20 Ten

One hour and 42 minutes into the new year, a fence repair was required.

In the dark.

In the rain.

In two inches (or more) of mud.

Only in Yamhill. Happy New Year.

Superbowl Sunday

From Trask Mountain Outpost: Yamhill, Oregon:

Sleighbells Ring, Are YOU Listening?

In a world covered in snow, one blogger... will post pictures of Yamhill.
Cold yeah?

12.

It dropped to 12°F overnight. Brutally Brutal Brutality! The snow and the low temperatures are to continue throughout the week-into the weekend.

This is what cold looks like:



Couple of tips:

1)Wear your damn gloves

2)If it looks like pavement, it probably isn't; step in the snow to avoid the Curly Shuffle

3)Wear a damn hat with your damn gloves

4)....

5) Profit!

Yamhill Morning Skies

Out of sheer laziness and the inability to post anything clever... i present my mornings. Sick or not, farm chores get done, yo.

Monster Sex

Trask Mountain Outpost. Yamhill, Oregon. Drink Special for the night of 2 August, 2008.

Signs

Perhaps some of you remember the picture captioned "*mailboxes observing vast roaming herds of hay bales- Yamhill, Oregon"

Recently i have decided to set out and observe the movement of these splendid squares of plant matter. Once i achieved a favorable observation spot, i began to take pictures. Internet readers, we've now gone through the looking glass...


The once free roaming bales of hay have somehow assembled themselves into giant communal structures. Are they observing us, cold and calculating? Or is this a sign, proof of some agricultural benevolence? Perhaps these ominous monoliths are some last vestige of the Aztec culture, awaiting blood tribute so that the sun may rise once more.


Regardless of the conclusions you draw, these phenomena are real and documented...an open secret of mysterious Yamhill, Oregon.

Yamhill Skies

Summer

          *mailboxes observing vast  roaming herds of hay bales- Yamhill, Oregon

i have been noticing the differences in rural living vs. what i was accustomed to. Note this sentence:

"I found my self behind a hay baler on the highway while making a trip to the General Store"

While our home in Hawaii was at least two miles from any store (Golden Mart being the closest at about 3 mi) you could be at a movie, chain restaurant or giant big box store in about 15 minutes. Assuming you don't get a ticket from the 5-Oh.

You will never see a Hay baler, combine, or similar implement of husbandry on the way to Goldenmart or Foodland...not even Chili's.

You will not pass acres of hay fields, horse pastures, cattle ranches, and vineyards on the way to Mililani town center.

You cannot , and i cannot repeat this often enough, get a styrofoam box filled with Korean food and 4 sides of your choice. Kim chee, taegu, mac salad and watercress please...at the general store in Yamhill.

You will not at any time worry about pasture irrigation issues or compost pile management at your condo in Mililani or Mililani Mauka. If you do, please stop smoking the meth.

On your return trip from Mililani town center, you will not pass bales of hay ,the size of little british sports cars, lying in the fields.

Please note that the closest town is about 11 miles away. In the other direction, 17 miles away.

Like i've mentioned before, the process of adapting to change is a slow one.  However, when you do stop by the T&E General store in Yamhill, Oregon- try the jalapeno poppers, they have two types. The cream cheese filled pepper comes highly recommended. Fried capsaicin delivery vectors ease homesickness, if only for a little bit.

 

Consider the Alternative

Spotted at the General Store in Yamhill, Oregon. Flowers?

Trask Mountain Outpost

To escape the heat, we visited the local Bar/Restaurant in Yamhill proper. (or is that restaurant/bar? bar and grill? booze and food?)

M was hesitant to enter at first. Being new to the area, what greeting could we expect? Cold stares from the dead eyes of the zombie bar patrons? A rural stereotype(s) manifest in a bar in deepest darkest Yamhill? The complete cast of the Magnificent Seven as bar patrons and Walter Brennan as bartender ? The MIND REELS!

Ok. None of the above happened.

Our Bartender? Came back home to Oregon from, wait for it, Kailua. The correct pronunciation of Kama'aina was a dead giveaway. What are the odds? Is Yamhill secretly becoming a magnet for locals? Maybe...

Here are some pictures for you:



More of the Bar:


i think i will name the two heads on the bar wall Walter and Perry....



Pictured above, a glass of Dee Rail Pale Ale. Note the ash trays. I think the place will hold 100 people, tops.


Service and Atmosphere? Winnaz!
Food and Booze? Outstanding! Disclosure: If you drink wine, i think they just have wine in a box... just to let you know.
Will we go again? Yes, of course! So, when you come out this way... I'll take you for a beer.

Laters. Remember your sunblock kids...

Scorcher via Picture

Hope

HOPE is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I ’ve heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

-Emily Dickinson

* yes, I like poetry. STFU.

Spotted in Yamhill

Like a creamsicle in the non blistering memorial day sky, she sat there:

*if you don't know what kind of automobile is in the picture above, please to clicky link: 

 Opel GT

Ok. It's not the one in the picture. I am not sure how the sheriffs department takes to strangers taking pictures of vehicles parked in Yamhillian driveways. Think more Orange. It looks in perfect shape- do you think the owner of  yon motormobile or autocar will take me for a spin? Do you think the owner looks exactly like Remmington Steele? EastGerman Polizei ? Bunsen J Honeydew?  Perhaps the driver of the Opel GT is the owner of a boutique vineyard and a caped crimefighter by night? Sysadmin?

Couldn't be a car nut. Perish the thought.

Did you know the direct descendant of the Opel Gt is the Pontiac  Solstice?

As i  mentioned before, i find cars interesting.

 Dismissed. 

To Minimize Disappointment, Lower Expectations

To prove to you that i type for a living (or a part-time living, for the persnickety amongst you out there in Internetsville) here are some lessons learned in Yamhill:

Brown sugar is not the same as raw sugar!

Azúcar moreno no es lo mismo que el azúcar en bruto!

Brauner Zucker ist nicht dasselbe wie Rohzucker!

Brązowy cukier nie jest taki sam, jak cukier surowy!

...

Oh? I thought sugar was sugar...

Oh? Pensavo di zucchero è stata zucchero ..
Oh? Pensé azúcar fue de azúcar ..
Oh? Myślałam, że cukier został cukru ..

....

There are a lot of skidmarks at the section of road that goes from a 40 MPH speed limit to 25 MPH..

Hay un montón de skidmarks en la sección de la carretera que va desde un 40 MPH límite de velocidad a 25 MPH...
Il ya beaucoup de skidmarks à la section de la route qui va de 40 mi / h une limite de vitesse de 25 mi / h...

Isn't this fun? Now for the title of the post...

Observed at the General Store; Cowboy in full regalia; complete with spurs, dust, grit and i would suppose a light dusting of horse poop...for Flavor.

Our subject was discussing trailering horses up to Canada with the shop keep, the local purveyor of general merchandise, when the unthinkable happened. 

He asked the other store clerk for a latte.

John Wayne did not drink lattes. Henry Fonda did not drink lattes. Tex Ritter did not drink lattes. Buffalo Bill Cody did not drink lattes. Annie Oakley did not drink lattes. I don't think any of the heros in the "Magnificent Seven" drank lattes, not even Yul Brynner, and certainly not McQueen. Do the PBR guys drink half caf soy lattes? Lattes?

I was expecting, "shot of rye in a dirty glass", "cup of joe", "Mezcal por favor..."

"Latte"..  Crestfallen, dejected, disappointed.  (psst, this is where you look at the title..)

Then again, he's the cowboy. He can drink what ever the hell he wants. 

Put it on my tab, Miss Kitty, I'm going to ride off  into the sunset now.

Yamhill Sunset

Yellow Ball of Thermonuclear Goodness

I grew up in Ewa Beach. It is part of the vast Ewa plain on he island of Oahu, in the state of Hawaii. It's called the Ewa plain and not the Ewa fabulous for a reason. Still, it is home. I am not talking about the sprawl of suburbia urban-jungle-creep that people associate these days with Ewa Beach, i am talking about a time when you made it clear you were from Ewa or Ewa Beach.

Where your world boundary was defined by that blue sign, Welcome to Ewa Beach.

Back then, there was one road cutting through the seemingly endless cane fields. One lane in, one lane out. One stop light. One Silvas. A canal, the park, the bowling alley, and the beach.

Everyone knew everyone else. I'm pretty sure the crime rate was low if non existent. You didn't have to lock your doors. Your neighbors were always friendly, and willing to help out. You always got fed if you were visiting, and did in kind if someone showed up.

Everyone was looking out for everyone else. It was small town America ala Norman Rockwell, done up Hawaiian style.

Did i mention the brutally brutal brutality that is the Ewa Beach summer? No? Remind me sometime.

In Yamhill there is no Silvas', there is the T&E. There is no single proper stoplight, there is a blinking red caution at the four way. In Yamhill, there is no bowling alley, there is Zippy's.

There is however, that same small town feel that's just like home. Aloha ? In Yamhill? Of course.

The sun beat down upon our little farm in Yamhill yesterday. With Aztec God-like anger, the big yellow ball sent fiery rays that wilted people, horses and weeds. In a freakish bout of weather, the mercury soared to 89 degrees F. I was waiting for the mokes in boardshorts and the tradewinds, sadly they never made it. We are talking shorts, no shirt weather people! THIS IS NOT A DRILL!

i'll take my shave ice blue and red, thank you.

The neighbors were doing yard work.

Then the neighbors came to do our yard work. That is correct, our yard work. No one asked. They just did.

With a John Deere Tractor. A John fucking Deere TRACTOR. With front end loader and mower attachment! No cup holder though- are you taking notes, John Deere RD? Could you offer it in Corsa Rosso with Scuderia badges as well? Thanks! Mahalo!

Beers were shared over aforementioned implement of husbandry. I was amazed. I was humbled. We were thankful.


Remember Ewa Beach? Yamhill is just like it. There is Aloha in Yamhill, no doubt in my mind at all.

131 487.192 minutes

I realized it was the day today:

• Seven Million, eight hundred eighty nine thousand, two hundred thirty one point four nine seconds.
  
• One hundred thirty one thousand, four hundred eighty seven point one nine two minutes
  
• Two thousand, one hundred ninety one point four five three one nine hours
  
• Ninety one point three one zero five days
  
• Thirteen point zero four four weeks
  
• Three months....Aloha from Yamhill.

Yamhill Phonebooth

Ka El? Is that you? 

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Secondary Barn Kitty of Doom looks down upon you. Feel her disdain and loathing! You must now  ritually disembowel your self before her. SILENCE!!!