(This is the 3rd installment of my July vacation travelogue.)
Lake Tahoe sits on the California-Nevada state line, and the rivers in the surrounding mountains form the setting of the ballad “Darcy Farrow.” Ian and Sylvia were singing this song the first time I heard it, and I still think their rendition is the best. I heard many examples on YouTube while looking for one to post here.
As we drove down the highway south from the lake, we weren’t far from “where the Walker runs down to the Carson Valley plain,” and in fact we crossed all three rivers mentioned in the tale, the Truckee, the Carson, and the Walker. We even listened to Ian and Sylvia sing from the CD player at one point in our journey.
Of course I don’t like that Young Vandy put a bullet through his brain, but in comparing this story with other traditional songs I find I like it better than ones where the young man instead kills his beloved by accident or out of anger.
These rivers descend toward the east from from the northern Sierras and always refresh my mind as I watch them from the car. The Walker stays close to the highway longer than the others, and where it flows through desert-like terrain it captivates me by the contrast it gives to the sagebrush-covered banks. It’s fast and furious and carrying a lot of irrigation for the green fields of alfalfa grown farther east where the land flattens out. I recall those expanses of green and the beautiful Nevada cattle ranches in the shadow of the mountains — but we didn’t go that way this trip.
Four years ago we visited this area, and I wrote hasty notes in my journal as we sped along through ever changing layers of conifers, sagebrush, aspens and meadows, trying to preserve the moments of beauty. I didn’t get to catch my own photo of the rivers on either trip, but I found this one on the Web.
And below is one of ours, showing the mountains where the heavy snowpack from last winter is still melting and filling the rivers with icy water. On Hwy. 395 this far north the elevation is still above 5,000 feet so the summer temperatures don’t get extreme. The cattle looked content, and I know I was.
( 2nd of many posts in a series. 1st post: Getting Over )
Our neighbor camper played his lonely and cheery mandolin for hours each day that we were at the Meeks Bay Campground.
We had pitched our tent within walking distance of the beach, where we were surprised to see three or four Canada geese looking for handouts or taking a dip with the other bathers. The many children liked to chase them in the water occasionally, but the geese always swam faster than the children could run through the chilly waters.
The lake is high this year, the beaches shrunken, but we found a spot to plunk our chairs down in the sand with a view to people-and-geese-watch, glancing up often from our summertime reading.
GJ above Emerald Bay
Mr. Glad casually and calmly swam in the lake for ten minutes at a time, completely disguising the fact that it was cold — he estimated 60°.
I was content to wade fairly quickly out to a rock where I could sit and admire my manly husband, whom I compared to a younger, fatter guy who no sooner entered the lake than he headed right back to the dry sand moaning and sputtering and making a scene.
Bridges’ Gilia
The quaking aspen trees shaded our tent and made a lovely shadow picture on the roof in the mornings, and Indian Paintbrush flowers waved at the front door. Steller’s jays helped to wake us up early with their raspy voices.
Lake Tahoe lies at about 6,000 feet elevation, which makes for chilly nights and mornings, but a noontime picnic can be plenty hot if your site’s table is in the full sun.
We took a short hike to Eagle Lake, above Emerald Bay, and captured some wildflower images. The purpley one Pippin and I think is Bridges’ Gilia or Gilia leptalea, though it also seems to have a new and updated botanical name for some reason: Navarretia leptalea.
Photo by Mr. Glad
I especially liked to visit the beach at night when it was empty and the water was shimmering. Little waves were going blip-blip-swish on the sand, where by their tracks you could see that the geese had been the last creatures to go to their rest.
I’m back from my visit to family and friends in Maryland. Some things went as expected: Cooking and playing games and exploring the woods with the daughters and grandchildren…
Bed for deer
We walked along the creek, and then up to the top of the ridge where we flushed out a thundering herd of deer, and saw their resting place.
Many little plants were pushing up through the thick layer of leaves, but most of the trees were just budding. These mystery trees at the top were an exception.
Skunk cabbage coming up
onion grass
I took walks with Pearl and Kate and had cozy teatimes and visits with their friends: except for the warm day I blogged about, we had to bundle up like this to take our walks.
Maggie and I embroidered together, and Philosopher read to me many stories of Warrior Cats. Most school days I was able to rouse myself in time to walk them up the hill to the bus stop. The older boys have to get on the bus an hour earlier.
Rolling out gnocchi
When Kate came over, we cooked up a storm, including sweet potato gnocchi.
Me draining gnocchi
Maggie spying on whatever was in the oven.
There were surprises, too: someone’s back injury that made me glad I was around to help out more; meeting a fellow blogger face-to-face; and a rain shower we were unprepared for. Maggie had gone to great lengths packing a picnic to eat with me at Philosopher’s soccer game, and was loaded down with cloths to spread on the ground, her picnic basket, and a bag full of coloring supplies.
None of us had remembered to bring an umbrella, so while we were waiting around for the game, which was canceled in the end, Maggie used the tablecloth for a hood.
I was surprised to see a bear wearing the coat I sewed about 30 years ago for My Friend Mandy. He was hanging out with Lucy who was wearing her new togs.
The biggest surprise of my trip was on the way home, when I opened my wallet at the Baltimore airport and found that my I.D. and almost all my important cards were not there. I had left them back at Pearl’s in a purse I’d borrowed from her earlier in the week, as I realized eventually. I did get through airport security without them. First, though, I had the dreaded experience of rummaging through my giant suitcase on the sidewalk in plain view of a hundred people because I was sure the missing items were in there. I’m so glad I had packed most everything in one- and two-gallon ziplock bags.
It was a learning experience. Switching from one purse to another will demand a thorough double-checking from now on.
Two whole days of the trip were given to traveling. I got on the bus to the airport at 5:15 a.m. at the beginning of my trip, and it took me a couple of hours before I could get over being homesick that morning. I finally arrived at Pearl’s house about 8:15 at night, on the other side of the continent. It’s always a surprise, if I think about it very much, that I could cover so much territory so….quickly?
I actually enjoyed my time in the air. I was able to really get into the book I am going to start blogging about. On two of the four flights I had a one-seat row to myself, and could look out the window and not need to even say hello to anyone. But the long hours take their toll.
It’s only to be expected, that I am t-i-r-e-d. I know I sound tired. It’s odd that I am already home again, and not surprising that I am feeling the weight of all the work I have to do, in contrast with the easy life of helping with someone else’s housework, walking in the woods, and hugging people I now miss.
Lewis Carroll said, “Begin at the beginning and go on till you come to the end; then stop.” I have come to the end of my Maryland trip, and am at the beginning of a three-week period that includes Pascha — the feast of feasts! In three weeks B. and I are going together, Lord willing, on another trip, to see other family and grandchildren.
It was a taste of summer today, and I mostly felt it in the evening, when the warm breeze kept the air balmy, and little girls pedaled their Raleighs up and down the neighborhood streets all in their short skirts. Pearl and I sat on the front step at dusk drinking our tea and enjoying the softness. This all makes me think of long-ago days before I lived in a city with too much coastal influence, where the fog comes in and the thermometer drops well before suppertime even in high summer. It was…I groped through my mind for the right word…transporting.
Tonight there are likely going to be thunderstorms again, and tomorrow the weather will demand sweaters and leggings once more. But it’s been lovely.
Gladsome Lights 