I was up at 5 A.M. this morning.
By 6 A.M., I was cataloguing the Daytrips I’d made Solo Lobo; by the time I got to the last Julia Butler Hansen Wildlife Refuge walk of 2021, around 9 A.M., I was in the mood to drive there and stretch my legs a bit š
So, I did š
There was a lull in the rainfall – and because I have a cold sore on my lip, I didn’t want to be around people: the Wildlife Refuge Trail was perfect for a house escape.
I’ve always had cold sores on my lip – same place, all my life. They usually appear sporadically in the winter time and disappear completely in the Spring: sometimes a stressful situation will cause them to show up; but I haven’t had one in years. Until now. These past 9 days, there’s been a lot going on, and though none of it personally applies to me – it does apply to the lives of five of my friends, thereby applying to my life, indirectly. Hence the lip blister.
Cold sores are reported to be contagious, but Bob never got one … and we kissed. A lot; we were married for 44 years, and Bob never suffered a lip blister – or any other type of blister (me neither; only on my lip, right side). Stacey never got one either – if she ever gets one now, it’s not my fault. I was extra careful when I could feel a blister building up to a full-fledged appearance: I carefully hugged Bob and Stacey, but never kissed them until it disappeared. And I applied a liquid Campho-Phenique to the blister, which burned like hell, until the gelled stuff came along: it smells the same, but doesn’t make my lips sting, or my eyes water. I am thankful.
But people are weird about lip blisters, and I didn’t want to feel like a leper today – so, to Skamokawa, I went š
I topped the gas tank off before I got out of Dodge, and noticed that there had been a 51-cent price hike since I topped the tank off on May 4th: The Highlander has barely left the carport this month due to all the rainfall.
Steamboat Slough White Tail Trail Hike: https://www.alltrails.com/trail/us/washington/steamboat-slough-and-white-tail-trail-loop
Driving to the Trailhead, I was happy to note that the dangerously leaning tree hovering over Steamboat Slough Road, has been removed; thank God. That thing scared me every time I drove under it to get to the trailhead; I kept expecting it to fall all the way over and crush the Highlander, and me. I’m glad it has been removed.
When I stepped out of the Highlander, the first thing I noticed was a striking red clover patch just to the side of the trail entrance – I learned today that the Name of this trail I’ve been walking solo lobo for at least 2 years on a fairly regular basis, is called White Tail Trail. I’ve been calling it The Center Trail; but that’s misleading because a Center Trail Road already exists with that name.
I stand corrected, and I will used the correct Name from now
on š
It made me smile, remembering my niece telling me during a phone conversation, “You and Uncle Bob always liked that Crimson and Clover Song, didn’t you, Aunt Val?”
Yes, we did š
The song fit our young life, our lifelong passion, and our marital bliss.
I was the only person on the trail today – I usually am, but sometimes an occasional bicyclist will breeze past me, and motorists will drive the main road that is still intact to fish off Hornstra’s Beach (Hornstra was a farmer that owned this piece of land before the State forced him to sell to make way for the Refuge; he was paid a pittance for his property – including the beachfront that carries his Name).
I thought long and hard about that when I saw the scattered feathers on the trail. There was a large red fox colony on Hornstra’s property – when the school bus would drive past, they would come out of their dens and watch it lumber down the roadway. They were so cute. I hope some escape the hunt to eradicate them. And if they are still around, I hope they stay hidden š
Even though I walk the trail solo lobo now, I remember Bob
walking it with me in 2017. Bob’s presence will always be with me. No matter
what I do, or where I go: 44 years is a long time to share a life
together. We did e.v.e.r.y.t.h.i.n.g. together. It is impossible to separate
the past from the present – it dovetails: its dovetailing is carrying me into
the future with confidence.
Birdsong was all around me.
It was soothing.
It’s been a week; soothing is necessary.
Turning the car towards home, I decided to take the Brook’s Road - a jump road - that exits the Refuge land. I was hoping I could get all the way through without any handicapping snafu’s š
I was pleasantly surprised to see that the road has been tended to – not perfectly, but enough that it was no longer a hazardous minefield. Joy and jubilation! Last time I drove it, it was a mine field of deep potholes, blacktop worn away to the gravel road foundation, and grass growing up through the road cracks that whisked along the car’s undercarriage: it was more a goat trail, than the road it used to be: but, it’s a passable road again, now š
I crossed over Ocean Beach Highway onto Risk Road, intending to merge with the Elochoman Road which would take me over Beaver Creek Road – depositing me onto Ocean Beach Highway again further up the road towards home.
Plus, it’s a nice country drive š
But, Risk Road was closed! I hailed some locals and asked, “What gives with the road closure?” I was told there’s a project underway: no elaboration … I found the explanation later on at home – online.
Closures for the Ferry & for Risk Road: https://www.waheagle.com/story/2022/05/05/news/closures-ahead-for-ferry-risk-road/20778.html
When I got back home, I saw that the herb transplants I’d ordered finally arrived. I was glad … but I was also peeved; I have been home for weeks – and the one day I finally decide to break out of Dodge, Territorial Seeds decides to engage with UPS! Thank God they hadn’t been lifted by light fingers while I was gone. Because candy scott (the Park manager, here) does not do her job efficiently (like background checks, as she’s supposed to do for those wishing to live here), there has been an increase in thefts by bold thieves that troll carports where cars are missing, to lift and make away with anything and everything not nailed down (including cars – in broad daylight).
The Park, once a nice little neighborhood (That’s why we moved here in 2017: before candy became ‘manager’ and half the Park packed up and fled), is filling up with questionable characters – the main one being the current “Park Manager”. Murder and mayhem: that is candy’s MO.
I did not want to dwell on candy’s ineptitude. Dwelling on her rotten character and her slipshod way of doing business, would only lead to why I am now a widow ☹ I did not want to dwell on thoughts concerning candy scott.
Instead, I redirected my thoughts, and got busy busting my ass. Literally š
10-minute Core Workout for Seniors: Blast Away Belly Fat (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3gBaZupuqwc)
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