I made mention a day or two ago of the fact that of late I have been hearing from multiple people whom I have long known opine that it is time for me to move back to the Pacific Northwest. These opinion expressers always include verbalizing wonderment as to how I can possibly stand to live in a backward state like Texas.
I always reply to that backward state question by saying Texas is not all that bad, Texans are not all right wing nut jobs, even though such may be in the majority in the rural parts of Texas. I have basically enjoyed living in Texas, for the most part.
But, during this COVID nightmare of limits and restraints, I have been feeling homesick. Someone will send me a photo of something in Washington, and the homesick feeling surfaces. Like yesterday, Maxine emailed and in the email were three photos, one of which you see above.
Part of the text describing the photos...
"We had our last high country hike October 3rd. Hiked up to Cutthroat Pass and then down to Cutthroat Lake and out that trailhead. OMG-Fall colors were in their prime."
The scene you see above is located not far east of the location of my former abode in the Skagit Valley.
At my current location I would need to drive hundreds of miles to see anything like that which you see above.
The Washington Trail Association webpage about Cutthroat Pass via the Pacific Crest Trail.
The scene you see above is located not far east of the location of my former abode in the Skagit Valley.
At my current location I would need to drive hundreds of miles to see anything like that which you see above.
The Washington Trail Association webpage about Cutthroat Pass via the Pacific Crest Trail.
Many decades ago, way back in the previous century, it was Maxine who led me on my first hike up the Mount Baker volcano. That hike begins at a trailhead at a location called Schriebers Meadow. If I remember right the last time I hiked up Mount Baker from Schriebers Meadow it was with Hank Frank's dad, my Nephew Joey.
And the last time I was at Schriebers Meadow was soon before moving to Texas. I drove myself and two others to that location to do some late summer wild blueberry picking. I am fairly certain I have photos of that wild blueberry picking expedition.
Just a sec, I'll go see if I can find them...
The photos were easy to find, cleverly filed in a folder labeled "Blueberry". Way back in the 1990s I got myself a Casio digital camera. Such a thing was quite unique back then, way before smart phone cameras came to be. That now antique Casio had the ability to rotate the lens to aim the lens at the photo taker, allowing the easy taking of what are now known as "selfies".
I have long been way ahead of my time in things like this. So, in the selfie above we are at that aforementioned Schriebers Meadow. That splash of white you see behind my right side is part of the Mount Baker volcano. I was probably trying to get the mountain in the selfie.
And then in the above selfie one of my co-blueberry pickers appears to be standing on my shoulder. That is only an illusion.
Now off my shoulder, the above person, who we will refer to as Nurse Ratched, and the person below, who we shall refer to as Big Ed, moved to Texas at the same time I did.
I remember Big Ed was inept at picking wild blueberries. Doing such requires a high level of dexterity. You can see the bluish tint in the green meadow. That which is blue are wild blueberries.
And the above is that aforementioned volcano named Mount Baker. It is a several mile hike to get from this location to hiking up the slopes of the mountain to the point where you can see and smell the steam venting from the volcano crater.
After I saw those photos from Maxine today I asked her what she used to take such good photos. Turns out Maxine has the same Samsung phone I have. That had me trying to figure out what setting I needed to set different so as to take good photos like Maxine takes.
Maybe it's a change of scenery which makes for improved photo quality...
Meanwhile, back at the ranch...
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Six years ago, November 10, 2014, a date which will live in infamy, Fort Worthians celebrated the groundbreaking for the Panther Island bridges.