fit.

On another slow day at the mercantile, I whipped up this colorful cutie with more yarn sent by my friend. It’s extra large, with a rolled edge. You can wear it on your head for only $15, including shipping.

Winter is coming, yes, but you can keep your head warm with a hat from the heart and hands of the Rubber Tramp Artist.

Dispatch from a Cabin

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The last few weeks have been difficult.

At the end of September, I drove the van down to the mercantile so The Man and I could use the internet on our day off. As we were heading back to the campground, I noticed the oil pressure gauge was wacky, the needle bouncing around and showing the oil pressure was way, way high. The Man said an oil pressure gauge would never read high, that the gauge is there to tell the driver if the oil pressure is too low. We walked back to mercantile, used the internet again, and the man figured out the problem was more than likely the oil sending unit. Our boss was in town, so he picked up the part for us. The next day, The Man put in the new oil sending unit, and the gauge went back to normal. Disaster averted for the cost of a $28 part.

Last Tuesday was to be our final day off before we left the mountain. We decided to leave the campground to escape campers who wanted to chitchat even after politely being told we were on our day off. We parked in the woods for a while, but then The Man decided he needed to go back to the campground for a reason I can no longer remember. I turned the van around and stopped at the main road to look both ways before pulling onto the asphalt. The van died. It happens sometimes, so I wasn’t too worried, but then I couldn’t get the van to start. Then I was worried because my van always starts.

I tried starting it again and again and again. Nothing.

Both The Man and I wondered if something had come lose after the replacement of the oil sending unit, so we removed the doghouse from front part of the van between the two seats, and The Man fiddled with some parts. I tried to start the van again. Nothing.

We figured we’d have to get the van towed. The problem was getting to a telephone. The nearest phone was twelve miles away.

We walked down the road a ways and waited for cars to come by so we could stick out our thumbs. The passing cars were few and far between, and those we did see didn’t stop.

After a couple of hours, we walked back to the van and tried hitchhiking from there. We had no luck for the longest time.

We had just decided to walk the couple miles back to the campground and try to find someone there who would help, when a pickup truck that had just passed us came back in our direction. The driver had turned around to help us! Our faith in humanity was restored.

The elderly couple in the truck drove us to the campground where our boss and his wife stay. The boss was on an errand, but the wife handed us the phone. I called my insurance company and found out my roadside assistance only coveres a tow of 15 miles. That wasn’t going to be much help, since we were sixty miles away for the repair shop The Big Boss Man recommended. The Man called AAA and arranged to have a tow truck meet us the next morning. In the meantime, the wife offered us the use of the campground’s vacant cabin. We jumped at the chance to have a shower and sleep in a queen size bed in a heated building.

We found we got internet in the cabin, so I got on Facebook while The Man looked at minivans for sale in several states. I saw I had Facebook messages from The Man’s sister and cousin, asking him to call home. He immediately knew something was wrong. I borrowed the satellite phone from the wife, and The Man called his sis and found out his mother had passed away. I don’t think he slept at all that night.

We met the tow truck driver on Wednesday morning, and The Man, Jerico the dog, and I piled into the cab of the tow truck. The driver, a nice man young enough to be our son, attached the van, and away we went. The ride into town was blissfully uneventful.

We had the van dropped off at the mechanic recommended by The Big Boss Man. The owner of the shop said he’d take a look at the van and call me in about an hour. Two hours later, as The Man and I watched the batteries in our phones lose power, I called the mechanic shop again. If we were going to have to get a motel room, I wanted to do that early enough in the day to get some enjoyement out of the money spent. The owner said he still hadn’t had a chance to look at the van, but he’d call me in half an hour.

About that time, I got a call from The Big Boss Man. He was in town. If the van wasn’t ready to go, he was willing to drive us back up the mountain and let us spend another night in the vacant cabin. He was bringing his personal truck to the same mechanic in the morning, and we could ride with him. We jumped at the chance. I called the mechanic and told him we’d see him in the morning.

In the morning, the repair shop owner was still not able to tell me what was wrong with the van. I don’t know if it had even been looked at yet, but it had been moved onto the shop’s tiny concrete lot. About two hours later, the owner of the shop called me to say the problem was the distributor modulator. I told him to go ahead and fix the problem. It wasn’t like I had a lot of choice. I needed my van to run.

I wasn’t so lucky with the expense this time. The total with parts and labor came to $226. Groan. It’s always something.

So how did we celebrate the van running again? By taking an epic five hour road trip through the greater Los Angeles traffic zone so The Man could buy a minivan…but that’s a story for a different day.

On the second-to-last day of our work season, The Big Boss Man made us a proposition. We could stay in the cabin and do some work around the campground to make up for the two and a half days we had missed during the week. We’d get a warm place to sleep, electricity, hot water, and fatter pay checks. We agreed, but an hour later, The Man couldn’t take it anymore, and decided he was out of the campground business. He packed his minivan and headed to civilization to line up insurance and jump through the hoops of getting the car registered.

Me? I decided I wanted a few days in the cabin. I finished my paperwork this morning and I’ll pack up all the items in the cabin’s kitchen this evening. Tomorrow I’ll paint picnic tables, maybe do some raking and fire ring cleaning on Wednesday and Thursday. In the meantime, I’ll schedule blog posts and enjoy the electricity and hot water.

 

Spider-Man Shoes

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The family walked the trail early in the day. They were leaving when I arrived for my shift.

The man of the family was carrying a toddler. The boy was wearing only one shoe, a sandal decorated in a Spide-Man motif. The man removed the shoe from the boy’s foot and walked over to the garbage can. While I watched, he lifted the lid and deposited the shoe in the trash.

I must have given him an inquisitive look because the man shrugged and said the kid had lost his other shoe somewhere on the trail. I suppose it was easier for the dad to toss the remaining shoe than to retrace his steps on the trail to look for the lost one. Presumably, the child had more shoes at home or the family could afford to buy him a new pair.

How does a person (even a tiny person) lose only one shoe? Maybe he’d kicked off the shoe while a parent was carrying him, but why had he kept the other one? Life is mysterious.

Later that day, a large extended family came off the trail. A small family (mom, dad, toddler) was part of the big family. The dad was holding a sandal decorated in a Spider-Man motif.

They’d found this shoe on the trail the man said. Did we have a lost and found?

I explained how the shoe had been lost earlier in the day and its mate had been left in our garbage can.

The man said he thought the sandal would fit his son. He asked if I minded if he dug the discarded shoe out of the trash.

I love dumpster diving and otherwise acquiring perfectly good cast-off items. I didn’t see anything strange or gross or wrong with rescuing the shoe from the trash. I told the man to be my guest.

He poked around in the garbage can and found the sandal close to the top. It had been a slow trash day, and the shoe hadn’t gotten dirty.

The toddler was excited about his new Spider-Man sandals. I guess one kid’s Spider-Man shoes trash is another kid’s Spider-Man shoes treasure.