This Segment Was Written Over A Few Days Time.
Wednesday was the last for weed whacking at the kiwi orchard. I thought it would be quick and reasonably easy, but that was not the case. It took as long to do the last four rows as it took to do eight rows the day before. It appeared that two different people had done the weed whacking last time. On one side of the center line of the orchard, the grass was tall but not matted up. On the other side it was tall, matted and it looked like whoever had done the work before only skimmed the top of the weeds and didn’t do around the trunks or bottoms of the posts that are next to the trees and used to support them and the trellis. Maybe it was coincidental, but I don’t believe so.
There’s a good lesson in it that pertains to health. If we just skim the top and go only for appearances, we’ll find that problems are going to follow in the future. If we only treat the symptoms, in this case the weeds, and don’t bother to go deeper and get to the root(s), sooner or later we’ll have to deal with the problem. When we do things that way, we’ll find it to be a lot more difficult than it would’ve been if we’d worked on it when it was minor.
My next project at the farm was the tiller for the boat and the slats for the open gear storage area. There was a lot of sideways play in the tiller head and it had to be built up with weld. When that was done, I filed the weld down to fit the tiller. Once the slats were put back in place for the gear storage, we were ready to start packing. Celinda and I still had to go to Oroville so we could use the high-speed Internet connection at Scoops, the ice cream and sandwich parlor that had a wireless connection.
I had some business e-mails in my website inbox, but couldn’t access them because cookies and java script has to be on the computer being used and our hosts’ computer didn’t have that capability. We had to take our laptop like I did before, so I could put a message on the website for people to contact me through my other address.
Wednesday was the worst day for smoke since we’d been There. You didn’t need a filter or special glasses to look at the sun. Visibility was probably a quarter mile or less. Fallon, NV had taken the prize for worst smoke up until today. I hoped it would be clear and cooler once we got to the mountains. The smoke traps the heat in, and it really didn’t cool off like it normally would there at night.
We’d been scheduled to go to an organic farm in Willits, CA but changed our plans with the fire danger as high as it was. While we were at the kiwi farm, Celinda started looking for other places and we were sure something would work out, even if we had to go to Oregon sooner than we’d planned, or maybe even go to Washington State, if that was what was in the cards. With the good gas mileage we get with our Mileageman1 units on the car, the trip was costing about the same as it would if gas were 30% less than it was.
Thursday, after getting a few last minute things done on the boat, we went to Oroville and the ice cream parlor for a day on the Internet. We got as much done on our smalltownswest.com website as we could, but still had a lot of text and pictures that need to be sorted through, edited and published. While we were in Oroville, I mailed mileageman1 DVD of to various parts of the world. With the bulk of business taken care of, maybe, we’d be able to get czught up after our upcoming weekend of sailing.
The smoke from the fires was even worse in Oroville than it was in Palermo. We were definitely looking forward to our trip to the high Sierra in hopes of clean air, good wind and an enjoyable camping/sailing experience.
Our adventures during the summer wouldn’t have been possible without great house sitters and we really appreciated Jerry and Karen’s help. We also wouldn’t have been able to do this without effectively lowering our cost of fuel.
Friday, we were on the road. Wade and Bettie Ann were trailering their boat with Celinda and me, trunk stuffed full and our back seat loaded to the tops of the front seats, trailing behind. I’d lived and played in the area during high school and before moving to Oregon, but after fifty years everything looked new to me.