THE END OF THE LABYRNTH?

VOILA, ROBERTO'S HOME TO BE!
This quite astonishing. I have been here in the Corning area just a week and I have successfully offered to buy this house!

Built in 1973, the house is a split-level ranch. The upper level is 750 square feet and is the main living area. The lower area remains finished in the 70's manner and has a second full bath as well as the laundry and plant room. It also has two bedrooms and a living room. It is 650 square feet. The upper area will be quite sufficient for my needs so there is plenty of room for occasional guests or even to sub-let. It has an unobstructed southerly aspect so will be perfect for incorporating passive solar heating technology. It is situated within easy walking distance of all the facilities I would routinely need.

The lot is bare, apart from plenty of grass, and will immediately need a small tool shed and later a workshop and car port. There is complete freedom to design the garden and, already, my head is abrim with ideas. I am beside myself with anticipated delight and can almost feel the sweat on by brow. Of course, there is the process of inspection and all the rest and, as the bard once remarked, there is many a slip twixt the cup and the lip.

After enough looking at houses to figure out where I would prefer to live, and the kind of houses I would prefer not to live in, quite by chance I strayed into Sterling Street and saw the realty sign, and then the house. In sort order, I phoned the listing agent and had a quick look around and then arranged for a more thorough walk through with my agent. He liked it and we sorted out what would be a fair offer. The house had been occupied by a couple almost as old as I (unlike me, both now deceased) and the four heir/owners quickly agreed to the offer. Stunning! The months of an exceptionally bad Winter and recent deluges have made it perfect to see houses in their worst presentations.

I am settling back in with remarkable ease and have felt at home since the first day of my return. Of course, the weather has been characteristically terrible. I have begun attending the local Episcopal Church. They do not seem to mind my 'respectful agnostic, sometime atheist' orientation and I am already on the track, courtesy of guidance from similarly minded folk, of the writings of the New Zealand Presbyterian 'heretic', Lloyd Geering. Maybe I am sorting out my spirituality at last and realizing that I can fulfill my commitment of long ago to be a disciple of Jesus and not to be caught up too much in the ecclesiastical accretions that have gathered since he walked this earth. Like him, I am learning to respect the spiritual contributions of other religious thinkers.

I have also re-met old friends and some of their friends so I seem to be set for a grand experience of networking. I plan to assist my friend Richard in his move to their new home and then will have shared accommodation for a month before moving into my new place. What bliss! Much hard work is ahead. What joy!

WHAT'S IN A NAME #2

HERE I AM...camped in a motel in Horseheads (NY)
Horseheads? 'How did a town get a name like that?' you might well ask. It all goes back to the American Revolutionary War and 1779. After performing incredible service for their military masters, the worn out pack-horses of Major-General John Sullivan were put to rest in this place. The town is a memorial to their service.

Well then, How about 'Painted Post'? There was (and perhaps still is) a painted post. It was a sort of totem pole on which the local indigenous tribe set out their victories over their enemies. When Europeans came to the area, it became a trading post and later a village.

Painted Post and Horseheads form an entrance to the beautiful region of western New York known as the Finger Lakes, a half-dozen or so long, narrow, and deep lakes left over from the heavy glaciation of the last Ice Age, like so many fingers of a giant hand. Beyond is the larger town of Corning and I am at a loss just now to tell you how that name came about.

My home land, Australia, has some odd town names. How about 'Gumly Gumly', or 'Wogga Wogga',or 'Woolloomooloo'? I lived for two and a half years in a coastal town called 'Warrnambool', an Australian Aboriginal name meaning 'meeting of three rivers'. A few years back, I lived in a place where three rivers meet (the Yakima, Columbia, and Snake rivers), but this mighty triple confluence was completely overlooked and the towns instead are merely named 'The Tri-Cities' (Pasco, Kennewick, and Richland).

Nearby is a lovely town called 'Walla Walla' but I have not yet run to earth what that means. Some say an ancient Native American appellation.

Anyway, here I am on the verge of the next adventure. Sanity has, to some degree (admittedly unusual for me), overtaken me. By now you will be accustomed to my slight penchant for starting down a road only to discover that it is not quite what I had anticipated and then seeking a better path. I had thought this would be the area in which I would build the 'perfect ecological cabin'. Consultations with an architect, coupled with a new appreciation of the difficulties of the project, not to mention the cost, all led me to consider the alternate: purchase of an existing house and working to make it energy efficient. For now at least, the second approach is much the more cost effective. So I am house hunting, and seeking temporary shared accommodation. Not quite three balls in the air but it does feel like that at times.

The 'eye of the needle' experience has transformed into a labyrinth. The Navajo/Hopi have an emblem that looks rather like a squarish helical maze, in plan view. It represents a young man's journey. I am in there, I think, but towards the end with some way yet to go.

WHAT’S IN A NAME?

I AM AT THE END OF MY JOURNEY. Starting out in Basalt Colorado and ending here at Horse Heads New York. Three days of driving and two motel nights. Some 1,900 miles later, here I am on the verge of what may be quite an adventure.

SALINA, Kansas. This is where I commenced the story. A town of about 45,000 Kansans and others, some like me, just passing through. The beginning day had me drifing down the Roaring Fork valley, the rising sun’s slanting rays striking the snow encrusted trees and making it all ‘drop dead’ beautiful. Overnight snow and the cold from the clear sky had encrusted the car with a mixture of ice and snow. A bit of scraping off was in order. Having filled up with gas at my favorite ‘el cheapo’ gas station in Glenwood Springs, I reset the trip meter to ‘000’ and set off. The view got even more beautiful driving up the canyon towards Denver. On the way from San Francisco, on the train, I had breakfasted with a nice lady whose deceased husband had designed the road that threads the canyon. It is an engineering work of art, to be sure. Nature’s art…on the one hand the canyon, carved by the busy, rushing Colorado River and, on the other, the graceful curves and tunnels fashioned by man.

On the way up the canyon, one passed by the town of No Name. For a long time the towns folk had not gotten around to naming their village; the story goes that the township could not have a Post Office until it had a name. After many abortive and noisy meetings, it settled on ‘No Name’. The ascent of the two high passes on the way to Denver awaited. Once past Denver, I settled to I70. Now the prairie begins, dead flat and almost treeless. The day is clear and warming. In the midst of this expanse of nothingness except for the occasional cluster of silos, small towns here and there, and lonely farmhouses, I pass by a sign saying, ‘A Point of Interest’. Is this some kind of East Colorado plains joke? I ask myself. The sign is the only point of interest I have so far spied!

Nearing Kansas, trees become abundant but all appear dead, still affected by the cold of Winter and awaiting the wetness and warmth of Spring. Over the KS border, a sign invites me to visit the Rest Stop and Tourist Information Center. I cannot resist the blandishment of free coffee and discover it is well worth the visit. Later on, I pass by the town of Bovina. What can these Kansan town names mean? Bovina…something to do with cows, perhaps? How about Salina…is health the focus here or was it the saltness of the creek it bestrides? On the basis that something is better than nothing, better than ‘No Name’? Wait a moment, who says something is better than nothing? How about, ‘No news is good news’?

Kansas is greener and has rolling hills. Colorado has to content itself with just the Rockies (what am I saying, ‘just the Rockies’!) They are towering, massive, frightening in their savagery. ‘Snow Chains Required’, ‘Chain Up Area’, ‘Road Ahead Icy’, and ‘Watch Out For Wild Life Crossing’ say the signs. Kansas seems richer too. Oil pumps dot the fields alongside the road and every so often a cluster of storage tanks. And ‘Wow’, the road surface is so smooooth! Kansans must be more accident conscious than the folk of Colorado, Montana, Wyoming, Nebraska and other Great Plains states…the maximum speed is 70 mph and not 75. Most drivers keep to the limit. The state troopers lurk around curves, scanning for speedsters and manage to catch a few deserving of fines or warnings; occasionally, at the roadside, the trooper’s car lights flash a warning to the rest of us.

The road climbs to higher hills (‘High Rolling Hills’) and suddenly I see myriads of wind turbines off to the North. Some are quite close to the road and declare to me how really tall and big they are. I must be in Wind Alley!

Finally into Salina, a hot bath and into bed.

INDIANAPOLIS, Indiana: Was that only just last night?! The motel is situated in Speedway where all the roads are being remade at once, it seems. Richard get me there. And who is Richard? Some posts back, Glenn asked me had I named my TomTom. To be sure I hear everything TomTom says to me, I had selected the clear, crisp English voice called Richard. Now I actually have an English friend whose name is Richard, so I hope, Richard, when you read this, you will not take offense. So I have come to call my TomTom GPS 'Richard'. He is an unfailing friend who has never betrayed my trust.

Richard has me aware of the speed limit by flashing red at me when I exceed the posted limit. He does not save me from the State Trooper, in the predawn hours, pulling me over because he could not real my rear license plate! Now I have a yellow warning to remove the dealer's bricabrac from around the plate.

What to say of the country from the western edge of Kansas and the East unfolds? It just gets more and more beautiful. First the blush of the redbud trees, then the green and white of the first buds of the other threes. Finally, into Missouri where there are flowers peeking out at the beginning Spring. Over the Missouri and then the Mississippi and I am into Illinois. Cunning Richard has found a way to avoid the Toll Road out of Kansas City and I am once more enjoying the rural roads, travelling a few extra miles before rejoining I70. I will have been on I70 from Denver to Columbus (Ohio) where I veer northwards on I71 toward Cleveland and then splitting off for Erie (Pennsylvania). The weather stays fine and warm and I can only recall seeing one cloud the whole journey so far. At the rest stop on I71, the daffodils have enjoyed their annual resurrection, but the dandelions are not far behind.

However, the cirrus clouds ahead signify and change in the weather is likely. Joining I90 and once more running eastwards, the clouds become more dense ahead. After Erie and about to enter Western New York, the clouds reach down to touch the rising hills and I am driving in fog.

Then in heavy rain. I must be nearing Corning where we have four months of Winter and then seven of bad weather! The rain clears, the road ahead is smooth and finally I am driving into Painted Post to a favorite restaurant for a beer and a juicy pepper steak.

What's in a name? How about Painted Post? Well, there have been several painted posts, the first used by the local tribes to paint a record of their victories over their foes. Then the post still standing and in use, it became the site of an early trading post. I suppose there is yet one about, perhaps in the local museum. I shall have to look for it. Could you find it, Richard?

How about 'Horse Heads"? I shall have to find out.

BACK TO COLORADO or Good Fortune at Malheur

IT HAS BEEN QUITE THE JOURNEY: I filled the tank at the cheap gas station in Glenwood Springs just 3,751 miles since doing so at the beginning, a snowy morning early March. The litany of places includes Billings MT, Kalispell (entry town for western National Glacier Park), familiar places like Spokane and Seattle, leading to a wonderful stay with friends in Fort Langley BC. Then back down to Seattle and then Portland. Setting out for Basalt CO, I passed through the Oregon towns of Bend and Ontario, then into Idaho, staying overnight at Twin Falls, and then down through Utah and finally back into Colorado, driving alongside the Colorado River from Grand Junction to Glenwood Springs before the last 30 miles up Roaring Forks Valley to Basalt.

Once into the NW Pacific coastal stretch, it rained almost continuously with only two or three fine days. Miraculously, these occurred in Portland and I was able to don the roller blades on two days and one day ventured up to the mountain for some cross country skiing, each time with my friend Jack. Hence a new photo where you see me all kitted out for roller blading.

Lots of spectacular country to see along the way...mountains, rivers, and high desert. The high desert can be somewhat boring at times but at other times one is rewarded by a sight like a family of elk crossing the highway. This was in Malheur country, named by early French trappers for 'misfortune', but good fortune for me in meeting the friendly folk of eastern Oregon at the next cafe stop. Crossing the bridge over the Snake River into Twin Falls affords an amazing view down into the canyon some 500 feet below, wide and deep. If ever you should do this, be prepared to be suddenly distracted from the business of driving!

I was so impressed that, once settled into my motel room, I walked back to take a photo or two. The bridge is 480 above the river and is the only place where anyone with a parachute is permitted to jump off without qualification.

Mostly silent for the return journey, my GPS was invaluable threading my way around Brigham City and Salt Lake City. Richard (the British accented voice I chose to be my companion) kept me on track and able to manage the dense traffic. Let's hear an 'Hurrah' for good old Richard from TomTom land! The GPS also gave clear visual information, especially when lane changes were required to weave to the next highway. A great travel aid.

All that is left now is the 1,800 mile trip back to New York State where the adventure of the house project begins. I will devote a separate Blog to that. Meanwhile, I am reading all I can about house construction, contracting, site design and the like.

Just now it is wonderful to be back with my Basalt family. My granddaughter has made the Honor Roll once more and I imagine a more deserving recipient. The ski season draws to an end although, after a warm day or two, it has been snowing all of this Sunday morning and into the afternoon.

Warm wishes from this mountain country where it seems possible to have four seasons in one day.