As I left the house to pick Seamus up this afternoon, I caught my eye on a surprise guest off to my right. Not an unwelcome one, mind you, but a surprise.

She seemed egg-heavy and looking for a place to lay her load down, but she consented to a fifteen-minute photography session after I dashed back into the house and got my macro lens.

 

 

She was even gracious about it, not minding at all when the hand she was resting on suddenly swooped up in the air to flip the camera on and off manual focus.

 

 

After just a little while, she was relaxed enough with me to groom a little, not minding at all the frantic naughty black cat on the other side of the window.

 

 

When I was done, I coaxed her back onto the screen. She was still there when I came home, and sort of nodded a friendly “Hello” at me as I went through the door.

I hope her children stick around here; I do love the mantids, and she’s a beauty. And more gracious than either a human or a feline model; she’s welcome in front of my lens any day.

I got my first buck seven or eight years ago. JJ took me up to his family’s deer camp, where I was privileged to be one of the first non-family visitors in a generation. We hiked in, deep into the Dardanelles. It took all day to get in; I have no idea of the mileage, but it’s the kind of country where there just isn’t any hunting pressure on the deer. Few hunters get in that far, so they’re not particularly alarmed, although they are more shy of people than the herd that’s around us all the time.

JJ’s grandfather took me to his honey-spot up there, while JJ and his dad went out in their own direction. We were quietly walking around to a bowl when his grandfather spotted three bucks. I sat down and gave myself a good rifle rest, and then just waited. I could see that the largest of the three had walked behind a tree, and was waiting for him to walk out. Eventually he did, not noticing us at all, and I calmly shot him once and he went down. Later, JJ’s grampa said that he wondered if I was ever going to shoot, and pointed out that I clearly didn’t have buck fever.

Well, it’s been a long time since that little forked horn, and I’ve spent a lot of hours deer hunting in between, without seeing a legal buck at a legal shooting time. I’ve kind of moved my emphasis over to bear hunting, but I still deer hunt on the side, mostly after we get back in to camp. Early Saturday morning though, I woke up around five AM listening to the rain plink on my trailer roof, and knew I would be deer hunting that morning. I thought about where I was going, and I laid there awake for almost another hour before I got up and put the coffee on.

I would have liked to go with Jeff and Dennis, who had been up there for a few days. I so rarely get to hunt with them, it seemed a shame to pass it up. But they were driving a little two-seater Gator-type thing, and I had no inclination to ride in the back of that. Besides, when I pulled past their camp just before hunting time, there weren’t any signs of movement yet. I wasn’t going to waste the first storm of the season hanging around waiting for those guys to get up. Fran said, as I left, “Get a big one,” and I said that I’d call for help if I did.

I got past the little section of private land on my way to where I was going just as it became hunting time, a half-hour before dawn. I looked out the corner of my eye, my eyes that never see deer unless they’re standing right in front of me thumbing their noses, and there was an unmistakable sillhouette of a big buck, bedded down right in the open, broadside to me. I stopped the truck and got out with my rifle, and scoped him a little bit. Sure enough a big buck, even though with him facing me, I couldn’t count points well. Spike bucks’ antlers don’t come out past their ears though, not in this country. So I went to one knee for stability, and took a hundred-yard shot. I hit him, he went down, and I started walking over to him.

When I got about half-way there, two bucks stood up. One, a three-pointer, looked so much like the one I’d shot that I was doubting myself for a minute. Did I miss? No, I saw it hit, and there was no way he’d be getting up again. The two compadres looked at their buddy, clearly wondering what the hell was up with him, and walked calmly up the hill. I walked on, and came up on him, with his spine broken but still alive. I wished I’d brought a gun with me to finish him off, but finished he needed to be, and quickly, so I put him down with my knife, carefully, so I didn’t get stabbed with antlers in the process.

Then came the hard part. Down the hill was easy enough, but back up the other side was a bit of a challenge for a fat old asthmatic woman. I kept going back to the radio and calling out, and they kept not hearing me. So I just took it slowly; drag ten feet and breathe. Drag another ten feet, and try the radio again. Another ten feet and a pull on my inhaler. When it came to the steep part, I got him to within my rope’s distance from the truck, threw a loop over his horns and around a tree, and backed up until he popped up on the road. Of course, then he was at road height and the truck tailgate is four feet off the ground, and there was no way I could lift him by myself. So I thought about it, and used what tools were available to me; I dragged him up the embankment on the opposite side (which, come to think of it, is probably where I tweaked both my back and my knee) and backed the truck up that way. Then I could just roll him onto the tailgate, slide him up, and drive on.

I was almost back to camp when my radio and its wrong antenna worked enough to raise my crew. They were just rolling out bear hunting, and when I called asking for a saw and some muscle, they knew. I’d left camp a bare half-hour earlier. Most of us met on the road, and they took my photo. Don was particularly pleased; he knows how long it’s been, and he was proud of me.

 

 

 

 

 Hell, I was rather proud of me too. Wild Man came back to camp with me; couldn’t have asked for a better helper, as he was once a butcher and still has a heart of gold. He butchered out five kills that I saw that weekend; mine was the least of it, as I did the gutting and skinning myself. After we got it into the tree to hang, we caught back up with the houndsmen and went on to have a very good bear race, but that’s a story for the next entry.   

I’m thrilled. It was a clean kill, no bruising of the meat, and he smells so good that I can’t wait to get it back from the locker. He turned out to be the smaller of the two bucks in our camp this weekend, but he’s still quite a respectable size for California. I was considering having the head done, but you can’t mount every one you get, so I’m just going to save the antlers, and the meat, of course, and I’m having the hide tanned too. No waste!

And the best part is that my hunting’s not over. I left the trailer up there for the season, and I get to purely bear hunt until December. I won’t be able to break my habit of looking for deer, but I sure don’t have to haul another one uphill alone this year. I can’t wait to go back.

Twenty years sounds like such a long time, and there are days when I feel every one of those minutes. But then you go see people that were so important to you then, and they don’t look so old, especially not if you see their old selves superimposed on these new faces they’re wearing.

Some of them wear almost the same face they did back then, some of them you can see the mileage on, and some of them you wouldn’t recognize at all if we weren’t all wearing convenient nametags. I have to admit that I’m horrible with names and faces, and failed to recognize some people I knew fairly well.

But that was OK; my goal for the evening was just to have fun and to enjoy who they were now, regardless of who they were then, or who we were in relation to each other. It mattered so much back then, and was still so apparent at the ten-year reunion, when we all seemed to have something to prove, if not to everyone else then at least to ourselves. It was a mile-marker to say that we were all right, that we’d made it through some of the hard years.

Turns out, the hard years were yet to come, and no doubt still are. And on the way, some of the old boundaries were completely dropped. Who cares who hung out with who? Are you fun now? Are you interesting? Shall we have a drink together?

And so we did, and it was good.

 

 

I went with some girlfriends. An exact range of girlfriends, really. My life-long best friend. A woman that I didn’t even know until six months ago, but now enjoy quite a bit. And a woman that I did remember; we weren’t buddies then, but we were friendly, and I sure do like her now.

 

There were people on my short list of must-sees. This man topped it. He was an exchange student from Italy, staying with one of my closest friends. He made such an impact on the class in his short year here that he absolutely was the star of the show, and I just about knocked him over, I was so happy to see him. He came from Paris that morning, on a whirlwind visit, and I think he’s probably back home with his fiance and new baby by now. He remembered our kiss goodbye too – all of those things that I’ve forgotten, and that’s not one of them.

 

 

So I got pretty well drunk, and for once lived the life instead of documenting it, so I don’t have a lot of pictures. And I won’t remember a lot of it in ten years either, but that’s fine too. I’ll enjoy re-meeting them at our thirty year. And I intend to keep some of these new-found friendships active between times.

Oh, and my shoes? Hot.

It’s been a ridiculously crazy week. I’ve been running 90 miles an hour so long that I’m not sure what 80 feels like any more. But yesterday, I got to go to an operator training class less than an hour away. I need the continuing education credits and I needed to get away from that site for a day. And maybe it would be something useful for the job even (turns out, not so much.)

But I was sitting in the hotel lobby waiting for the people to set up, and in walked a few other operators and boss-types. One immediately raised my eyebrows. “Oh my. I’m going to sit by him,” I thought, probably not subtly.

So I did. That’s one of the beauties of going places alone; I’m free to join other groups. It’s not even weird. They had five tables set up, so I had to. I picked theirs on purpose, and asked them if they minded. They (three guys together) did not mind, and as we got to talking, figured out that not only were we all pretty local to each other, but Mr. Handsome had been in the Air Force at my site.

Allll right. Conversation starter!

So we did our class, and the interactive parts were fun for me, because my mind wasn’t entirely on the class, if you know what I mean (and you do too, shush.)

When it came time for lunch, I just asked to join them again. That’s not weird or bold in this context, two other strays did too, so we all went down to a tasty lunch spot. I stalled back a little to decide the optimal place to sit, Mr. Handsome patted the chair next to him, and I quite agreed. I’m afraid we sort of dominated the conversation at the lunch table, although I didn’t intend to. Back at the conference, waiting for it to start again, we got onto the subject of hunting. Not a big stretch for two people wearing assorted bits of camo accessories (shush again, my cell phone holder broke and the replacement is camo.)

He told some stories about a planned antelope hunt in Wyoming, which totally interests me. When I mentioned that I mostly bear hunt, I could see his ears pick up too, but by then class was starting again. I tried to keep my eyes off of him across the table, but he felt like a friend already. Maybe he’s just like that, maybe I am, or maybe it was mutual.

After class, I was hoping to give him my number or something, but by the time I’d got out of the bathroom, they were all gone. So I brushed it off as an opportunity lost. It’s a small industry and we’re bound to run into each other again. But my mind kept nibbling at it. I haven’t met someone who made me sit up and take notice like that at first contact in a long, long time, and it would be a shame to passively let it slide by. I knew his first name (it was on his shirt, and our name tags) and the water district he works for, so just for shits and grins, I googled it.

Sadly, I didn’t find him, but I did find the boss who was there that day. Then began the dilemma. Do I call the boss and ask him to pass on my number? Hell, I don’t even know if he’s single – we tend not to wear rings in this business, as we like to keep our fingers intact. And man, what guy wants to be embarrassed at work like that? I was so twitterpated that I did not think of the obvious until a friend pointed out to me that I didn’t have to go through the boss, I could go through the main switchboard and be pretty damn anonymous.

So that’s what I did. First I tried the automated directory, but that didn’t work. Field guys aren’t usually on those anyway; I know ours aren’t. So I tried again, and talked to a person. I told him the guy’s first name, that I didn’t know the last one because it wasn’t on his shirt, and when asked if it was regarding a specific property, I just said, “No,” and did not elaborate.

Phone guy went to see if he was in the office, and I had me a moment of panic. I wasn’t that ready! But no, I got a cell phone number. Before I could amp myself up into complete nervousness and that voice that only dogs can hear, I dived right into it. Voice mail. Crap. Is not classy to ask someone out over voice mail. But I did anyway. I told him who I was, and that I’d meant to ask him, if there wasn’t a wife or girlfriend who would be offended by my asking, would he like to go bear hunting with me? (Bear hunting behind hounds is really something special that not many people get to do, and most hunters won’t turn down the chance.) And I left my phone number.

So it’s done. I wasn’t smooth, but at least my voice didn’t crack. He may be married or just plain not interested, but at least I took a chance. All I had to lose was face, and I’m getting to that age where I don’t give a good goddamn about that anyway.

But this sure is nerve-wracking! And boys are supposed to learn how to do this when they’re teenagers? My hat’s off to you, men. I’ve done it here and there, probably more often than many women, and it hasn’t got any easier yet. The wait-and-see, I can handle. Out of my hands now, no sense worrying about it further. But I’ve sure had my adrenaline rush for the day.

Sometimes in these modern times, you end up with friends that you just don’t see in person very much, if ever. They’re no less dear, once you get past the internet audience thing and realize that those are real people, and real feelings behind the words.

And if you’re very lucky, you get to meet them in person, and realize that the person behind the words is so much more than is ever shown, and even more of an incredible person than you’d thought. I was so lucky earlier this year, and had the privilege to meet Alicia and her beloved, Shawn Marie. I felt like I’d known them for a long, long time, even though I’d been only reading Alicia’s thoughts for a few years, and SM’s for none at all. We sat at a kitschy diner and could have sat the whole night if I’d had time.

But I didn’t, so I left, and a few months later got an invitation in the mail. They were getting married, and would I like to come?

Well, hell yes! I’m in the most unusual position of being able to afford it, and it’s time that I lived a little, so the very day that I received that invitation, I had a flight to Colorado booked. I was excited about the adventure and about getting to share the day with my friends, and was looking forward to it like crazy. I also had a feeling that I would have the bonus of meeting Melissa, who is every bit as lovely and gracious in person as her writing indicates.

As a bonus, Alicia asked me to do a little photography, which I was thrilled at. Having a camera in front of my face forces me to be more outgoing than I might otherwise be, gives me an excuse to get out there and be pushy and to meet strangers, and to just go with the job and have fun.

So that’s what I did.

 

 

  

You all know that I’m more of a moving-object photographer than a portrait person, and I found myself a little frustrated at that, but hell, when you take 600 pictures, there are bound the be a few that are decent.

 

 

  

I’ve clearly got some work to do to learn to use a flash and to take pictures indoors, but that’s OK.

 

 

  

The wedding itself was incredible. It was at a Coloradan mansion where SM’s father caretakes, and the setting was absolutely gorgeous. The setting, however, was eclipsed by the emotion of the union itself. I confess that I was a little too absorbed in the photography, but what I did hear was absolutely flooring. I’ve never been to a more heartfelt wedding, and never seen two people who were more suited to each other as Alicia and Shawn Marie.

I wish you well, my friends, but you sure are off to a wonderful start. May you continue as happily as you’ve begun.

Before I get to the fantastic wedding (the pictures are still downloading), I can tell the story of going up to my sister’s house for a two-hour Dad-style trip.

Dad’s famous for never spending more than two hours at a place if he can help it, and if he does stay longer, he usually ends up fixing something or building a patio.

So, since I had a whopping four hours between getting up and time to get ready for the wedding and I was a mere hour away from my sister’s house, there I went. We had all these grandiose plans to go meet up at the Denver Zoo, but that’s expensive for six of us, and besides, they just went. So it was easier to drive one person than five, and up I went in my puny little rental car.

 

  

It was really great to see them though, and especially to just hang out with the kids a little. Orion’s birthday was just the other day, and he was deep into a game he’d received.

 

  

Phoebe has recently become a hot-shot on her purple bike with the streamers, so we took the camera out and she did tricks for me to photograph.

 

  

That brought Nolan out too. All of their family is athletic, but Nolan’s a real prodigy with the swimming. He had bike tricks to show me too, and a wall full of medals. He’s got such an impish little face, you know that one’s going to be a heartbreaker in a few short years.

I really wish I lived close enough to spend more time with these guys. It’s been over a year since I last saw them, and they’re incredible kids. I was quite impressed with Colorado too. I’d like to spend more time visiting, although I don’t think it would be exactly my cup of tea to live there. Too many yuppies, not enough pickup trucks, but that may have been the portion I saw. But it was green! In the summer! Very surreal for this brown-hilled Californian. One of these years in the not too distant future, maybe when John’s old enough to spell me driving, I think we’ll hitch up the trailer and follow our noses for a couple of summer weeks. Stop when we want to, go where we feel like it, and maybe get to know our family a little better again.

I am really enjoying this new job. I love having fourteen different things to do, all of fairly high priorities. I’ve always worked well under pressure, and now that my body’s adjusting to the stress, I’m rolling with it well.

Some things aren’t all that different from my old job. I still stand around and look at holes in the ground. But a key difference is that I’m in charge now, not just observing. I’m the one shutting the water off so we can cut open a line, I’m the one handing out the notices to the tenants so they don’t get a surprise when they try to flush, and I’m the one who can say, “Enough. We’ll finish this part after the weekend.”

 

 

The beautiful part is that I’m still not the one paying for the work. The County’s doing that; I’m just in charge. If I need something done that will cost money, I put a quick proposal together and hand it to my boss, who goes and arranges for the funding. I get to get down to business and just get the work done. It’s fabulous.

 

 

Even as I knock things off of my to-do list, more pop on. And I’ll take those as I get them, and be happy for it. I have to plan ahead and prioritize things, so I have work to do for the next six months and the projects get done kind of evenly. I can’t spread myself too thin, but I’m sure I can get it all done.

The first big project that I was working on was sort of an isolated thing. I went around and did my job without interacting a whole lot with the other guys. But now I’m branching out a little more, and working with other people, and I like it.  I went into a building scheduled for demo with a couple of them last week, and salvaged out some good plumbing fittings, and remembered how nice it was to work with good people.

Tom’s got a lot to teach me, and I’ll be spending quite a bit of time with him over the next few months, cramming as much as possible into my brain before he retires. I’m not stupid, and this is the sort of thing that I pick up easily, but there’s so much of it that it’s going to swamp me for a while, but I’ll get it. I don’t expect to learn all of the secrets of the place right off the bat, but in ten years or so, I might have most of them down.

My job satisfaction is at an all-time high, and it’s not jsut because of the money. Oh, don’t get me wrong; the money’s extremely nice, but it’s everything else. It’s getting out there and turning wrenches, it’s shlepping around in a tool belt and hat, it’s getting this place knocked into shape that does it for me. I don’t remember ever loving a job so much. The heat wave isn’t even getting me down.

Now, if only I can continue in this vein for the next ten years, I’ll be golden.