First Salmon Sighting; Watching Beaver & Otter; Butterflies and Some Great Guests

This is another of my very long newsletters but I haven't written one in quite a while so maybe take it in stages. A page a day should see you into early August but each story pays dividends.

I'm starting this newsletter with stories about recent guests. Some have been here a full week which provided the opportunity to get to know them a bit as well as for them to really settle into and enjoy Sow's Ear and the area. Dan Hamilton and his brothers were here in May. Dan is a master brewer and involved in the crafting of Buoy Beer in Astoria, Oregon. I lived there for several years so he also brought a bit of the reunion spirit my way, along with some of his great beer.

The brothers were quite a kick, telling stories that may or not have been entirely accurate, but they often resulted in peals of laughter; fishing; touring the area and hanging out on the porch. That porch charms a lot of people, including the guys. Here is what Dan wrote after leaving: "S ow's Ear is exactly our sort of place for the kind of annual reunion our family needs. About every minute or so one of us would comment on the peaceful and ever-present music of the Trinity River . I especially took in the layered soundtrack of the abundant bird life. As we were getting ready to leave, I set my two brothers on the road early because I wanted to sit alone on the front porch to soak up the views and river music."

The Sisters dazzled us for several reasons. They are a group of nine women who attended grade school in Santa Rosa. Now in their mid-fifties, they have convened from all over California, Oregon and farther every two years since reaching adulthood. I must mention #9 couldn't make it this year due to family obligations but she was mentioned throughout the weekend as though being conjured by the rest. It's well-documented that people who enjoy longterm relationships generally are happier and live longer. They can be less judgmental and find it easier to let small aggravations go rather than dwelling on them. Knowing this, I was eager to get to know them and hear their stories but have to admit I botched noting some of their names so I'm excluding all of them.

Minutes after arrival, they'd brought in and stowed all of their food and gear. They had everything you could possibly imagine necessary for a 3-night sleepover, except cots. Actually, they didn't technically need cots but two of them slept on the porch. We'd just purchased ultra-cool adult-sized cots that are wonderfully supportive and comfy and can also firmly hook together for bunk beds, so we offered them and they were readily accepted. Those cots are available for all of Sow's Ear's guests and I'm pretty sure kids will gravitate to them. As you'll see below, Bisco sure has.

Each cot has an entire pocket storage system that hangs from the side. It can hold clothing, Calvin and Hobbes books, water bottles (or a few beers), flashlights and an arsenal of squirt guns. Well, that's how I'll pack the pockets. Tomorrow is the Strawberry full moon and I have my first cataract surgery in the morning (those eagle eyes of age 40 sure took a long hike with no return in my 50s). Steph and I plan to put the cots on our lawn to moon gaze but he may find it's a bit damp out there; he doesn't know about the squirt guns.

The sisters' individuality stood out as much as their unshakable bond of love and respect for each other. One rode her BMW motorcycle out from Colorado to attend, but that was nothing. She and her husband have ridden their motorcycles all the way to the Arctic Circle, camping along the way. A few years ago, they rode all the way to South America. Holy Moly.

Another began telling us about her life by saying she's a mother of two girls (all who have kids are richly proud of them), but for several years when she was younger, she pushed jets on the tarmac. She holds those years as some of her best and most thrilling; certainly the most unique.

One is a breast cancer survivor who now works in the field; who better to understand the challenges faced with a cancer diagnosis? She was one of two of the group who took me up on the free stand-up paddleboard lessons and their adventurous spirit was obvious. (Not surprisingly, they were also the porch sleepers.) We were at Lewiston Lake and there were intermittent squalls with powerful winds that day, but after a brief lesson, they headed out unfazed and not only stayed upright, they zipped right along. We don't see that every day.

Several have worked in offices and stores; one managed an office. And one who planned to have kids but discovered she was infertile has adopted 7 kids. She and her husband live in Redding and the other sisters all remarked on how their house is immaculate and runs with a level of efficiency rarely seen elsewhere. If you didn't know they had 7 kids you couldn't tell when you entered their home. When I asked how she does it I was told, "They all have jobs and they do them." The recurring thread of strong bonds was everywhere. I asked how she and her husband ended up with SEVEN KIDS but I already had a hint gleaned for how we at one time had 6 cats and 2 dogs. Someone needs a home and love and care and you can provide it. The 7th kid's circumstances were especially heartwarming. In a family with lots of girls, their boy "needed a brother."

The Eschens were a quiet and somewhat reclusive family of five who spent hours on our patio, reading books in the shade and quietly conversing. Perhaps "somewhat reclusive" isn't accurate. They appeared to be fully self-contained, the same as RVs that have the beds, a toilet, shower and stove. As such, they didn't need us and we understood this. Some guests just want to hang. They frequented the hot tub a lot at night and we could hear them happily chatting and laughing. That is one of the best sounds for us because it means their vacation is what it should be: relaxing and fun.

Tom, Colleen, Linda and Ken spent a week with us and their patterns were soon established. Colleen and Linda fell in love with the porch at Sow's Ear and they set their up command center with lounges to maximize the river view and sounds, cell phones (we finally have cell service here via the internet!), a tablet, books and beverages. They loved watching the daily parade of deer that come to eat the honeysuckle that grows up the big pine tree in front. I've nurtured that honeysuckle for years but it's been a struggle. Any other honeysuckle in the world is an invasive climber but oh, no, not this one. So I put chicken wire around it the first 6 feet and occasionally wired branches higher, hoping it would go higher instead of allowing itself to be consumed by the deer. Over ten years later, it has received the message and is finally going up. I trotted into our place and said with astonishment, "Baby! The honeysuckle on the pine is finally going up !"
Sometimes, the excitement around here is almost too much to handle.

The ladies also walked daily and their meanders usually were across the bridge and over to the Bucktail put-in. They had pleasant chats with the neighbors, fitting in as though they'd lived here for years. Tom's and Ken's activities were fairly covert; I suspect they were plotting a coup but can't say more. They went out exploring but stayed inside a good deal. Peaceful naps were perhaps daily but when we did run into each other they had lots of questions and were lively conversationalists. All four were captivated by the incredible bird calls and songs that fill the air.

On their last day here we had them all down for a river sit and some wine. Their bonds are truly remarkable, dating back many decades. Long and happy marriages ("Just one each?" I asked with incredulity as though they had just told me they flew in last night from Mars). Well-adjusted kids. The innate ability to let much of life's frustrations drift away without letting them cause mischief.

All evening river sits offer the chance of spotting river otters who live directly across from our place and recently, we've been seeing beavers. Both species are tricky to spot at first, but it gets easier as you notice their pattern of swimming. We're always curious which leads to new discoveries which led to Steph reading more on beavers this afternoon. He learned beavers show more of their bodies than otters and are stouter. With river otters, we usually just see the head unless it comes out of the water and moseys about on the bank.

Old timers around here have told us about otters across the river directly across from our place who had a ball in the winter on a makeshift snow slide! They'd climb way up the bank, flop on their bellies and rip down the icy track to the water, landing with a grand splash. We haven't seen that yet but are well beyond ready to witness such wild antics.

Both species glide smoothly in the water and if we're lucky, they'll climb onto the bank so we can check their tails to confirm the species (much wider tail on the beavers). The other day, everyone got excited watching what turned out to be a very large and well-fed beaver and that was our reminder to break out our binoculars. (I need to put mine in my cot storage pockets but it'll be tight with all of those squirt guns.) About that well-fed part: I watched a beaver a few years ago as it swam by with a very large tree branch. It headed downriver then turned and came upstream before it and the branch disappeared into a hole we hadn't even noticed before. When docking a boat in any sort of wind and current, a prudent captain does the same thing. Round to, head upstream which affords better control and head into home with dinner.

Some folks can observe nature and be non-plussed. We don't have much in common with them but Tom, Colleen. Linda and Ken were in sync. With our excitement over the shared beaver adventure neatly tucked in all of our memory banks, they headed back to Sow's Ear and Steph and I went in to cook dinner. Basking in the lovely visits on both sides of the Trinity, we both declared our guests were an elixir, a tonic for the soul. You can't be around these people without feeling at ease and better for the experience.

Our cat Alvin took up birding this spring and proved to be very good at it. I'm still mad at him for this. In order to strengthen our riverbank, we decided to let the native grasses and mints grow taller and Alvin spent hours down there, hiding in the dense greenery, or as Alvin put it, his duck blind. Every spring, we see squadrons of tiny ducks and geese with one or both parents. Each brood is large because there are many predators. We didn't want to add to the threats but Alvin was patient and ruthless.

When I walked into the kitchen and stepped on a poor little dead duckling my first words were, "DAMN IT, ALVIN!" Next came a larger gosling. Then another duck. But at least one very lucky duckling survived the trip inside our cabin. Alvin was nowhere to be seen but I saw something small and fuzzy move over by the window. There was a serious little duck with a large mosquito hawk in its beak. I guess it figured as long as it was in here, might as well do some hunting, too. I cupped the bird in my hands, took it down to the river and tossed it in. It dove so deeply I worried it might not hook up with its mother but she quickly got into position with the rest of the ducklings and when our visitor surfaced they were reunited and beat feet for the distant shore.

Knowing we couldn't allow Alvin's massacres to continue, Steph cut down the grasses until the birds had grown larger. They're now big enough to put up a better fight but we've noticed they aren't hanging out off our bank as much as before, even though it's quickly filling back in with tall plants. To make sure Alvin understands our zero-tolerance policy, I opened his invitation from Ducks Unlimited and tore it up right in front of his eyes. He was, as usual, unimpressed.

Alvin takes his cues from Alfred E. Newman ("What? Me worry?"). The thing around his neck is his house arrest ankle bracelet/tracking device but it kept falling off. OK, it's really his shock collar which allows him no more than a 90' radius from the center of our cabin because he ranged too far up the mountain where danger lurks. I wish the collar had a zapper button I could push when he goes birding but it doesn't.

With way more going on than I can possibly cover here, plus Squid's momentous events (below), we haven't done much river watching looking for salmon. This also takes a good eye and patience. You look for a longish shadow that doesn't appear to be moving and then does (this sometimes results in many minutes spent stalking what does indeed turn out to be a rock). Or the fish can be swimming ever so slowly, working upstream. Yesterday, Steph and I took a break from chores and sat outside. He got the first salmon spotting of the year award when he found about a 24-incher not far from our bank.

Beaver, otter and fish are all interesting to observe but butterflies are another story. They mass around our gardens and with the butterfly bushes just opening their nectar-rich blossoms, we have some very happy butterflies of all sizes. There are the tiny periwinkle-colored ones that sometimes appear in vast clouds. Monarchs; black, yellow and sapphire blue ones. When I cut a fuchsia-toned cluster of oleander blooms, one of those blue-spotted guys that had been feeding on the bush perked up and followed me to Sow's Ear where I planned to put the cutting in a bud vase. It sipped nectar as we walked.

Several years ago, I rooted small branches of butterfly bush and several of them are now by the hot tub and well over my head high. Steph took the picture of me watering yesterday to show their very first blossoms of the year. They started opening in the afternoon and throughout summer we'll see increasing numbers of the graceful, fluttering insects.

I don't always hit a home run with plants, and they take a very long time to settle in, but those butterfly bushes are a big win. They feed us by attracting and feeding the butterflies.

Next comes a small frog story. About an inch long, I estimate. We have big, fat toads who appear mostly in the night but the little frogs are day trippers and somehow they got wind of my worm farm which lives inside to shield it from summer's heat. I've removed the lid to add compost and found a frog squirreled away. These aren't fishing worms. Nor are they frog worms. They're my deluxe compost eaters and fertilizer makers and I'm pretty protective of them so out go the frogs but man, are they sneaky. When I removed a couple of trays to scoop out some finished worm castings, I discovered a frog had squirmed in there, too; it was a tight fit.

Try explaining to a frog about You Catch 'Em ponds, drawing the correlation to the worm farm and driving in the message they are not to go fishin' in my pond. They look at me as though to say, "Did you just fly in from Mars?"

My day Tuesday became by backfilling the grave Steph dug for our regal flame-point cat Squid, but the job wasn't a sad event. Allow me to explain.

Squid has quite a history. She was born in the Moss Landing Cemetery and was surprisingly independent even as a young kitten. She came to us via Vickie, the crazy cat lady who was the source of two of our cats. We'd come in from a whale watching cruise every so often and there Vick would be, a kitten in her arms.

Now, at nearly 15 years old and with weakening kidneys over the last few years, Squid's needed special meds daily but she's been well worth it and until last week, she thrived. Royalty commands a lot of attention and she's received it in abundance. It's been pretty cool getting to live with a real queen.

Squid's plummet from vibrant health took a day. She became incontinent, lost interest in any delectable food presented and skulked around like a fugitive. A lady does not accept the indignities of incontinence gladly.

The next morning, we called Neal, our vet, for the dreadful one-way trip but he was booked all of that day (Friday) and so we all had to wait until Monday afternoon. Throughout the weekend, Steph and I were lost in our own thoughts.

I went over every possibility for her rapid decline and kidney failure did seem most obvious. My only other guess was a longshot--maybe she had a wickedly powerful urinary tract infection--but her kidneys appeared to be the culprit and Neal and Steph arranged for euthanization without comparing notes. It seemed that obvious.

Before heading to the vet, Steph dug the grave in a peaceful, shady and beautiful spot under the elegant silk tree that is about to burst forth with its puffs of what appear to be bright pink silken threads. I mulled over which colorful fabric to choose to lightly wrap Squid in. I kept forgetting to breathe and had to force conscious deep breaths, expelling the air through pursed lips. Though Steph and I had spoken little, we covered the things we could do to make her as comfortable as possible. We did them all and came as much to terms with her loss as one can. Who doesn't want more happy times?

Squid became a seasoned traveler when we spent much of last ski season in Lake Tahoe. The commutes back and forth were nearly 6 hours one way and with 4 cats and 2 large dogs in one vehicle along with us, she established her place and no one challenged her. You just didn't do that. She'd occasionally rise, stretch, walk around and check the views out the window. She was into it.

As it has been with all of our animals, their names morph into others and sometimes they have several. Recently, I realized Squid's plaintive little cry is very close to a distant hawk's call. Pyooohh, pyooohh...

I held Squid/Distant Hawk on the short drive to the vet. As it was with the Tahoe runs, she was engaged in everything we passed, scrutinizing the deer, the horses, the trees. I agonized over how such an alert life could almost be over and at the vet's, I voiced my concern and asked through tears was there any other possible cause for her symptoms?

Shifting gears from euthanasia, Neal asked for a full detailing of the previous four days. I said she started peeing little bits and sometimes puddles as she walked around our cabin with a confused air. We cleaned up the spots and placed towels on our bed because she usually sleeps between our heads but she wanted nothing to do with us.

Next day, she remained incontinent, drank very little water, ate nothing and started napping in odd spots in the garden. This pattern continued all weekend and she noticeably lost weight in mere hours. Would she even make it to Monday?

Neal took her temperature and it was up a few degrees. As she battled him, fiercely resisting the physical, she let loose with her signature growl which is more akin to a really mean pit bull's growl. I pointed out how alert she was on the drive and noted her strength.

"You're right," he nodded. "This does not strike me as a cat who's ready to go." I swelled with hope but Steph remained cautious. He's protective of Squid and of me so it was doubly hard for him to face what appeared to be inevitable.

Neal decided we should leave Squid for a few hours while he hydrated her subcutaneously and then captured a urine sample so we went home and once again barely said a thing to each other but I was thrilled. She had a chance and she is a fighter. She is Distant Hawk, after all, and that means she's a warrior.

When we picked Squid up that evening, Neal showed us the urine specimen that would travel from Lewiston out to Eureka and down the coast before ending up at the overnight lab in Sacramento and producing results by morning. The liquid was dark brown, not the lightly-tinged yellow of a healthy cat. Neal said it might just be that Squid had a UTI. Steph asked if it would show with such dark urine and Neal nodded. "Absolutely."

I gathered her in my arms and headed out the door before anyone had second thoughts because she and I didn't. Steph gave her a shot of antibiotics upon arrival home and she even ate a bit before stretching out for a nap but we wouldn't be out of the woods until morning. Bisco was due for her rabies shot so Steph took her in at 0830 for two reasons: she needed the shot to renew her license and we have a deep and pathetic belief veterinarians should receive as much of our money as possible. He made sure my phone was on in case the news was in from the lab. Again, my breathing was forced as I tried to be in the moment, even if the moment was brutally painful.

The news was good. Her kidneys have weakened more but she has stronger meds for them now, along with a powerful antibiotic for the UTI. But she needed to eat and hadn't consumed nearly enough. Late last night, I pondered what we could do before remembering Steph force-fed our other warrior cat, Katmandu, for months as he revived from the devastation of 6 months of chemo. Mixing the food with water, Steph filled a large syringe, wrapped Katmandu in a towel and fed him. He did this 4 or 5 times a day for all of those months; no wonder he's my hero.

So Squid got her first forced feeding this morning and we both were involved holding down our little bundle of joy. She got a lot in despite spitting a lot out and I went to some bother washing her nicely before she was released. She had the predictable response to the feeding. It's a very good thing that a cat can't hire a hit man. But her anger passed and minutes after the feeding, she was grooming on the deck and once again tolerated our presence.

With her afternoon feeding, I had an epiphany: let Distant Hawk clean all that food off herself. She was out on the deck, eating as it were, for quite a while. I'd say this was at least a 100-calorie job. Once the antibiotics take hold and she's gotten the solid boost of the feedings, we're sure she'll do it the old way and fire us.

I can't wait to hear her purring between our heads tonight. Every so often, she does what we call a sing-purr. It's a several syllable lilting sigh that ends with a delightfully happy trill. Hearing that, you know everything's going to be okay. And it is.