Christmas Day on Kaiterakihi Beach, 2024

OUR CHRISTMAS STORY

I've talked about it before in posts, Kaiterakihi Beach is our traditional Christmas beach. So, today being Christmas, Allie loaded up her SUV. We provided turkey sandwiches, cherry tomatoes, fresh sweet cherries, and drinks. Off we went.  

It was a mostly overcast Christmas Day, but the temperature was in the 70's (F) and it wasn't raining, something it has done in the past on several occasions. No complaints from us at all. 

On our way out to the west coast, we wondered how crowded the beach would be this year. During the last several kilometers of our 45 minute journey, we followed a pick-up truck, with a huge grill strapped in the back. As it happened, he was going to K B as well, and after turning off from the road which continues on to Huia, we followed him in on the narrow, twisty-turning gravel road that ran steeply down to the beach. 

THERE WAS NO ROOM IN THE LOT

When we saw cars parked in the ditch even before the overflow parking lot, we knew it was going to be crowded.  Grill-man backed into the overflow lot, but where he was going to park was anybody's guess. The road was way too narrow at that point for Allie to turn around so she continued on down.  

The main parking lot was crammed, as we knew it would be.  She stopped the car at the very front of the lot and suggested that we unload our gear here, and that she would return up the hill and try to find a parking spot. She'd have to walk back down afterwards, possibly a hundred yards or more.  

WE FIND ROOM

Then it happened. A car, that had occupied what I considered the very best spot in the entire lot, pulled out of their spot and left!  Allie pulled in and we were set!  Thirty feet from the beach, right next to the grassy acres of picnic tables, with all the room we could ever want to unload. Unbelievable! Our Christmas miracle. 

My pictures will tell the rest of the story. We set up on the beach and spent about four hours of bliss, wandering or resting beneath our beach shelter.  

The sun peeked out a few times but disappeared each time as quickly as it had come. It did however help me get a new brighter photos. There was a time when I thought that a squall might be in the offing, but if there was one passing, it stayed out to sea, and the slightly cooler winds that accompanied it disappeared.  The day was warm enough that the passing bit of coolness was refreshing. 

Jeanne and I find that walking sticks are valuable aids when getting around uneven terrain, like beaches. Our balance is not what it was when we were kids of 65.   

  

For all the cars that filled both lots, the beach itself was surprisingly empty. There were loads of families up in the picnic area though.  

Here comes Jeanne. I've been sitting on a rock for some time.  I was hoping to see some fossils that are in the rocks farther out along the shore, but the tide had just covered them. More about that another time. 

Moisture seeping down the cliff face above this area allows for some beautiful growth. 

A little grotto sort of place. 

That'll do it for today.  I'll be back again with more pictures of our afternoon next time.  -djf

Solstice, 2024

I mentioned the upcoming solstice briefly in my last post and we have now just passed it.  You may or may not be particularly interested, but here goes a bunch of pictures regardless. 

I read that groups of people gathered at Stonehenge and greeted at the sun as it rose.  In place of giant rocks, my view of the sun is from between trees.  

This is a picture of the sunrise on the day before solstice.  I took it because I didn't trust the clouds, and my instincts were good.  On the 21st, we had a solid bank of clouds obscuring our view.  As it is, the sun is rather indistinct in this one.  

The following sequence was taken on the morning of the 22nd, the day after. 

As I said, I can't view the sun's appearance from between giant rocks, but these two trees are a great substitute in my opinion. 

Notice the high-flying birds. 

Above the other end of our balcony, almost straight up, the Moon made itself available for a photoshoot as well. This next picture was taken at about 5:55 a.m. on Dec. 22, 2024.  

I hope that you've enjoyed this quick look. With an elevated, east facing balcony, Jeanne and I have come to regard viewing the rising sun as a sort of morning ritual. Well, a ritual that we take part in when we feel like it, anyway. Sometimes one or the other of us stays in bed a little longer. The weather needs to cooperate of course, but when we do join the sun at dawn, we always toast the start of the day with coffee.   -djf  

 

Mid-December 2024

Greetings to you all.  Summer will officially be upon us soon, (Dec. 21st.) but it is already summerish much of the time. I thought therefore that I'd show you some pictures from the gardens that lie just opposite our cafe.  While I was taking pictures, a bumble and a honey bee came along, not together, I doubt that they're acquainted, and I was able to add them to the shots.  Actually, in my opinion, they make the shots.

I hope that you enjoy what I'm sharing. 

The first two shots are a before and after of the sunrise taken on Dec. 6th. 2024. 

The sun is approaching the point furthest south in its periodic sweep across the horizon between the equinox and the the solstice.  On Dec. 21, this year, the sun will rise, when seen from our balcony, directly behind the pine tree which stands just to the right of where the sun came up in the following pictures.   

I like this rose because its name reminds me of the time Allie give me a bottle of 1951 Port for my birthday.  

These hollyhocks remind me of a time in my life when they towered over my head. I shot this picture a little lower than I needed to.  

And here we go with bees and roses.  

I hope you liked those.  

I'm going to finish this post with something completely different.  

I love You Tube.  There are so many fascinating videos available.  I came across this one which was particularly enjoyable.  Amazing number, great presenter.  What's not to like?

Here it is.  -djf

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xtyNuOikdE4

Swallows

 

This morning, as Jeanne and I sat on our balcony and sipped the day's first brew, we were entertained by members of a family of Waitakere Garden's winged residents.  They undoubtedly started their lives in our potting shed. In fact, the first shot shows them still living at home.   

This is our view of the Palms Building during its remediation.   It is here that today's aerial acrobats rested between forays to catch their breakfasts.  The time is about 6:30 a.m.

I wish I had centered this one better. It looks like a stealth bomber here, and notice its shadow (reflection?) on the plastic.  

While Jeanne and I couldn't see what they were catching, it was obvious that they were very successful. I hope you enjoyed seeing them.   -djf

Today is November 15, 2024.

On this day in past years, I've reminisced about my years spent hunting for Michigan's white-tailed deer.  I've done it in several ways, but generally by showing lots of old pictures, and sometimes by publishing an essay I've written.  This year, I'm going to post only one thing, my Ballad of Fred, the Great. 

Fred is my brother-in-law and we shared a lot of hunts over the years.  I don't think I need to describe him more than that because the poem does that for me.  I hope you enjoy it.  

The Ballad of Fred, the Great.

Minnesota was the home of hunter, Fred the Great, 

And many were the travels that he took beyond that state. 

He went in search of Cervidae of every sort to shoot, 

And while hunting them, he wore blaze orange, his favorite hunting suit.

But hunting had to wait sometimes, a job had to be done, 

And though his arms grew weary, and his eyes red from the sun, 

Fred had to work, as most men do, to make his ends all meet. 

He also worked to earn the points that made his life so sweet.

Fred picked up cars and trucks and such, that fate had just struck down, 

He'd load them up, two at a time, and haul them back to town.

All heads would turn when Fred pulled in, to see what he had brought, 

He might just have that perfect truck or ATV they sought.

His lovely wife, had a gift, for humorous oratory, 

But her exploits are not told here, they're in another story. 

She didn't choose to share his hunts, she preferred to set him loose, 

All that she asked: that he be kind to her stuffed friend, the Moose.

When leaves began to turn and fall, Fred's blood would start to boil, 

He'd start again to plan his hunt, this time to Gourley soil. 

He knew a Packer fan up there, with hunting land so green, 

It grew the finest white-tailed deer that Fred had ever seen.

Tall cedars fell to build Fred's blind, the Butcher Shop its name. 

Fred sat among the tree tops there, on patient watch for game. 

Lesser men would hesitate to shoot the gun Fred shot, 

Their bodies would be black and blue, but hunter Fred's was not.

A deer Fred shot, dropped like a rock. Fred's aim: extraordinary. 

He shot just three or four a day, no more than he could carry. 

He shared his game with all his friends, and at least on one occasion, 

He shared his blind and gun to boot, with nephew, rookie Jason.

Fred continues to this day, to roam those hunting lands, 

He guards the acres that he hikes from drunken, poaching bands. 

He stops now and again to rest, to drink a barley brew, 

And to talk to lesser hunters, as all the great ones do.

If you're up north of Packer Land, where mighty white-tails roam, 

You may hear legends told of Fred, by those who call it home. 

They'll tell their stories quietly, with words of wit and awe, 

About the hunting skill he showed, of wonders that they saw.

You may even catch a glimpse of Fred, he's fond of steak and beer, 

As he heads to town for such a meal, at Jill's, not far from here. 

He'll have his lady on his arm, you'll spot her, she's first rate, 

And friends and family near him, this Hunter, Fred the Great.

Thanks to Jeffery Archer

Jeffrey Archer is a great writer.  His list of short stories and novels is long.  After the conclusion of one of his novels, I found a bonus that he had given the readers of that particular book.  It was a story consisting of only 100 words. 

I enjoyed it of course, and not long after, looked up what a one hundred word story is called, if indeed it has a name.  I found that it is called a drabble.  

Since that time, I have tried my hand at writing them myself.  I added a few of them to a couple of my previous posts, most recently back in April of 2023. Today, in this post, I intend to publish a few more.

Two of my sisters have now joined me in writing drabbles.  I find it satisfying and I think they'd agree. It is a great way to spend an hour or an afternoon.  I'm always amazed at how time flies as I try to make an idea work. I use the thesaurus constantly, and even Rhymzone sometimes as I try to cobble the thing together.  

I find it somewhat difficult to publish my stories for fear of looking foolish, or worse. Oh well.  I'll just have to live with that.  

I'd like to suggest that all of you try your hand at writing a drabble.  If you hesitate to do such a thing, consider this. You don't have to tell anyone you're doing it and you can toss any out that don't work. (I've done that on a number of occasions.) But think of the pleasure it would give you if you do succeed. I'll bet that you'll want to share it with someone too. There are even drabble websites where you can get ideas or read what really good ones are like.    

Don't forget.  Your story can't be 99 words or 101 words. Make sure you use the word count feature wherever you write it.  (You'll be amazed at how quickly you reach 100 words.) 

Here are my latest. 

-djf

#49  Yearning 

The boy found its opening in the base of the hillside behind dense evergreens. Narrow, but tall enough to admit him. He crept in to the limit of the daylight. He shook with wonder.   

His recurrent dream started that night.  

Stairs led down from behind the basement furnace, and a corridor disappeared into the distance. Its sides were stacked with covered, but fascinating items. Another long corridor, lying at right angles to the first, appeared on the left. It led somewhere marvelous.  

The imagery seemed too real not to be.   

Easing the flashlight from the kitchen junk-drawer, he slipped out. 

#50 Saying Goodbye

I met Max when I was a student at NMU. My roommates were great, we partied occasionally, but they were so serious. Max never took life seriously. He’d always make me laugh when he came over. 

I stayed in Maquette after graduation. He’d still come by my new place. I’d always offer him a snack or maybe a drink. The years passed so quickly.  

And now he’s gone. I still can’t believe it.  

He hadn’t been around for a while and I wondered where he was. 

A neighbor said he’d been sleeping under a car. He was a great dog.  

#51  City Life, circa 1935

I’m walking down Main Street for the first time, see, and this cop yells, “Hey you!”

I says, “Who, me?”  

And the cop says, “Yeah, you, watch-man. You got the time?”

So I says, “Time for what?”

“No,” he says, “You got what time it is. I can see you got a watch on. So what’s it say?  

So I tells him, “I just sold my farm and broke it moving here. I’m looking for a repair shop.”

“If it’s broke,” he says, “you shouldn’t wear it; makes a guy think it works.”  

And he walks off.  

City life, sheesh!  

#52  The Sigh

A sigh is the younger sibling of a whisper, barely qualifying as sound. Its sphere of influence is inconsequential when normal physics apply.      

I released such an exhalation as I settled into my recliner. It was my wordless editorial, quantifying my comfort, a statement of bliss.    

However, it’s clear some frequency of brain waves also accompanies such a sigh, which propagates through an unknown ether, and which only wives perceive. They know them as beacons of opportunity.     

Within seconds, I heard determined footsteps approaching. 

“There you are, my high-bush cranberry plants just arrived. When are you going to plant them?”

#53 Back Country

The wind rose as twilight fell and night found their tent bucking like a living thing.  The girls found stones and covered each peg. 

They were in grizzly country and glad they had installed the electric bear fence.  

Their sleep was fitful. Visions of claws intruded, but sunrise lit the canvas as they roused, night terrors forgotten.  

Heather billowed out first, but stopped short. Three men stood at their firepit.   

The largest one advanced menacingly, and said, “You pretty young things up here all alone?”  

Heather sighed, “Zip it, Randy. You know it’s your turn to cook breakfast. Get busy!”

 

   

 

I have a jar of 'Instant Ocean Concentrate.'

The instructions read: "Just add water. (Lots and lots of water)"  

The ingredients read: Sea salt

Okay, I'll quit trying to be humorous. But I do have a jar of sea salt that I made myself from water that the boys (the best of all possible grandsons) and I collected years ago from the far north end of Muriwai Beach, New Zealand.   

I made several batches of it back when they were younger.  I sent some home as gifts and we used most of it for cooking and meals.  I even used it to cure a batch of salt-dried black olives. 

This is a glass cake pan of salt in process. I wish I had taken this picture from farther away.     

Ocean water is approximately 3.5% salt.  I would start the evaporation process by heating pans of water on the stove. I used our BBQ grill once too with good results. I learned that I could reduce the quantity of water in any given pan by 75%, and then it would be time to transfer the salt solution to a glass pan for evaporation under the sun.  

Consider this. If I halved the quantity of water in the pan, I would double the salt content to 7%. If I halved that quantity, I'd have 14% salt. I found that after that concentration was reached, I'd start to get salt precipitating out of solution onto the metal sides of the pan. This was hard to get off.  Therefore, I'd transfer the solution to our glass cake pan and evaporate the rest of the water in that way.  It didn't stick to the glass.    

These are ripe olives that I picked myself from trees in the neighborhood and packed in my own sea salt. They slowly lost moisture over time and cured and wrinkled as you see.  

I have brought this topic up because I have recently run across a business, north of us, that I greatly admire. When I tell you about them, I think you'll understand why.  

It's name is The Taipa Salt Pig. I'm not going to take pictures off their website to show you, but will provide their address. I urge you to investigate this very unique business.   

They are doing something that I would love to do.  They collect water from a beach near their home, and evaporate it, producing natural sea salt.  They also make several flavored sea salts.  

The picture below shows an avocado I am about to enjoy for lunch, sprinkled with their squid-ink salt. (It's black, but not pepper) The ink comes from Spain, I think. Years ago, I tried a can of mussels in squid ink, and liked them. This salt has an indescribable, yet mild taste, but not fishy, if that is something that worries you.  

You also see displayed the other salts I recently purchased from them. In the red-capped bottle is Togarashi Salt, which has nori flakes, chili pepper, sesame and citrus zest added to the salt. (Nori is a species of seaweed that is often used to wrap sushi.) I especially like this salt on my Sunday morning fried eggs. The other black-capped bottle of white salt is their pure sea salt.  

https://www.thetaipasaltpig.com/

I plan to try more of their flavored salts. Chili, smoked, garlic, and rosemary are among the flavors they sell.  And next year, they intend to offer 'Around the World in Forty Salts.'

You produce a unique and imaginative, product, Taipa Salt Pig. Good luck to you. You deserve it.  

-djf