Author: <span>Carrie</span>

 

 

If you’re looking for a place to camp on your way across Oregon, and you’re on I-84 near Pendleton, this is a pretty sweet campground at Emigrant Springs State Heritage Area.  They have tent and RV sites as well as cabins for rent.  It’s incredibly clean, the fir trees are massive, and the elevation up here in the Blue Mountains is about 4,000 feet, which might not seem like much if you’re coming from the Cascades or the Rockies, but it’s definitely a nice lift out of the heat of the surrounding valleys.  The bathrooms are some of the cleanest I’ve ever encountered, with free showers that have nice anterooms with wall hooks and benches for your clothes!  And actual handsoap at the sinks – I nearly fell over.

A couple of downsides: the sites are somewhat close together without much privacy shrubbery, and the Interstate, while not visible, was incredibly loud.  I couldn’t help hoping that the animals are used to it and not going mad, because there’s no avoiding the unending sound of big trucks.

The best sites (I thought) were A18, A20, and A25.  They’re treed and set against a hillside on the way into the main loop – lovely and as private as possible.  You can find images of a lot of campground sites at http://campsitephotos.com.    Handy for when you’re reserving online.

grab bag

field notes

 

Shovels & Rope

I’m tearin’ it up with some fan poetry for Cary Ann and Michael and their new rocking album Swimmin’ Time.

Huzzah!

 

it’s a pourin’ down stomps
rainin’ thunder handclaps
hell yeah I do need ya
to tell me ‘bout that
sing the story of a fire
harmonize
like a choir
like a primal benediction
like a motor
like friction
come on listen
and repeat
and repeat
and repeat
I need songs like this
like a rainshower sweet
wash the stink
of mean people
to a puddle at my feet
roll a stonkin’ piano
plow a guitar buzz
O Evil
that’s alright bayyyybee cuz
you do it ominous like
the way I like it like
pull me up by my boots
alright alright
uproot me lady
root for ya sir
give ‘at gravelly mix a good rockin’ stir
you wanna shake it to my bones
roll da tambourine home
slap a rattle and a cheer
the devil’s comin’ y’hear
throw them gritty rhymes
spank the kickdrum in time
makin joy
JOY
JOY
voices joy mechanism
chapel style
raisin’ rafters
splittin’ light like a prism
hip-janglin’ to it all
pinned right to the wall
let me fly let me fall
keep it loud keep it true
let it roll on y’all

mixtapes

It’s been scientifically proven that one out of five people in the United States have either secretly or publicly air-guitared to the Guess Who’s ‘American Woman.’ Okay, that’s a lie, the research only applies to the Lenny Kravitz cover.  But you know it probably could be proven, if anybody had time for that.
The best Guess Who song (Now, this HAS been scientifically proven.  Okay no.) is ‘No Sugar Tonight/New Mother Nature.’  Which just happens to be the B Side to ‘American Woman.’  Love that folky acoustic intro that, around the 45 second mark, gets its gentle ass kicked by the chorus and Randy Bachman’s guitar.
And you got to show respect to a song telling you that a new Mother Nature is here to divide and conquer.   Is she now?  I think so, people.  Deny it all you want.  The Splendid Lady is coming for us all.
The Guess Who started out like a lot of rock bands in the ’60’s – doing covers and scrambling for the top of the charts with all the other British Invaders.  Except these guys were from Canada, so they could get away with writing a snarky song like ‘American Woman’ and then have it reach the #1 Billboard spot in America in 1970 – the first Canadian group ever to do so.  Whether it was meant to be truly anti-American or sexist, Pat Nixon requested that the boys skip that one when the band played a concert for the White House that year.
After forming as The Silvertones in 1958, the band wasn’t entirely successful outside of Canada right away – they had a string of hits, as well as personnel and name changes (The Silvertones, The Reflections, The Expressions, The Winnipegans (just kidding on that last one), then released a cover of ’Shakin’ All Over’ in 1965, under the name ‘Guess Who?’ –  a record company ploy to fool music buyers into thinking they were getting some kind of Brit supergroup recording.   Then the band officially became the Guess Who (and got rid of the question mark).  And then they STILL ended up broke and in debt after a UK promotional tour.
Did the Guess Who give up?  Hells no.  Their producer, Jack Richardson, mortgaged his house to pay for their next album’s recording session.  That album was Wheatfield Soul, with the top ten hit ‘These Eyes.’  The band went on to have three more Top 40 songs – before the lead guitarist Randy Bachman became a Mormon, broke off from the group and started a band called Brave Belt, which would eventually morph into Bachman Turner Overdrive.
Is the Guess Who one of the best rock bands ever?  Errr…not really.  But they put out some killer songs.  I’d call that a win.  And they’re still on tour.   Bachman also hosts a pretty sweet old school radio show on CBC called Vinyl Tap.
I’ve been listening to the Guess Who a lot lately (you probably got that) and reading about failure.  Everybody fails, everybody makes mistakes.  It’s the best way to be successful.
That’s not always easy to accept – maybe it’s shouldn’t be.  We’re human beings, capable of making important decisions every single day about how we treat other human beings, and how we treat this planet, which is our only home.
Mistakes are gonna happen.  They have already happened – and there’s no UNDO button.  There’s only NEXT.  Keep going.
The best thing to do is OWN IT.   And don’t let it kill your spirit.
If we don’t fail, and don’t make mistakes, then what do have to learn?  I have a lot to learn.  I’m good with that.  NEVER GIVE UP.

mixtapes

On a summer afternoon walk in the rain, I watched storm clouds rolling over Jackson Hole in massive clots of darkness.  Near a streetcorner, I passed the open back door of a dry cleaner’s.  Despite the rumble of thunder and the drone of industrial vents, I heard a soft whirring noise.  I immediately glanced around me for a hummingbird; I knew that unmistakable sound of wings.  Down near my feet, in a landscaped plot of drooping wet yellow lilies, I saw movement among the flowerheads.

It wasn’t a hummingbird.  Instead, a moth the size of a hummer, with intricate brown, pink and white lined wings, darted in between the lilies.  It hovered while delicately sipping from the flower throats, and I wondered at the immense weight of its body carried on fragile wings so aerodynamically.  I watched for a while, until suddenly the moth flew up higher and zipped through the dry cleaner’s door, disappearing among the rotating racks of clothing.

Later, I found a photograph of a White-Lined Sphinx Moth (Hyles lineata).  The sphinx, or hawk moths, of the family Sphingidae, sometimes fly by day and are mistaken for hummingbirds.  Not only are their wingspans approximately the same as the smaller birds, but these moths pollinate similar flowers, they’re often brightly colored, and their wings make the same humming noise.   Sphinx moths are among the masters of maneuvering flight in the winged world.  They can fly backwards, dip, and dive.

Their most remarkable feat is their ability to hover before huge blossoms while drinking nectar.   The majority of flying insects move their wings in true hovering flight.  Moths use more than the upstroke and downstroke typical of winged flight.   The Hummingbird Hawk Moth (Macroglossum stellatarum), like the Ruby Throated Hummingbird (Archilochus colubris), beats its wings at around 70 beats per second, the fastest of all birds and moths.  Hawk Moth wings can rotate almost 180 degrees as they sweep cyclically from front to back in a figure eight motion.   The naked eye sees a quick blur of color, but the scrutiny of high-speed photography and insect morphology allows us a better understanding.

In hummingbirds, all this is possible because the wing bones are short and nearly inflexible, and a loose shoulder joint allows for pivotal movement greater than any other bird.  But in insects, this phenomenon occurs with boneless wings.  At the base of each wing are several sets of powerful muscles.  Two sets of unattached, or “indirect” muscles contract alternately to cause surface changes on the insect’s body.  Because a wing is an outgrowth of an insect’s body wall, these surface changes can actually move a wing up and down.   Meanwhile, four sets of attached, or “direct” muscles tug a wing forward, backward, and in a rotary path.  Sphinx moth forewings are also narrow and tapered for greater speed.  These moth wings have the thickest veins along the front edge, providing the strength and rigidity necessary for their dexterous flight performance.

Insects are are the oldest winged beings.  From flower to flower, they have been pollinating the earth for about 350 million years, and their evolution is closely linked to that of flowering plants. Insect wings evolved from accessory appendages, unlike birds, whose wings are modified limbs.  A bird first takes to the sky through the teaching of parents, but when an insect flies for the first time, it is untaught flight.  While feathers are amazing and functional works of natural art, the wings of Lepidoptera (the butterflies and moths) have their own “feathers.”  The name of their order comes from the Greek for “scale wing.”  Each moth wing is layered with hundreds of infinitesimal scales which protect the wing’s membrane and refract light into color, much like the feathers of a hummingbird’s throat.  Linnaeus himself organized only the insect orders by the characteristics of their wings.

As I watched the sphinx moth fly into the dry cleaner’s, I reflexively and wrongly thought of moth-eaten sweaters and mothballs.  Now, I think of ancient wings, of creatures that inhabit the skies of night and storm, searching for flowers.  I will remember this the next time I hear the familiar sound of whirring wings, and wonder if I might indeed be mistaking a hummingbird for a sphinx moth.

field notes

If I were a wood nymph or a tiny fairy, I would wear purple skirts made out of rock clematis petals.  They’re perfect and so fashionable!  Bees and flies might try to pollinate me, but that would be okay.

Rock clematis (Clematis columbiana) is a perennial vine that’s native to the Rocky Mountains.   With about 300 other species, including sugarbowls, it belongs to the buttercup family, Ranunculaceae.

Sometimes called Virgin’s Bower (which actually applies to a sister plant, Clematis ligusticifolia), this delicate little creeper blooms in June and July in the Tetons.  I took a photo while hiking up Josie’s Ridge in Jackson in early June.  Josie’s is a well-known local cardio-grunt with a quick elevation gain from the trailhead, right off the bike path near Flat Creek.  The steep slope up to the ridge is host to a succession of amazing wildflowers all summer long.

Looking southwest from atop Josie's Ridge, Wyoming.
Looking southwest from atop Josie’s Ridge, Wyoming.

 

When Clematis columbiana goes to seed and loses its fragile lavender petals, it’s no less beautiful.  The seedheads fluff into frondy white tendrils.  They’d make great fairy pompoms.

Clematis columbiana-2, by Mary Vaux Walcott

Mary Vaux Walcott (1860-1940), an American watercolorist, painted numerous wildflowers of the Rocky Mountains and other botanicals, including these lovely images of Clematis.

Clematis columbiana-1, by Mary Vaux Walcott

field notes

Read my second and last Elsewhere blog post here.  I am a different person after 5 wonderful months in Paonia, Colorado.

IMG_0018
The view from my room. Tail of Tomato da Housecat in the foreground.
IMG_0021
Cross country skiing on the irrigation ditch trail above the town of Paonia.

grab bag

grab bag

Part of the Worlds Without End Women of Genre Fiction Reading Challenge

YYEEESSSS! YES! This is what I want to read when I want to read a vampire novel.

And get me: I’m addicted to The Vampire Diaries on the CW, I read Anne Rice when I was in high school, and I still consider Stoker’s Dracula to be one of the finest novels ever written (and I can’t stand epistolary novels!). Near Dark kicks Zero Dark Thirty ass in Kathryn Bigelow’s directorial canon, in my opinion, and if you haven’t read Anne Billson’s novel Suckers, you need to immediately. Hopefully this all suffices to establish my street cred as vampire novel evaluator. Notice I’m not mentioning Stephenie whatshernameTwilight here. At least, I’m trying not to.

First, Barbara Hambly is a thinking woman’s writer. Because yes, there are nonthinking women out there. I should know, I am a nonthinking woman sometimes. I read the first Sookie Stackhouse novel (cringe) and ditched the books for HBO’s True Blood adaptation so I could salivate over Alexander Skarsgaard. And there’s of course Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter, who is apparently supersexycool (ok, I’m not really sure if she’s that because I haven’t read any Laurell K. Hamilton, but I’m sure I’d prefer Anita Blake over Bella and Edward). There’s now enough vampteen and hip-chick vampire hunter lit out there to make a bookstack that would stretch from here to the Wraith mothership in the Pegasus Galaxy (yes I’m referencing Stargate Atlantis here, and I’m not ashamed). Speaking of the Wraith, what you get with Hambly’s novels is scary vampires. The ones who want you dead because you’re an inferior humanoid food source. The kind of vampires Stoker had in mind.

Anyway, Barbara Hambly’s James Asher novels. Because Those Who Hunt The Night is the first in a series, people. Get on board. And, if you’re not reading my WOGF reviews (it’s ok I know no one is…. I’m sucking at the polls, no vampire bloodsucking pun intended here), you’d also know that without trying (I swear, without trying), I keep choosing novels with serious bromance going on. This one is no different! Well, it definitely starts off differently, however, both in terms of bromance and vampire-human relationships (as recently depicted in film and teen lit, I mean).

Let’s get to the plot, shall we. Or sort of, because I’m really bad at synopses and reviews (see previous three babble-rant paragraphs). Suffice to say, our undead story takes place when and where it damn well should, in early 20th century Britain. Our hero James Asher is an Oxford professor who has a background in the spy trade and a brilliant, headstrong young wife named Lydia who is training to be one of the few female doctors of the time period. You know James is badass because he rides an Indian motorcycle, and Lydia rocks because she isn’t a wilting flower but a sharpwitted scientist who isn’t afraid to perform autopsies.

At the very beginning of the novel, Asher arrives home to find waiting for him the vampire Don Simon Xavier Christian Morado de la Cadena-Ysidro. No, really. Ysidro’s presence confirms the existence of vampires for our hero, and then he pretty much coerces Asher into helping him find out who is murdering vampires in London. You’d be coerced too by a 300 year old superhuman blooddrinker who knows where you live and threatens your wife. The two reach an uneasy bargain, and sleuthing ensues. This isn’t just a vampire novel, it’s a delightfully tense murder mystery and character study with a dash of mad scientism thrown in. James Asher is courageous and resourceful, and so is his wife, and their love story is as important to the book as the bromance between the noble Asher, tormented by his actions during his spy years, and the lonely, ancient Ysidro, who is nobility of a different sort. It’s inevitable that the two men – though really only one of them is a human man – are going to be allies, and you hope despite Ysidro’s age and his coldbloodedness that they will be friends. By the time Asher calls Ysidro by his first name during their scaaaary foray into the Paris catacombs, it’s clear they’re gonna bond and save each others’ lives at some point. Yay! And yet, there’s still that undercurrent of distrust and wariness, punctuated by moments of sly humor. It’s just electric!

Those Who Hunt the Night was published more than ten years after Anne Rice’s Interview with the Vampire, but it’s not a ripoff or some kind of vampire reboot – it’s unique and rewarding. There are three more books in Hambly’s series, which is a wicked little treat! I’m keen to see more of Lydia Asher, whose canny medical know-how helped reveal the mystery at the heart of this story. There are other minor characters in the form of Ysidro’s vampire buddies (and not-so-buddies), and Hambly portrays them as separate personalities, not simply stock villains to be despatched or befriended. One of the best moments of tingly fear comes from a scene in which James meets an abandoned, newly-created vampire thug who has never learned self-control. They have an intense conversation in a dark alley, and Hambly does a masterful job of conveying the vampire’s rage, desperation, and hunger, in sharp contrast to Asher’s brave self-control and quick wits. I was simultaneously terrified, repulsed, saddened, and intrigued.

Hambly has written some great books in other genres as well – you might know her fantasy novel Dragonsbane, and her Benjamin January mystery series. Highly recommended. Me, I’m on to Traveling With The Dead, book 2 in the James Asher series. YES!!!

 

book reviews

Part of the Worlds Without End Women of Genre Fiction Reading Challenge

Even though this is a woman-thang reading challenge, I seem to be on a bro-mance roMANce kick lately, witness my lovefest WOGF review of Luck in the Shadows from last month. This month it’s no different, though I didn’t intend to continue the trend. I got The Whitefire Crossing as a free Barnes & Noble download, thinking I’d probably never read it because I already have at least 90 books in my nook library. And yet – I started in on Courtney Schafer’s novel while on the treadmill at the gym, and I didn’t quit (I mean, I quit the treadmill after my usual 3 miles, puh-leeze, but I kept reading the book later at home).

Unlike Luck in the Shadows, there’s no gay love story here, but this is still a tale about the origins of a partnership and a friendship (this is the first book in a trilogy) that two men are both in desperate need of, whether they realize it or not. In the fantasy kingdom of Ninavel, Dev is an outrider, a sort of mountain guide-slash-smuggler between the two magical realms of Alathia and Ninavel, divided by the Whitefire mountain range. He takes a business deal to lead Kiran over the treacherous mountain passes to Alathia with a cargo convoy, assuming that Kiran is just a rich, inexperienced boy, when in actuality the boy is a blood mage with some serious issues, on the run from his scary mage-daddy Ruslan. Though Dev and Kiran come from very different backgrounds, both characters have backstories fraught with childhood abuse and tragedy, both have been influenced by magic, and both have hidden agendas, making them more alike than either of them know.

It was a big surprise to me that I wanted to finish this novel, because right away I was disconcerted by the way the author sets up the two main characters’ points of view.

Lemme break it down for ya: Dev and Kiran’s personalities are distinct, likable, and well-developed, but Schafer writes Dev’s chapters in the first person, and Kiran’s chapters are told from a third-person point of view. I can’t think of any other book where I’ve encountered this, but that doesn’t mean that this trick makes the book unique or better. No, it makes things really confusing, jarring, and disrupts the flow of what otherwise would be a smooth, captivating narrative. I kept thinking my nook was malfunctioning and I’d suddenly switched to a different ebook. I don’t know why an editor would have gone along with this dual-POV gimmick, but TAKE NOTE that I kept reading despite! That speaks a lot to how much I enjoyed the story.

The absolute best part of the book is the setting. One quick Google and you’ll find out that Courtney Schafer is a serious mountain girl with all kinds of badass rock climbing experience. I was impressed that she was able to bring in elements of wilderness skills and survival, as well as a reverence for mountains, and enhance the novel without sacrificing plot, world building, character development, or dialogue.

Most of the plot involves traveling over the mountains and avoiding spies, avalanches, and the evil mage-daddy’s Sauron-style I-will-find-you sorcerer-vision. Too many hyphens there? Too-bad.

There’s a suspenseful ending that of course involves a perceived betrayal, sex, a rescue, and lots of bloody knifey nasty magick (a few times I thought I was watching an episode of Supernatural….Castiel!!! oh wait…).

As a first novel, I could only lament that it didn’t undergo one final edit by someone more ruthless. There’s some incongruous, modern-sounding vocabulary that knocks the tone sideways (a character says “yeah, right” which seemed out of place to me; a thug is nicknamed ‘muscle guy’ – what, is he a bouncer at an LA nightclub? And also the word “pants.” That just bugs. In a sword and sorcery novel, really – pants? Why not breeches or trousers or even leggings?). Also, Dev uses the word fuck a LOT. Now, don’t get me wrong, I use the word fuck ALL the time, so I ain’t offended here. It’s more that the overuse struck me as a total copout by the author. And in most of the instances where the F-bomb is invoked, it was overkill. An S-bomb or even “Bollocks!” would have sufficed.

In closing, let’s talk about all these fantasy novels that go over the top in taking their gods’ and goddesses’ names in vain. Every other freakout, a character’s shouting “By Khalmet’s bloodsoaked hand!” Nightrunner series (it pains me to mock the series, but alas): “Bilairy’s Balls!!” I’m reading Guy Gavriel Kay’s Tigana right now, too, and it’s the same thing: “Oh, Triad, I am slain!!”

Hey, fantasy authors who DON’T fall into this sort of overkill, I applaud you – Alan Rickman just called to say, “By Grabthar’s Hammer, by the sons of Warvan, you shall be avenged!!!”

 

book reviews