This is the driest February since I started recording for CoCoRaHS in 2008. I have only recorded 0.87 of an inch of rain for the month, normal is about 5 inches. For the water year starting 10/1/21, I've received 20.81 inches, the average through February is 28.57 inches.
What is really alarming is the continuing drought in California and ZERO allocation of water to farmers, unless conditions change. If you think the price of food is high now, just wait. Better plan a big garden.
Growing up in a farming community there were many dogs and dog problems we encountered. I will spare you the details of what happened to some of our dogs. In short, sheep ranchers show no mercy whenever a pack of dogs would get into their sheep fields. There was a young man, about 6 years older than me by the name of Darrell, whose family were rice farmers and had their fair share of dogs. After Darrell served two years in the army he returned home and got a job with the county as a animal control officer, better known as the 'dog catcher', which was a position with the Sheriff's Department. He drove around in a county truck with a cage in the back to hold problem dogs. He would receive the usual daily calls on his radio from the dispatcher about somebody's neighbors dog(s) causing trouble, or a stray dog that needed to be picked up. In most cases he was able to settle a dispute between neighbors or find the rightful owner(s) of some stray dogs. But, at the end of some days Darrell had to take the remaining dogs in the cage to the dog pound, where they were kept for a certain amount time waiting to be claimed, adopted or sent over the rainbow bridge. As a kid Darrell was fond of dogs and he did not care to bring dogs to the pound after a few weeks on the job, so he started dumping them out in the country. It wasn't long before Darrell was no longer employed by the County.
If you think you have or had a tough job in your life, just think of being a dog catcher.
As I was reading my weekly edition of the Capital Press, an agriculture newspaper, I came across a part time job in the help wanted section of the classifieds as a ditch walker in Baker County, Oregon. Now you are probably asking yourself , what is a ditch walker?
This reminded me of my younger days working for my dad in the rice fields in the Sacramento Valley of northern California. As soon as the rice fields were prepared in the spring, water was released from a system of canals to flood the fields before rice seed could be sown by an air plane. On one occasion I took it upon myself to turn on two electric pumps along a secondary canal to start flooding a field. When I got home that night my dad told me he received a call from the Glenn-Colusa Irrigation District that they turned off the pumps because they had not received an order from him for water for this particular field. This is when I learned water had to be allocated prior to irrigating a field to determine the fee to charge the farmer based on acre-feet of water to be allocated for each field and increase the flow of water in the canal system according to the District's allocation from the USDI Bureau of Reclamation. There was a man, who worked for the irrigation district, called the ditch tender and his job was to drive and walk canals looking for any leaks, such as rat holes, facility problems with steel gates, diversion dams and illegal withdraw of water. After this learning process I started noticing the local ditch tender driving around more often, probably checking on me.
After working 10 days out of the Rowan Bay logging camp on Kuiu Island locating clear cut boundaries and spur roads as outlined on aerial photos, we were given four days off. A plane took us back to Petersburg where we stayed in the Forest Service barracks.
A friend, who had worked at the Cottage Grove Ranger District had transferred to the Petersburg District a few years earlier and had been the recreational staff assistant on the District, until she decided to leave the Forest Service to get into the tourist trade. On one of my days off on a Saturday, she informed me about a small tour boat that needed a tour guide from the Forest Service to explain the flora and wildlife to about 20 tourists on the boat. She said I would have to wear a Forest Service uniform, lunch would be provided, plus it would be a free tour for myself. I agreed, acknowledging that I did not know much about the ecosystem. She said, "wing it" and I did. Most of the tourist were elderly couples that were traveling on the large cruise ships that made their way through the inside passage of southwest Alaska and stopped for a day or two at Petersburg. The small tour boat cruised along the coast line and into one of the glacier bays consuming a good part of the day. I told the people about the different trees, including the Alaskan cedar, Sitka spruce and western hemlock that were visible on the nearby slopes. Eagles and ravens were plentiful during the tour and a few black bears were seen along the shore line. It was a good day and the people were very thankful when we departed the boat at the end of the tour. No clearcut units were visible since logging was confined to the interior of most of the islands and thank God nobody asked what my regular job was.
This story was written after I returned from Alaska in 1993 and has been revised and condensed.
It was the end of September, 1993 and the storms were blowing in more frequently, including a dusting of snow one morning. My work detail and my dream of working in Alaska was coming to an end. I was ready to go home. It was all the thrills one could imagine working in the brush, including the festering welts from the thorns of Devils' Club, the constant rain and the fear of bear encounters. One of the great adventures was flying in the contracted float planes used to transport us back and forth between Petersburg and the logging camp at Rowan Bay on Kuiu Island. This usually involved about an hour of flying time depending on the weather. It seemed every activity up here was controlled by the weather, which could change in a minute. Flying was not permitted if the visibility was less than half a mile and the ceiling was under 500 feet. There were days when people were confined to camp on their days off because of bad weather. Unthinkable, after spending 10 days in camp where the only entertainment after work was fishing or watching the one and only public TV channel out of Anchorage.
Most the pilots were middle age, experienced and always concerned about safety. Flight vests were required of all passengers. These vests included a co2 cartridge that would inflate the vest into a life jacket, a flare gun and survival gear in the event of an emergency landing or crash.
On the third day before my scheduled flight from Petersburg to Juneau, and then to Portland on Alaskan Airlines, I decided to take advantage of a break in the weather by calling for a float plane to take me back to Petersburg where I could stay in the barracks until my flight to Juneau. I made the call to dispatch. The dispatcher asked me, "how is your weather there"? I replied, "fine". He said there would be a plane there in an hour. After getting all my belongings packed a co-worker drove me down to the dock as we waited for the plane. The wind started picking up and the clouds started settling down around the surrounding mountains. Finally we spotted the plane coming into the bay. I said my good-byes and went down the dock to meet the pilot. As he got out of the plane, I noticed he was quite young. Where were those older experienced pilots was my first thought. The weather was getting worse. The pilot introduced himself and helped me into the plane. Now I was thinking I should have waited another day or two, but it was too late now. The pilot put on his head set, turned the plane into the wind, pushed in the throttle and off we went. I could see the pilot adjusting the radio frequency dial on the instrument panel as he was talking into his head set. Due to the roar of the engine I could not hear anything he was saying. Occasionally, there would be a break in the clouds and I could see we were not much over 500 feet of the water, if that. Soon I could see mountains rising ahead of us, than we were engulfed in clouds again. I looked for radar on the instrument panel, there was none. The pilot kept talking on the radio. My right hand was gripping a handle over the passenger door so hard I feared it would break off. At times the wind would blow us up and he would level the plan directly into the wind again. As the clouds past by, I could see trees off to our right side within 200 or 300 feet, maybe closer. I turned to look at the pilot, he just looked straight ahead and kept talking on the radio. As we continued, I noticed the pilot would not make many directional or altitude changes. I had the sense he was being directed by something or someone. Did this kid know what he was doing? Then we started down, the clouds broke open and there was the airfield at Petersburg. After getting out of the plane we entered an office where the pilot introduced me to his wife. She asked me how I enjoyed the flight? I told her it was a little rough and the weather made me nervous. She said, you should not have worried as I was talking to my husband by radio and giving him directions based on GPS and most of what he learned was from his father. As I walked out of the office to catch a ride into town, I noticed no planes coming or going, including those belonging to the older experienced pilots.
HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!
Growing up in Willows, a small community in the Sacramento Valley that was centered around farming, most the people worked in some kind of business associated with agriculture. There were the farm equipment dealerships, fuel distributors, warehouses, fertilizer companies, financial institutions, and of course the farm labor force. Back in the 1960's when I spent my summers between high school years working for my dad or another farmer, when my dad did not have anything for me to do, most the labor was either family members, friends of the family or local men that were called Oakies, but never to their face, unless you were looking for a fight. Many of these people were from the southern plain states, some had been farmer themselves, went broke and moved to California in search of work. They earned hourly wages working seasonally for different farmers depending on the crops. Some of them had drinking problems and spent a good amount of time in the local bars and taverns, where they were usually hired when a farmer would come into these establishments looking for help. From experience some were very good at operating different types of equipment, had mechanical skills from overhauling diesel engines, welding and doing other repairs. Those that worked full-time and were in supervisory positions usually earned $500/month, no matter how many hours they worked. Seasonal employees earned between $1.50 to $2.00/hour depending on experience and during rice harvest earned $25/day no matter the hours worked. There was no law requirements to pay overtime.
When row crops, such as tomatoes were ready to harvest by hand, Mexican labor was contracted through the Bracero program, where migrant labor from south of the border had to live in farm labor camps. Farmers would drive to the camps and transport the pickers to the fields. They had their own foreman that could speak Spanish and the pickers were paid by the pound as each box of tomatoes were weighed before being stacked on the truck for shipment to the cannery in Woodland.
When I left the army in 1968 my dad was out of the farming business due to financial problems and living in Stockton. A friend of my dad offered me a job on his rice farm south of Willows, but I declined the offer thinking back on the farm labor I had been acquainted with involving long hours and low wages. .
Umpqua is a small unincorporated community with a population of 112 people according to the 2000 census. Most these people live on farms, ranches and vineyards scattered in the valley along the Umpqua River. The biggest employer is the Norris Blue Berry Farm and packing facility. Back in the early 1820's fir trappers with the Northwest Company, a Canadian fir trading company established Fort McKay near the river here.
The center of this community is the Lighthouse Bakery and Café in a building shared with a Post Office. Before it became the Lighthouse Bakery and Café it was a small country store and deli selling diary products, beer, soda, can goods and the usual items you would find in a rural store. The deli served burgers and other meat items. It was a popular place for the locals, farm workers, loggers and others working in the area.
In 2009 the store was sold to people associated with the Lighthouse Farm, a spiritual retreat center specializing in growing organic vegetables, fruits, nuts and mostly a self sufficient community in the nearby mountains above the Umpqua River. The menu at the new café was all vegetarian dishes, sandwiches, salads, pastries and an assortment of breads made in brick ovens. Ordering was done at the counter from a overhead menu posted above, then you paid for what you ordered and a number was given to you to set on your table to direct the waiter with your order. On one occasion in 2009, Celia and I indulged in a lunch here. After we sat at a table in comes four or five men, who worked for the county road department as we could see their dump trucks in the parking lot. They approached the counter and studied the overhead menu and we over heard one say there is no meat on the menu and another said no beer either. After they placed their orders they sat at a table near us. Once their meals were served we could hear one of them say," this is not bad stuff".
The popularity of this place grew with time and before the pandemic it was hard to find a parking space between 11 am and 3 pm when they stopped serving. We had many lunches here with friends and family over the years before the pandemic.
With the holiday season approaching, I have taken on an extra responsibility, in addition to all the other things in my busy schedule these days. I have volunteered as an under cover pie inspector for a consumer's group called, Pies Unlimited.
This work involves long hours of patrolling many bakeries and food markets. Reading ingredients, poking at pies for freshness, and occasionally buying some for sampling purposes only. This is tough work and I have learned to deal with crowds of people at pie counters and suspicious store managers.
The following is a summary of different stores selling pies and what you can expect in terms of quality and price.
Price/Costco deals in quantity. They have the biggest pies measuring 16 inches in diameter. But, I question their freshness, since I visit this store often and have noticed some pies still displayed after 3 to 5 days from my last visit. Their price is not bad at $7.99 for one of these monsters.
Albertson has smaller pies and sometimes I can find a bargain, such as two for $6.00. These pies fall in the middle in regards to quality, but not bad when you need a pie immediately.
Safeway always has medium size pies for about $6 to $7. After reading all the ingredients, including some I have never heard of, I would not recommend buying their pies. Any time the ingredient section on the label goes beyond 50 words, I suspect something in there that may not be natural.
Food Value on the other hand has great sugarless pies for a good price of $6.99. I have sampled a few of these and would recommend their pies any time.
Oasis Fine Food has organic pies containing only natural ingredients. None of those words such as benzoate, potassium sorbate. polysorbate or LARD. Of course their pies are not cheap starting at $10.
There is a way to avoid all this stress in regards to where one should go to buy a pie. Nothing beats home made pies and you can save yourself a lot of trouble, such as driving during peak hours of traffic, crowded stores, a fight with somebody over the last pie in a store or sacrificing your health for a pie of lessor quality.
Of course, everybody does not bake and many people will continue buying pies from markets. This will keep me out there on the front lines inspecting those pies. It is a tough job, but somebody has to do it.
PS--This is a fictitious story written in the 1990's for a writing class when I lived in Eugene. After I took up with Celia in 1997, I let her read this to get her thoughts about its content, she actually believed I really did this.
Did you believe it?
Do you have Robins invading your madrone trees? For the last couple of weeks Robins have been feasting on the abundant crop of madrone berries. It starts out in the morning with the sound of Robins chattering, flying in all directions, madrone berries falling to the ground and a few Robins flying into the windows, maybe a little intoxicated from the fermented pulp of the berries. My vehicles are covered in pulp. This afternoon I walked down the road with berries falling on me as Robins made their way from tree to tree. The hill side is covered with them, there must be thousands. By late afternoon they are gone. Where do they all go for the night to sleep it off?