Christmas Memories

 

 

Back about 1975, Christmas at our house looked like this:

 

A $5 permit in hand, we trudge through the snow in the mountains picking out the perfect tree to cut down.  We never wanted to cut off more than we had to, so sometimes the tree had to duck the ceiling a little.  Not many decorations, but we would buy one new box of Christmas ornaments every year knowing that eventually we could absolutely overload a tree.

 

A legacy from my childhood, there was the American Flyer train layout, different every year, with the Lionel transformer so the locomotives would have plenty of power.  Lots of practice putting train car wheels back on the tracks.  Drops down the smokestack of one of the engines would provide chuffing smoke (and a special aroma).  As presents started to accumulate they could be arranged as backstops and tunnels.  Running the trains was good for a week or two, until the tracks were overwhelmed by presents, even if we had to take the pack of a dozen Hot Wheels cars apart and wrap them all individually to accomplish our goal.

 

Reflections of my own overwhelming Christmases with presents piled high.  Later in life Mom told stories of Dad telling her that Christmas needed to be different this year.  We were just going to buy a few presents, then looking at the tree right before Christmas and declaring that this just won’t do, and going out shopping for a giant bag of toys because Christmas morning just has to “look right”.  So, Dad’s legacy to our legacy, Christmas just has to “look right.

 

Along the way

 

 

Coyote through the windshield.

 

 

Who knows what the heck left these prints

 

 

 

Not the ungulate tracks to the right, we’ve got white tailed deer, exotics, and javelina for that, but the small pointy, really sharp canine tracks on the left.  The tiny predator.

 

I’m thinking maybe gray fox.   Or maybe a Pomeranian in need of a pedicure.

 

A very wet

 

 

 

 

Lesser Goldfinch.

 

Until we’re Old and Eighty

 

 

Judy and Me.  That has been our mantra since we were children.  That was our pledge to each other, lying on the beach staring into each other’s eyes, when we were still teenagers, and innumerable times since.  Why 80?  Because the words Old and Eighty flowed, and anyway, old and eighty was so far out it was essentially the end of time, right?

 

Well, here I am today, the first day of my eightieth year and we’re both thinking, wait a minute.  Eighty is not that old.  It certainly isn’t the end of time.  We’re going to need a new mantra.

 

 

Tracks

 

 

Walking in the wilderness, we come across tracks.

 

Wolves and large dog tracks can be difficult to tell apart.  Dog tracks tend to have a little larger spacing between the toes and the central pad.  I don’t think we have any Mexican Gray Wolves here though, so I would guess this to be a dog or coyote track.  Surely canine because we wouldn’t see any claws on a feline.

 

For determining dog or coyote, dog tracks have an overall round shape.  Coyote tracks have a more oblong shape.

 

This looks pretty round overall to me.  And this has a large triangular central pad.  Coyote central pads tend to be smaller and not so triangular.  Dog tracks can often be a reckless mess as they run about sniffing and investigating everything.  Wolves and coyotes tend to be more down to business and travel in a straighter line.  Can’t tell that from just a couple tracks though.

 

I’m guessing that in this instance someone before me had a big dog along with them for a hike.

 

Remember that Texas Firebush?

 

 

It totally died and we cut it all the way back to the ground.

 

Then it showed a sign of life so we left it alone to see what it would do.

 

It grew back.

 

And after being gone all summer, we come home to this…

 

December/January.  It will be time to whack it back down again.  Maybe only knee high this time though.