ohmygod ohmygod OH MY GOD!

“I suppose I’m going to read about myself now,” Larry says when he’s back on dry land. “Don’t make it some big deal, because it wasn’t.”

Well, it was pretty . . .

“My kids will think they have to take away my drivers license, or something, and I wasn’t hurt, no harm done.”

It’s probably not apparent that he’s just climbing out of a hidden water hole in an otherwise dry creek. I didn’t react quickly enough to take a shot while he was chest deep in there, but I was very busy worrying. Should I call someone, should I get a rope, are you hurt . . .

“God, Jane. Just let me get my feet under me. I’m fine. I’ll crawl out.”

Which, as you see, he did. We were tansy hunting. His job to wrench the plants out by the roots, mine to clip off all the blossoms into the bin. (See them in there?) The good news, he wasn’t hurt, and the even good-er news was that he’d forgotten his phone that morning, and thus it was safely at home on the dresser instead of in the creek.

Drama on the farm.

We escaped on Friday for a quick overnight to Black Butte, staying with Martha, going to a concert featuring Tim O’Brien. A nice respite, an evening under the stars with sweet music at a park in Sisters.

But when we got home, Allen was at work on an oak tree that had fallen some time in the last year. I’d posted a photo at that time, amazed at its size and age. It has lain there of course, ever since, harboring an owl, according to our neighbor, and providing scaffolding for the relentless blackberry vines which would consume it, given time.

We supposed the wood was rotten, but Allen came to give it another look. He’s a valuable scavenger, taking the trunks of other fallen oaks on the property for the mill he’s building in his back yard. I know. Who does that? We haven’t been invited to see what this mill looks like, and hope to have a chance at some point.

But here are some photos of the process:

You may wonder how I happened to be down there taking photos? Fortunately, Larry had heard his arrival and came to get me and my camera. Well, my phone, actually, I don’t even know where my real camera may be. I suppose Larry hoped this might be the lead story this week?

Ha. Earlier, the pasture along Llewellyn had been mown, the seeds reaped, and it was time to bale the remaining straw. Here’s what that looks like:

This is just the beginning of the baling process. Now there are bales strewn about the field, waiting in the sunshine to be collected.

Several posts ago I told you that I was having fun planning to play some music with a friend who plays the guitar? We seem to have mutually run into about a hundred miles of reason while this wouldn’t work very well. But he, Dick, did tell me about a new banjo shop which had arrived in Sisters, and that I should have a look.

Planning, as I was to be in Sisters, see above, I checked this out, learned the name of the owner and looked him up. Sent him an email requesting an appointment to have him sharpen up my banjo before I head off to banjo camp in September. Never heard back.

Okay, picked up the phone and left a message. Didn’t hear back, until a few days later when I got a text from him. He’s in France, so won’t be able to help. But was I interested in lessons? Whoa! Did he mean, like, on line lessons?

I don’t know. Who is he, anyway. Of course I turned to Google and found him: “See, when I was on stage once with the Dixie Chicks, and . . . ” Oh. And he was offering lessons? A couple of texts later, when I learned that he would be back in Sisters, I turned to a piece of advice I’d recently heard: Don’t let fear keep you from reaching for your goals. I know, something my new Apple watch would tell me. In fact, maybe that’s where I did hear it.

Anyway, why not. Let’s do this, I told him. “Could you send me a record of your playing so I can see where “you’re at (sic)”? he asks. (I’ll work on his grammar later.) (When we’re really good friends) In the mean time, speaking of fear! Send him a record of my playing? Um. Right.

But I did it, and am nervously waiting to hear something back. So far, what with being in France, both of his texts to me have arrived at about 1:30 a.m., waking me, of course. Maybe tonight? He says that he’ll be back in Sisters soon, so the idea of lessons isn’t quite so ridiculous. Except it is. Hey, remember what your watch told you?

I’ve just asked Larry if he has anything to add for the blog and he says no, can’t think of anything. So that’s it for today.