Aprons into Pillows

My home decor is still in my cozy red and white winter theme. The past few days, I made a couple of decorative refashioned items I've had on my to-do list for a while.

When I wander through thrift shops, I'm always drawn to the home and kitchen textile sections. I have a special weakness for hand-embroidery, patterned tablecloths, and cloth napkins, but try to limit myself to things that will actually go with my decor. Anyway, I couldn't resist a couple of red souvenir half aprons, the type they used to print up in the 1950's and '60's. One had snazzy gold gilt and black printing, featuring Reno, Nevada. It shows 50's era cars, the 1935 version Virginia Street's Reno Arch (replaced in 1963, it now straddles Lake Street near the Truckee River), the Washoe County Courthouse (early 20th century divorce mecca) plus two hotel/casinos, the Mapes (imploded in 2000) and the Riverside (saved at the last minute, same year). Since I live in northern Nevada, not far from Reno, I just had to have that one.

The second red apron was maybe a little bit newer, featuring the Royal Gorge Bridge in Colorado. It wasn't quite as flashy as the Reno one - no golden gilt, but black print with white - the lettering looks snow-topped, befitting for my memories of Colorado. I was born and raised in Colorado, and I've walked across that bridge. Built in the late 1920's, it's a wooden plank, narrow one-lane suspension bridge hanging more than 1,000 feet above the Arkansas River near Cañon City (I had my Afghan hound, Omar, at the time, and he was walking with me. For the first half of the trip across, he was a happy dog, bouncing along on his leash, back and forth, here and there. And then a car passed us, rumbling and bouncing the bridge quite a bit. Omar looked down into the cracks between the planks and realized just where he was. His tail sank between his legs. For the rest of the trip across and back, you could have used that morose dog to align a center line on that bridge. As for me, I love heights. I was leaning over the railing, spitting).

I never wear half-aprons, so I'd always envisioned these transformed into pillows. Since aprons, by their nature, are wider than they are tall, I had to do a bit of piecing to turn them into square pillow covers - especially the Royal Gorge one, since it originally had the print and the picture side-by-side. Fusible interfacing reinforced the piecing seams and gave the fronts a nice smooth look.

I bought a red and black cotton print for the back sides, pre-shrunk everything, added zipper closings, and stuffed my two Christmas pillows inside (I'm planning to make a couple of summertime covers the same size, and then I'll tuck these covers inside the back when I change decor. In a small house, storage in plain sight works really well. That plaid pillow, above is really a bed pillow, in a flannel bed pillowcase. By shaking the pillow down into the bottom of the case, then compacting it by tucking the pillowcase ends inside-out smoothly into the back side of the pillow I make my guest bed pillows into square decorative pillows. And using different pillowcases, they're just as easy to change to fit my seasonal decor).

The pillow covers needed a bit of edging trim to really finish them off. I thought, at first, about gold braid or fringe, but decided that would make them look too bordello. So I went, instead, with a narrow black rope trim - showcasing the print, setting the pillows off nicely, and giving them a finished professional look. They turned out just like I'd envisioned!

Nevada Day 2011

On October 31, 1864, despite falling far short of the required number of residents, Nevada became the smallest territorial population to be recognized as a state. Towards the end of the Civil War, President Lincoln's political advisers thought that bringing another northern state into the Union would boost morale and add support for his re-election. In order to get the proposed state's Constitution to the President quick enough to be included in the national election, the document was transmitted by telegraph - the longest and most expensive transmission in history. Thus, Nevada became the "Battle Born" state (also called the Silver State, for the wealth of the Comstock Lode, as well as neighbor to the Golden State, California).

Nevada still celebrates its Admission Day, here in Carson City, the state capital. When I first moved here, it was still celebrated on October 31st; the local kids would trick-or-treat on October 30th to avoid being out on the streets after the adults had been partying all day. About 10 years ago, it was decided to move Nevada Day to the last Saturday in October to allow for easier attendance for those living farther away. This year, Aries isn't working, so he could join me out and about for the festivities.

The day starts early. Highway 50/395, the main drag through town running in front of the state Capitol, is closed off for blocks. Hot air balloons lift off in the still early-morning air, a pancake breakfast is served at the Governors Mansion, and the fun run finishes in front of the crowds awaiting the start of the parade.

The parade kicks off when real Top Gun fighter jets (based at the Fallon Naval Air Station, 50 miles east of here) do a flyby down the length of the parade route. The two-plus hours long parade entries run the gamut from politicians to local Cub Scout troops, Burning Man to the Bunny Ranch, and just about every school marching band in the state.

After the parade, per tradition, we head over to the Golden Nugget for the free Chili Feed, hosted this year by our Lieutenant Governor. This year, our chili was dished up by Josh Romney, son of presidential candidate Mitt Romney (Nevada is one of the early caucus states, the only one in the west, so most of the national campaigns already have a presence here, and in Las Vegas in the south).

After lunch plus some visiting with friends, we headed over to the Beard Contest in the Legislative Plaza between Capitol, Legislature, and the Supreme Court Buildings. That's always a rather raucous affair, especially the Virginia City contingent (that almost always gets the Most Bearded Community award).

After that, we wander through the crowd watching the hard rock single jack drilling contest - men pounding away for 10 minutes, with sledge hammer and drill bit to see who can drill the deepest hole in a block of granite - but that doesn't hold my interest for very long. The street party in front of the Old Globe Saloon is also hopping, but by now a bit too sloppy for my tastes. We decide to head over to the Governors Mansion for the open house. On the way, we stop by a private porch party, and visit some more - this really is still just a small town.

The line for the open house stretches most of a block, but moves quite quickly. Inside, Reno Rodeo Beauty Queens shake hands with Nevada's First Family, before it's our turn. The youngest daughter tells me she's going to be an angel for Halloween, as she hands me a commemorative coin.

Governor Sandoval has opened up the entire Mansion to the public for the day. A portrait of a clean-shaven President Lincoln hangs in the state dining room, set with silver cups and flatware made from ore from the Comstock mines. Boots, a tuxedo cat, sits in the Governor's office chair behind the desk, watching with typical cat-like aplomb as the crowd files through. The line snakes up the stairs, where we can peek into their private quarters as well. A desert tortoise lives in a terrarium in one child's bedroom; a guinea pig's cage is in one bathroom.

We make one last stop at the Brewery Arts Center to check out a Nevada artists' display and reception. It's been a long, but fun, day, and my feet are tired. We head over to where we parked the car early this morning, and head home.

A Sociable Weekend, Out and About

The weather was absolutely gorgeous this past weekend, and both of us got the chance to be out enjoying it. After Labor Day, when the kids head back to school, the number of tourists visiting Lake Tahoe naturally drops - at least until snow brings the skiers. However, right now really is the best time of year to be out and about - the heat of summer gives way to pleasantly warm days, while the nights have yet to get down below freezing. The area capitalizes on this by scheduling a plethora of outside events every weekend in September and into October - luring the tourists (and their money) back.

Earlier this month were the Reno Balloon Races, the Camel Races in Virginia City, the the Reno Air Races , and closer to home, our local Basque Festival.

Aries took a week's vacation this past week, just so he could finally check out this weekend's big event: Street Vibrations - "a celebration of music, metal and motorcycles." The highway is only two blocks from our house, and from Thursday afternoon through Sunday, the rumble of motorcycles was almost non-stop. For three days, Aries was out with his buddies - riding up to Virginia City, and then checking out the bikes, vendors, and shows in Reno and Sparks. I have a bike - an 800 cc 1989 Honda Pacific Coast, but haven't ridden it much lately. I let the boys have their fun without me.

But, not to worry, I was out and about having fun with the girls. My Soroptimist Club held our biggest annual fundraiser Saturday - the Stroke to Help (fight breast cancer) Golf Tournament. The money we raise pays for mammograms and biopsies for uninsured local women. On the day of the tournament, I volunteered to be an official observer on a par-3 hole where a hole-in-one would win a $10,000 prize.

I used to work at Eagle Valley Golf, where we hold the tournament. I know the hole-in-one hole I'd be working - it's one of the prettiest places on the West Course. I packed a thermos of coffee, a magazine, and my Ipod: prepared to spend the morning kicked-back in a golf cart, looking out across just about all of Carson City. I stitched together two photos (above, click on photo for a closer look) and still only show a partial slice of the view. No hole-in-one (it's a pretty tough hole - short distance, but there's a ravine between the tee and the green that shakes a lot of golfers' confidence).

Sunday, Aries and I were out and about together. He joined me to check out the Candy Dance Faire in Genoa. Originally called Mormon Station, a trading outpost built during the California Gold Rush days, Genoa is the oldest permanent settlement in Nevada (photo above is statue of Snowshoe Thompson, legendary skiing frontier mail carrier, outside the Mormon Station State Park in Genoa). In 1919, the town needed money to buy street lights, so they held a fund-raising dance with home-made candy for refreshments. Of course, once the street lights were bought and installed, they then had an electric bill that had to be paid each year. So the Candy Dance became an annual tradition.

Ninety years later, they still hold a dance on Saturday night, and they still make candy (hundreds of hours by devoted volunteers - making, packing, and selling over 4000 pounds of candy). But the biggest draw now is the Arts & Crafts Faire. They close off the streets in this tiny town of only a couple hundred people, and for two days hundreds of vendors attract thousands of people. We didn't buy anything, other than our lunch, but I love wandering about, people-watching and to see what other people have made - it's a great idea-starter for my own projects.

October, the Crazy Month

Things got a little crazy around here the past five or six weeks. I got just about everything harvested from the garden and orchard. I'm lucky to have a cellar, that we cool down by opening the door and vent whenever the night weather is cool but not freezing. The apples, pears, and last of the grapes hold down there until I can get around to canning, dehydrating, or otherwise processing them. I'm used to dealing with that - that's a normal part of the annual rhythms around this house.

But then I also ended up with lots of family goings-on too - subject for another post (or three). Suffice it to say that I ended up driving out-of-state for two long weekends, my mom stayed here for a week (she's an easy keeper - it's nice when she comes to visit), and sweet husband was on vacation two separate weeks - all further disrupting my usual household routine.

Add to that, too many, too close together Soroptimist fundraisers - the Rummage Sale, our big golf tournament, and then Nevada Day selling sleeve garters. Nevada is one of the few states that still celebrates its admission as a state. Called the Battle Born state, President Lincoln signed it into Union statehood on October 31, 1864, towards the end of the Civil War between the states.

When I first moved here, Halloween trick-or-treating here in the capital always took place on October 30th, so the kids wouldn't be out in the evening after adults had been out partying all day on the 31st, no matter what day of the week it fell on. In 1997, to make the celebration and big parade easier on rural towns sending high school marching bands to the parade, and state employees in general, Nevada Day observance was officially changed into a weekend event, "the last Friday in October", with the big parade and all attendant festivities on Saturday. The kids could trick-or-treat on Halloween once again. This year, however, it just happened Halloween was on that Saturday so kids here, by official proclamation, were out on the 30th once again.

I love an excuse to play dress-up sometimes too. Starting with a blouse, skirt, and tights I already had, a few safety and bobby pins, a couple of feathers and a few silk flowers, I made a saloon girl costume to wear selling this year's sleeve garters. I had a great time - walking both sides of the street before and during the parade and through the downtown street parties afterwards, and got to see lots of old friends. Now, finally, November is here and I'm looking forward to some "me" time.

Labor Day Holiday

After camping last week, it's nice spending a quiet holiday weekend close to home. I put my Nevada and American flags out on the deck railing this morning. I like flying our flags on the holidays. I've been catching up on the laundry - only one wash load per day to lessen the impact on the septic system, putting up food for the winter (blanched and froze cauliflower and some corn today), and starting on my fall cleaning. Aries has been on vacation for the past two weeks, so he's been getting a lot of fall chores done around the house too.

While out and about around town today, we saw quite a few "Burner" cars passing through on their way back home to California - instantly recognizable by the thick white coating of playa dust (PLY-ya: Spanish for beach or shore, here it refers to our alkaline dry lake beds out in the desert). Burners, around here this time of year, means people that have been spending their holiday weekend at Black Rock City, temporary encampment for the week to the 50,000 people that gather each year in the Black Rock Desert east of here for the Burning Man, "art community event". I hear it's quite the experience, but I've never really seen the appeal in paying more than $350 to hang out in the heat and blowing dust. I much prefer my camping time be spent up at Lake Tahoe, Yosemite, or in the Redwoods.

The Washoe Zephyr

Temperatures are back into our normal summertime range once more - days around 90F, nights around 50F. And our Washoe Zephyr is back again too. As Mark Twain put it, in Roughing It:

The "Washoe Zephyr" (Washoe is a pet nickname for Nevada) is a peculiarly Scriptural wind, in that no man knoweth "whence it cometh." That is to say, where it originates. It comes right over the mountains from the West, but when one crosses the ridge he does not find any of it on the other side! It probably is manufactured on the mountaintop for the occasion, and starts from there. It is a pretty regular wind, in the summer-time. Its office-hours are from two in the afternoon till two the next morning; and anybody venturing abroad during those twelve hours needs to allow for the wind or he will bring up a mile or two to leeward of the point he is aiming at. (more of the quote here; BTW the Washoe (WA-show) are the local Native American tribe)

So that means if I'm hanging laundry out, that I have it back in by early afternoon (not a problem - it's dry within an hour), or risk having to go fetch it from the far corner of the lot. The umbrella on the deck makes a nice shady place for lunch, but must be down shortly afterwards or it will end up in the next county. Since I wear contact lenses, I always make sure I've got a pair of wrap-around sunglasses handy whenever I'm outside. At least, I know if I want to get away from the wind, all I have to do is get up into the pine trees just a few miles to the west.

Reno-Tahoe in Winter

Joy, from Perth, Australia, wrote that her youngest son and grandson, both in their 20's, were coming this way and asked what there was to do and see. Oh boy - where do I start? First, let me be clear that this the Reno/Tahoe part of Nevada. It's up where the eastern edge of California makes that angled bend. Las Vegas, despite being in the same state, is nowhere near here. Vegas is a good 7-8 hours drive south of here, a completely different climate and environment.

The jewel of the area is Lake Tahoe itself - a natural alpine lake more than 6,000 ft above sea level, completely ringed by mountains rising even higher. The lake is half in California, half in Nevada - the angled bend in the state line, mentioned above, is out in the middle. The lake reflects the sky and, with our annual average of 300 sunny days, is almost always a beautiful blue. More than 1,600 feet deep, it never freezes. Twelve by twenty-two miles, it has more than 70 miles of shoreline. Driving around the lake can make for a wonderful day. It takes about 3 hours to drive it straight through, but allow much more time to stop and gawk. Every turn brings a new vista and there are plenty of spots to pull over to take photos, plenty of interesting places to stop and shop or to grab some lunch or a cup of coffee.

If limited in time, at least try to make it out to Emerald Bay. Said to be one of the most photographed spots in the world, it's well worth the drive, especially if you're staying on the south shore. On top of little Fanette Island are the ruins of a stone teahouse, part of the Vikingsholm estate built in the 1920's. The estate, now owned by California, includes a "castle" at the end of the bay, open for tours in the summer. Check first to make sure the road around Emerald Bay is open - that part is occasionally closed for avalanche control. And take care - the road is narrow and twisty, and shady spots can be icy even when the rest of the road is dry.

If you'd like to see the lake from the water, there are Mississippi paddlewheelers that cruise from South Lake Tahoe, and Zephyr Cove on the east shore, across the lake to Emerald Bay and back. In winter, there are scenic cruises daily, and sunset dinner cruises Wednesdays and Saturdays. On some winter Fridays, the Ski Cruise sounds like a great time - take a ski bus from your South Shore hotel to the Squaw Valley Village to spend the day, and then party on the return trip across the lake on the paddlewheeler.

Of course, the main reason people come to this area in the winter is to play in the snow. Tahoe offers something for everyone, from downhill skiing and boarding, to cross-country and snowshoeing, to ice skating, sledding and tubing (sliding down the hill on an inflated tire innertube). The area has the largest concentration of ski resorts in North America, and they measure snowfall in feet instead of mere inches. Every place has some kind of lesson package, and rental equipment is readily available. At Heavenly Valley, on the south shore, some ski runs face the whites and blues of the Tahoe Basin, others overlook the tans and greys of the high-desert Carson Valley. A few miles west of Tahoe City on the west shore, Squaw Valley was the site of the 1960 Winter Olympics. Both those big resorts offer gondola rides to the top of the mountain for non-skiers, and numerous other activities as well.

A few miles further west of Squaw, you'll come to Truckee, an interesting little old-west railroad town where Amtrak's California Zephyr stills stops daily on its route between Chicago and the San Francisco Bay. Just west of Truckee is a California State Park memorializing the tragic Donner Party pioneer wagon train. The museum is open year-round, and there are winter trails for cross-country skiers and snowshoers.

Reno is 30 minutes drive east of Truckee on I-80. In between, at the bottom of the pass at Boomtown, is a Cabela's sporting goods store. It's worth a visit, not necessarily to buy anything, but just to wander around and look. The store is a natural history museum of sorts, with taxidermy displays and dioramas from around the world and a couple of huge aquariums. I know it's strange to recommend stores as must-see items on a tourist listing, but Scheels on I-80 just east of Reno in Sparks is another amazingly massive sporting goods store experience. Both stores will provide lots of low-cost entertainment, inside out of the cold.

Reno has numerous attractions, aside from casinos, where you can get out of the cold too. The boys might enjoy wandering through the National Auto Museum, watching college basketball at the Lawlor Events Center, or checking out what's happening at the Reno Events Center - all within walking distance downtown. The big casinos, both in Reno and Tahoe's south shore, also offer a variety of shows and nightclubs - pick up a local newspaper to see who and what is playing where.

Of course, boys in their 20's might prefer checking out the coeds and the bars around the University of Nevada, Reno campus, also walking distance from downtown, just north of I-80 off Virginia Street. UNR is Nevada's land-grant institution - the buildings date from 1887 to the present. The Student Union or Main Library could be good places for some downtime and computer access.

The eastern side of the Sierra Nevada mountain range is still seismically active, and contains many natural hot springs - a good way to warm up after a cold day skiing. Many are open to the public, with amenities such as the individual baths at Steamboat south of Reno, an outdoor pool at Carson in Carson City, and the full spa treatments at Walley's just south of Genoa, Nevada's oldest settlement.

Carson City, 25 miles south of Reno, is the capital of Nevada. The silver-domed capitol building is open to the public, with interesting displays on both floors. The State Museum is just down the street in the old US Mint Building, with everything from the original coin press to fossils to a walk-through replica of an underground mine. On the south end of town, there's the Railroad Museum and the local Visitors' Center. I haven't been in there lately, but they used to have a great aerial photograph on the wall, showing Carson City in the foreground, the Carson Range to the west, and beyond that Lake Tahoe - with the water level obviously 1,500 feet above the town.

East of Carson City, just off Highway 50, are some local businesses the Visitors' Center might not mention - the bunny ranches (and I don't mean rabbits). Brothels are legal in the rural counties of Nevada, and the county line is right on top of the hill. A couple of blocks off the highway to the north is the Moonlite Ranch, probably best known as the location for the HBO series, Cathouse; to the south are the Sagebrush, Kit Kat, and Moonlite II (formerly Kitty's). Some of the girls used to stop in at the bar where I worked on their way back to their week on-duty at the "ranches", and told me a bit about their job - they are examined by a doctor and tested for various diseases weekly; the men must always use condoms (per state law); no licensed prostitute in Nevada has ever tested positive for HIV/AIDS; and the girls also get a three-day class on detecting signs of STDs in men before they go into the line-up. Everything else, so I hear, is negotiable.

A couple of miles further east is the turnoff to Virginia City. No matter where my travels have taken me in the world, even places where people don't speak English, I can always get across where I'm from by humming the theme song from Bonanza - everybody knows that music and the burning map! While the Cartwrights never really walked the streets of Virginia City, a young man named Samuel Clemens did. Later, using the pen name Mark Twain, he wrote Roughing It, a great account of his adventures in the area. The gold and silver from the mines of the Comstock Lode helped finance the Union Army in the Civil War, and played a key part in the growth of San Francisco, California. The town is the largest designated Historical District in America, with the main street pretty much the same as it was in the 1860's. You can spend a fun day walking the board sidewalks, checking out the little shops and old saloons, maybe wandering through the old cemeteries on the northeast end of town, or taking in a museum or a tour. You might even want to take a ride on the tourist railroad running on the old Virgina & Truckee (V&T) route - the "crookedest short line in the world". Work is in progress to eventually rebuild the tracks all the way back to Carson City someday. It gets really cold up there once the sun sets in the winter, and the town pretty much rolls up its sidewalks then - time to head back down the mountain.

Of course, there are always the casinos. Nevada bars and casinos never close - they're open 24/7. You must be 21, and if you look young probably will be carded - carry proof-of-age identification. Many of the bigger casinos offer lessons in how to play the various games, and just about all have a Sports Book, where you can place a bet on just about any sports-related event in the country (you can even wager on whether the Super Bowl coin toss will be heads or tails). Oh, by the way, it's not called gambling here - "gambling" represents risk; the casinos prefer the term "gaming" - gaming denotes entertainment and fun. It's just Nevada semantics - decide your monetary limits before you start, and don't let the free drinks cloud your judgement. If you're playing, tipping the cocktail waitress increases the likelihood that she'll come around often, and if you're winning, the dealers appreciate the occasional tip as well. Be forewarned - altitude exaggerates the effects of alcohol.

I'm sure that's plenty of things to think about, if you've read this far. If you're driving across the Sierras, check weather and road conditions before you start. Many of the Sierra crossings farther south close for the winter; winter storms and avalanches can close the ones around here temporarily. Carry tire chains, and be prepared for winter driving conditions. Drink plenty of water to alleviate the headaches and possible nausea the altitude can induce - you should adjust after a couple of days. My email address is over there in the sidebar if you have specific questions and would like to reach me directly. I'll try to do a summer-specific post later in the year. Enjoy your visit!

Monitor Pass

Aries is on vacation for two weeks. He always takes vacation time in October, ever since our honeymoon (it was our 19th anniversary, earlier this month). We usually get a hard freeze by mid-October, so he helps clean up the garden for the season, makes compost, and does all the household maintenance chores before winter sets in - clean the chimney, roof and gutter repairs, vehicle maintenance, drain the irrigation system, lots of little honey-do's. But we also make time for little daytrip outings too. Autumn is such a nice time of year here. The nights are chilly, but the days quite often are blue skies and moderate temperatures.

A couple of days ago, we decided to take a drive over Monitor Pass. We headed south out of town, crossing the California state line in the Carson Valley, through the little hamlet of Woodfords, and continued south through the tiny town of Markleeville. We continued south along the east fork of the Carson River, where the cottonwoods and willows were just starting to turn to gold. We left the river and turned east, climbing up over Monitor Pass.

Monitor Pass is one of the higher passes in the area, at 8,300 feet, and usually closed November to April by snow. On top is a big grove of aspen trees, that can be stunning this time of year. We turned off the paved road and drove up into the aspen grove. Unfortunately, a dry winter last year, and an early snow this year, left the colors dulled and some of the leaves already down. But it was a nice day to get out, let the dog run, and wander about the grove, crunching over the snow still lingering in the shady spots.

Basque sheepherders have been scratching and carving the smooth white bark of aspen trees in the West since the 1860's. Many of the carvings are names and dates - an "I was here" marking. Some are a bit more artistic - perhaps the shape or face of a loved one back home. Still others are even more graphic about what was on these lonely shepherds' minds - some to the point of being considered pornography. I'll only post some of the more G-rated ones here.




After a while, we get back in the truck and start down the eastern side of the Pass. As the road switchbacks down, the change in vegetation, from the evergreen forests of the Sierra to the piñon pines and chaparral of the Great Basin, is obvious. The Great Basin is the high-desert between the Sierra Nevada and the Rocky Mountains. This vast area isn't flat - it's wrinkled and rippled, like the inside part of a sheet of corrugated cardboard, range after mountain range alternating with little valleys across all of Nevada and most of Utah. It's called a Basin because none of the water flowing here ever reaches an ocean - the snow melts into rivers that either just disappear into the sand, or flow into lakes, like the Great Salt Lake, and are lost to evaporation. At the bottom of the pass, we turn north, crossing the state line back into Nevada at Topaz Lake, and a 45-minute drive back home. (The two photos directly above almost fit together as a panorama - the dark hill in the middle distance on the extreme right of the lower photo is the same one on the left side of the upper photo; the snow-covered peaks, right side of the upper photo are the Sierra Nevada range in California, the ones in the lower photo are looking east across two smaller Nevada ranges.)

Carson River and the V&T Railroad

The autumnal equinox, the first day of fall - our nights are getting colder, but today was a beautiful day, not too hot, not too cold. I should do some laundry, and there's work to do in the garden, but Aries and I decide to leave all the household chores for tomorrow, and take the dog out for an outing. We drive a couple miles east, across our Eagle Valley, to the Carson River.

Once past the last of the houses a dirt road takes off along the river on its northeasterly course. The road used to be the route of the Virginia & Truckee (V&T) Railroad, leaving Carson City along the river, eventually leaving the river at Moundhouse and continuing up the hills to Virginia City. The part of the route where we are is the entry to Brunswick Canyon. The rabbitbrush has turned to gold, and a few of the leaves on the cottonwoods lining the river are starting to turn yellow. With the snow mostly gone from the high country, the river is only a small stream meandering through the willows and brush. Some places, it even disappears completely from its rocky bed, sinking beneath the sand.

We find a wide spot to leave the truck, and get out to walk along the road. Lots of others are out, here and there, enjoying the day as well. Unfortunately, many locals use the area to play with their firearms, and a city-owned rifle range is just over the hill, so the sound of gunfire is always with us as we walk. The river reappears, first as a few isolated pools, eventually growing to a flowing stream once more. As the river flows downhill, the old railroad bed continues a gentle uphill climb, so the farther we walk the higher we are above the water.

As the grade climbs away from the river, the road narrows. There are some in the area that want to rebuild the railroad all the way through this canyon. If and when that happens, there won't be enough room for both train track and the current public access, so we could lose this as a recreational area someday. That could be both good and bad - it's a beautiful area, if you can ignore the trash, the graffiti on the rocks, and the shotgun shells littering the road. Aries remarks that if they want to make this a tourist attraction, the canyon will need a big cleanup effort.

After about a mile and a half, we turn around and head back to the truck. Two young men are shooting at something at the base of the foundation of an old mining stamp mill as we walk by. They're quite a ways away, but we keep the dog on tight command, close to us. Before we reach the truck, they drive past us on their way back to town and we wave. Once we get back to the truck, Aries decides to drive the old railroad bed we've just walked and then farther, all the way to Moundhouse where the railroad crossed the Pony Express Trail, now US Hwy 50.

As we drive past the old stamp mill, Aries notices what looks like a wisp of smoke at the base of the foundation. We drive over to check it out - it's been so dry, there's dry grass and brush nearby, the afternoon winds are starting up - a wildfire would be a catastrophe. As we get closer, the wisps get bigger - it is a fire! Aries goes over to see, and hears a hissing sound. The bullets have sparked a fire in some trash, and punctured a propane canister underneath. As Aries pulls the burning trash off the canister, another car of shooters pulls up. I get what's left of our water bottles from the truck, one of the new arrivals donates the rest of his beer, and we put the fire out. Oh, what idiots - now I'm wishing I'd paid more attention to the car that passed us going out. Maybe it would be better to just close this area off!

We leave the new arrivals to their sport, and continue our drive. The road gets rougher and tighter - we have to put the truck in 4-wheel drive to get through one narrow cut blasted through a rock ridge. A couple of places, he maneuvers carefully past washed out areas. I hold onto my seat as my side of the truck leans over towards the river now far below. At Moundhouse the canyon opens up and the river swings east. We turn west onto the highway for the 15-minute drive home. Enough money has been raised to bring the rebuilt railroad track from Virginia City to Moundhouse. Maybe someday, the train will again be the only way to follow the river, and the route we just walked and drove.

Live Music (It Ain't Canned)

I went to a concert last night. Dan Hicks and the Hot Licks played at the Piper's Opera House in Virginia City. Aries wouldn't go with me - he can't stand that band. Admittedly, Dan Hicks' music is somewhat eccentric, and definitely an acquired taste. He has a dead-pan stage persona and dry sense of humor, and his music is a strange mix of swing, folk, jazz and country. I've been a fan since the early 1970's. I had a wonderful time - for me, great music in a great venue.

Most people know Virginia City as the little dot in the middle of the burning map that opened the old Bonanza television show (in all of my travels, even when I don't speak the language I can always get across the general area of where I live by humming that theme song). Samuel Clemens began his writing career in Virginia City, but didn't use the pen name Mark Twain until later. Nevada became a state in 1864, without enough people to qualify for statehood, because President Lincoln needed the resources provided by the silver mines of the Comstock Lode to finance the costs of the Civil War (state nicknames: Battle Born state, the Silver State). Money made in Virginia City in the 1860's built San Francisco. Today, it's the largest federally designated Historical District in the U.S. and is maintained in its original condition. "C" Street, the main business street, is lined with 1860's and 1870's buildings housing specialty shops of all kinds.

Piper's Opera House, built in 1885, is actually the third Piper's built in Virginia City - the first two having burned to the ground. It has been undergoing restoration for years now and, while not finished, is finally in shape enough to begin hosting events once again. Maximum capacity 360 people, says the sign at the door. The wooden auditorium floor is built on ore cart springs, adding a bit of a bounce said to be exceptionally nice for dances. The stage is raked, rising 4 feet from the front edge to the back, so as to provide a better view of the action. For this performance, wooden chairs had been set up in rows with a center aisle.

Dan Hicks, songwriter and lead singer, also plays rhythm guitar. The Lickettes, two women, provide harmony voices and hand percussion instruments. The three Lickmen play lead guitar, a stand-up bass, and violin/mandolin. It was a bit of a homecoming for Dan. He got his start as the drummer for the house band at the Red Dog Saloon in V.C. in 1965. The light shows and hallucinogen-fueled dances held at the Red Dog were the direct inspiration for the legendary psychedelic San Francisco scene that blossomed shortly thereafter.

In such a small venue, there wasn't a bad seat in the house. But, being by myself, lucky me, I found a single seat in the front row. What a great time!

"Canned music, canned music, playing on the radio
Canned music, canned music, without a dime it doesn't go
Favorites on the jukebox are only half the show
When it's canned music, canned music" --Dan Hicks

Prison Hill

After days of cold and gloom, spring weather has returned, with a beautiful blue-sky day. Aries even had the day off. Since he works in a Lake Tahoe casino, the 24/7 nature of that business means his work weeks aren't the standard Monday through Friday. And working inside a casino all day, he was ready for a chance to get out in the sun. Boris, the dog, was ready to go too, so we headed out for a little hike.

We didn't go far. Carson City is in the Eagle Valley. We live on the west side, and less than a mile to the east Prison Hill rises 800 feet above the valley floor. Prison Hill, named because the Nevada State Penitentiary lies just northwest of the hill, is Bureau of Land Management (BLM) land dedicated as recreational open space. Access to the hill is restricted to foot, equestrian, and mountain bicycles. We drive over to a parking area, and start walking.

We take a trail that crosses below a faded "S" of whitewashed rocks. It stands for the Stewart Indian School nearby. This school, started in 1890 and in operation until 1980, was an off-reservation boarding school for American Indian children. Children from many tribes in Nevada and throughout the west, Washoe, Paiute, Hopi, Ute, and Apache among them, were taken from their families and forced to attend the school. I've read where the Australian government recently made a formal apology for doing the same thing to their native children.

The trail starts to steepen, and even though the day is quite cool, I soon have to remove my jacket. A pair of ravens swoop down and circle on either side of us as we climb. We reach the ridge where the hill dips to a saddle, and a fork in the trail. A stone marker shows the mileage for the annual Escape from Prison Hill half-marathon and 2-person relay run. We take the fork towards the north, following the ridge uphill. Since it's a week day, not many people are out on this beautiful day, but we meet one hiker and one trail runner on their way down.

From atop the north peak, we look down on the construction work being done on the new interstate highway bypass that will someday connect Carson City to I-80 in Reno. Carson City is one of the few state capitals without an interstate highway connection. The highest peak on the skyline is Slide Mountain, and just slightly visible to the left behind it is Mt. Rose. At over 10,000 feet, Mt. Rose is the highest peak in the Tahoe Basin, rising above the northern end of the Lake.

Looking west across the valley, we can see the dirt road above our house heading up the canyon, and the pavement of US Highway 50, farther to the left, as it heads up Spooner Summit before dropping down into the Tahoe Basin. The southern line of the devastating 2004 Waterfall Fire is still starkly visible on the hillside.

We turn around and head back to the south. We take a smaller trail that skirts along the western edge of the hill back to the stone marker. There's one very steep, but short, downhill section, and I like it better than the main trail on the ridgetop. The agricultural Carson Valley, next valley to the south, is edged by the snow-covered peaks of the Sierra Nevada mountains. This is such a beautiful place to live!

Buckland Station - Pioneers and Pony Express

My legs are tired today. Aries and I went on a Sierra Club hike yesterday. It was mostly over flat ground, but our leader set a fast pace for 8-9 miles. There's still too much snow in the Sierras for hiking, so our itinerary was out in the Great Basin. This high-desert area, 500 miles across, stretches from the plateau country east of the Great Salt Lake to the Sierra Nevada mountains on the California/Nevada border. Our starting point was Buckland Station, 45 miles east of Carson City.

Samuel Buckland began ranching on the banks of the Carson River in 1859, building a toll bridge across the river, next to his house. His home became an important way station for pioneers traveling the Overland Route. His livestock, garden, and orchard supplied emigrants, travelers, and the soldiers at nearby Fort Churchill. The Overland Stage Company kept horses at the Station, and Pony Express riders stopped here to change mounts. Fort Churchill is now a Nevada State Park, encompassing the Station and two other historic ranches on the Carson River. This 9-mile stretch connects to Lake Lahontan State Recreation Area, creating one of the largest publicly accessible river corridors in Nevada.

We cross the river on a modern highway bridge, and follow a trail east along the south bank. Snowmelt hasn't really begun up in the Sierras so the river runs calmly, filling only half its banks. No water in the Great Basin ever reaches an ocean. Some of our rivers end in lakes with no outlets, the water lost to evaporation or seepage, and some end in sinks. The Carson Sink is the eventual fate of the Carson River. After impoundment behind the dam of Lahontan Reservoir for recreational and agricultural use, the river continues eastward another 70 miles until it just disappears into the sand.

We hike beneath Fremont Cottonwood trees and among the willows, still bare of leaves this time of year. In the shade, the ground is still frozen, and even a couple of remnants of snowbanks remain, but where the sun has struck, there's soft, silty sand underfoot. We see a few Canada geese out on the water, but it's still too early for much other wildlife. We pass through one section of beaver activity - bark stripped from the larger trees three feet up the trunk, and felled smaller trees, gnawed to pointy pencil-stub stumps - but no sign of the beavers. Three miles from our start, we turn south away from the river towards a small ridge. Once on top, there's a small picnic area for our lunch stop.

One hiker finds an obsidian flake. We imagine a Paiute Indian, hundreds of years ago, sitting atop this lookout point to craft his new arrowheads. The line of cottonwoods marks the course of the river on one side, and the ridge drops off into a sagebrush-dotted plain on the other. On the hills beyond the plain, horizontal lines mark the remnants of an ancient shoreline. The Great Basin was once an immense inland sea, the prehistoric Lake Lahontan, with some of the higher hills rising up as islands. Looking across the plain, we can also see small dry lakes here and there. We've had some pretty good snowfalls this winter. One of the lakebeds close by still has water in it.

We drop down off the ridge, heading across the plain towards the distant hills. The walking is easy - mostly sandy ground dotted with widely spaced sage and other desert shrubs. We cross a couple of the dry lakes. Their surface has dried to a shiny brown clay broken by a grid of cracks. It easily supports our weight and seems completely dry. But lifting up a section of the grid shows the crust is only half-inch thick, with sticky, damp clay soil underneath. This type of terrain is treacherous to vehicles. A truck venturing out onto this dry lake would break through the crust and be mired, all four wheels, up to the axles.

Eventually, we come to a dirt road running along the base of the hills, and take it back towards the Station. This road follows the original Pony Express route. A rider waiting at Buckland Station would be ready to take over, riding 75 miles up and over the distant peaks to Friday's Station at Lake Tahoe. This section was regularly assigned to "Pony Bob" Haslam, one of the most well-known Pony Express riders. His famed ride was 120 miles in a little over 8 hours, while wounded from an Indian attack. He carried the text of President Lincoln's inaugural address from Buckland's to Sacramento in California. The Pony Express riders covered 650,000 miles in 18 months, with only one rider killed, and one packet of letters lost. Eventually, the Overland Telegraph Line would follow this same route, putting the Pony Express out of business.