Smiths - Through the Ages

It was on the Smith River in the Jedediah Redwoods that Smith signed on. 






I'd recently read Patti Smith's 
latest literary effort M Train 
and was fantasizing about us 
traveling together and how I'd call her Smith. 

Then Ms. Cook got ahold of the idea. 

Thus, we have: 



GREAT SMITHS THROUGHOUT HISTORY...

                      Smith Brothers cough drops

Jedediah Smith - Outdoorsman nonpareil












Bessie Smith (April 15, 1894 – September 26, 1937) Nicknamed Empress of the Blues, she was the most popular female blues singer of the 1920s and 1930s.

                      Dr. Smith - Lost in Space

                                               

                                                    Patti - Singer, songwriter

 Maggie Smith - Actress

Celebrated British actress Maggie Smith starred opposite Sir Laurence Olivier in 'Othello' and won her first Oscar for 'The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie.' She has since earned acclaim for her roles in the 'Harry Potter' films and 'Downton Abbey.'



The Smiths
The Smiths were an English rock band formed in Manchester in 1982. The band consisted of vocalist Morrissey, guitarist Johnny Marr, bassist Andy Rourke and drummer Mike Joyce. Critics have called them the most important alternative rock band to emerge from the British independent music scene of the 1980s.

                                                                       Smithsonian...Museum of Natural History

    Blacksmith

Smith...the Cat

in her splendid walking jacket from 

Hyendry comfurt pet products.

About a Year Ago...

It was on my way north to attend the kite festival at Long Beach, Washington that I decided to stop in at Jedediah Smith Redwoods State Park.

I took the road through the parking lot, followed it out the back and down to the Smith River. There I chanced upon a 4wd road to a rocky bar. It was rough going and far enough from the road it felt safe to camp.

Not long after dark, while talking to Double El, I heard what sounded like a kitten mew. Figuring it must be a bird, I kept on with the conversation. But after the third time I investigated and saw the eyes, reflected in the light from my headlamp, of, sure enough, a kitten!

At Cochise Stronghold, Arizona

I eventually coaxed her to me and fed her some crab meat which she gobbled down as if she hadn't eaten in days. She stayed with me that night and over the next few days I realized I'd been adopted.

Having found me on the Smith River, I named her Smith.

On my sleeping bag.

She traveled with me for about nine months until one day, outside Cedar City, Utah, she'd had enough and vanished in the night. (link is to blogpost with details)

As much as I miss her, I know she's bound to be happier where she is. She liked it cold and I like it hot. But we had some good times together.

Zach Smith

Last night one of our stories was The Worst Breakfast illustrated by Zach Smith.

Tap images to goto Amazon

One of the benefits of being an aficionado is I recognize quality when I see it. This article about Smith lists a few of the museums he's in and mentions his book We Did Porn. The article, by Ezrha Jean Black | Mar 23, 2023, in Artillery, has other tidbits and you may wanna read it first for its insights into Zach's penchants.

Reviews of We Did Porn are encouraging. The one that suggests the latter half of the book is a love letter to Candy Crushed. (adult content warning) sent me seeking. A petite young woman, she is apparently quite popular. The link above is to Pornhub, a free site.

Below's one by Zach; so far, my fav.

Smith's Hysterectomy

The fog's been heavy the last couple of mornings making it slow going. We're usually up by 7:00, but it's about a half-hour drive into town. So, what with needing to be at the vet's at 7:30 a.m. we decided to take a room.

Smith, upset at being indoors, promptly pooped on the sheets. She's used her litter box several times so I know she knows how. I had similar feelings, but my vestigial decorum won out.



Tubularity

You DO realize it's almost suppertime, don't you?

Wildlife!!

I was crouched down trying to get a closeup of a flower when I heard that distinctive buzz. I looked over to see Smith backing away as a good-sized rattlesnake flowed forth from it's lair.

It was ready for battle and quickly assumed the position. I, in my most authoritative outdoor voice, told Smith, "NO!" She, of course, ignored me.

Apparently she got the gist of its intent and began walking away. As she stepped on a curved stick it twanged up. With lightening speed she gave it a good whack...just in case someone was watching and thought she was intimidated. This coulda been you buster!!

It's been over 35 years since I encountered a rattler. We've been a bit more cautious since; almost a Zen-like influence, but it was encouraging...where there're snakes, there are mice, raptors, foxes, and other animals, many of which have disappeared in the name of range management. This gave me a bit of hope....they haven't ALL been killed off.

Nevers & Smith

It was Tuesday and the eye still hurt. I decided to have a look; it was bad. 

Bartholomew Canyon

I picked an opthamologist off the web and after explaining the receptionist asked, "Can you be here in twenty minutes?" As luck would have it, I could.

Dr. Nevers agreed "That's an angry-looking eye." Dr. Robert Smith, the opthamologist, concurred. I spent the afternoon trying to get the meds they prescribed. It turned out Walmart couldn't get 'em.

Closer to Town

Next day, at CVS, they were amazing and by 1:30 I was dosed. I repaired to The Wilds to await the followup.

Yesterday Dr. Nevers referred me to Dr. Charlton, a corneal specialist.

A Venerable Stump

Lucking out again, I secured an appointment for Monday at 3:30. Time enough to bathe and drive the 45 miles into Salt Lake City.

I've known for years I've needed a cornea transplant. It's been interesting to find several folks willing, but when I went to Stanford, out by San Francisco, the surgeon, a man of integrity, said to call him if I ever decided to live inside. It seems my lifestyle is too dirty. (The others were, apparently, eager for the money.) 

My heart's -- three-blocked-arteries -- condition precludes the option; they say I wouldn't survive the anesthesia.

I'm hoping Dr. Charlton will have something to quell the pain next time it decides to act out.

Phoebe's New Shoe

Can/do folks who're blind feel the clouds, the colors of a leaf, the mountains' distant ramparts?

I Can't Go on; I'll Go On

72 hours is my limit. Beyond that and reality gets twisted; things turn ugly. Tomorrow we'll have been here, in ABQ, a week. 

I recently read about a book: When Breathe Becomes Air in which the author cites a line from Samuel Beckett's The Unnamable; it's the title of this post. I first read Waiting for Godot at age 16...on acid. As it did then, it inspires guffaws, even when things seem too much. When Joe Pesce and Tricklock Theater performed it back in '82 (?) I laughed so hard I fell off my chair. I tho't it odd that the rest of the audience wasn't laughing.

I have several copies of Waiting For Godot, the library has the book about breathing. I have yet to read The Unnamable.There're 47 holds on 29 copies on the breath book and as of a few minutes ago there are 4,508 reviews on Amazon. I was impressed by how well-written the one-star reviews, comprising 1%, are. And after reading a few I decided not to enter the "hold" queue.

The trips, the driving ones, have themes. The last one was titled Existential Dilemma. It characterized the year. My (calling) card and the blog featured a picture of me, shirtless, tits nearly dragging the ground (teats give milk; tits don't.), struggling to open a beer at 9:00 in the morning. I don't usually "drink" that early, but this was a special occasion and I was attempting to rise to it.

Death has been in the forefront for many of us these recent years. Sometimes I wonder how you...anyone, can go on. 



Serendipitously, I ran across this...

A Hopi Prophecy  (This could be a good time!)



...and went back and found this: 
http://squishytulips.blogspot.com/2015/12/meditative-joyful-magnanimous.html


Both convey that joie de vivre. I include 'em here for future reference. Unlike some folks who write for their readers, this is my way of keeping track of where I was when and what happened. But perhaps the above links'll resonate with you too.



Thanks to RPM Automotive, Phoebe, my '96 Geo Tracker, now runs like a Swiss watch. And thanks to Koenig's Metalmorphosis she'll soon have a new chapeau (roof rack). Estimated date of departure is 10/13. In the meantime Smith is plotting tricks.

I have, for many years, made attempts at the accordion. Here's one from the oughts...you know -- ought one, ought two, ought seven.

The video was crafted by none other than Ms. Michelle D. Cook, cat-wrangler extraordinaire. I'm playing an expensive -- $40.00 -- toy that died an untimely death when it was put in storage. Heat melted the bees wax that held the reeds in place.

It was in Port Orford, Oregon the other day that I was inspired --- you know who you are -- to once again search for an instrument. Smith and I drove to Jemez Springs to look at one seen on Craigslist. The Fall colors are just getting going and the afternoon light gave truth to the phrase Land of Enchantment. If you're touring on highway 4 you might enjoy the side trip on 485 to The Tunnels. The accordion was too big.

Smith, the Cat, Jumps Ship

In Cedar City, Utah I spent a couple of hours enjoying the BFA exhibit at the Art Museum. Then another hour attending a performance of Red, a play about Rothko. Then a stop at Safeway to restock the larder. Thus, it was way past dark when we pulled into a large turnout at the beginning of highway 14, a two-lane road that leads to some of Utah's most spectacular scenery.

Smith, inside all day, had had enough, but I was reluctant to let her out. The highway was barely 200 feet away and there were other folks using the rest area. Finally, at 2:00 a.m. after pleading with her all evening, I strapped her into her walking jacket tightening it as much as I could, clipped it to the roof rack and lay down, finally, to sleep.

In the morning it lay at the end of the 15-foot lead, empty. She hadn't eaten since her after-dinner snack at 8:00 p.m. so I figured she'd be hungry by noon.

The spot was next to Coal Creek, a good-sized river, and had all the things she loved: steep, rock-laden banks to clamber upon and lots of boulders with hidey-holes to explore. Half a mile downstream were nice-looking homes, each with goodly amounts of land around them.

On the other side of the highway was a spectacular canyon, no doubt FULL of mice, voles, reboks and all other manner of prey.

Emulating Bobtail, Great Hunter of Cochise Stronghold

(we watched it on the laptop)

She'd reached that age where children are fed up with their parents. She enjoyed being outside so much she wanted it full time...like me. Sitting in a car, waiting, was no longer acceptable.

It's been a relief. I still worry about what became of her, but know she's resourceful. She'd survived in the Redwoods for god knows how long before I found her. I'm confident she found a place where she can get her meals and be outside all the time too.

But I still get a hollow feeling in my stomach when I think about her. But next time a kitten shows up it'll be straight to the shelter; I learned my lesson. And yet, I miss her.

Smith...the Cat

4WD got me onto a rocky beach of the Smith River where my phone conversation with Michelle kept being interrupted by a cat mewing. I figured it was some kind of bird and tried to ignore it. But it kept on. Finally I decided to investigate.

She was a couple of hundred feet away. In the fading light I coaxed her closer with an offering of canned tuna. Her ribs stood out and she ate ravenously, so fast in fact, that she threw up the first round. She was able to keep the next one down and chased it with some water. 

Thinking her too skittish to come inside, I let her stay out. But she was there in the morning, under the car. She made the move into the car easily enough and we went to see about shots, etc.   

At the veterinarian's in Crescent City the receptionist said she and her co-workers were sharing the raising of three kittens they'd found abandoned. She said people in that part of the world are irresponsible. Land is cheap too, I heard.

She's put me through the ringer: 

I bought a harness and let it lie around for a day to give her time to sniff at it. We seemed pretty settled in this morning after having breakfast (I had coffee) so I put it on while I washed up and sewed suspender buttons on my new pants. During a break we took a "walk" of about 150 feet on the leash; 300 roundtrip. Then I took the lead off and she crawled under the car with the harness on.

"Friggin' harness. I'll show you."

An hour later the buttons were done and the car packed. I started saying "Where's that cat?" which worked the day before. I started the car and called a few more times. No cat. 

I looked under the car: no cat. I thought how maybe she'd gotten hung up on a shrub or something and turned off the car to listen. Whistling and calling -- now thinking "Oh well, that's how it feels when things don't work out. I'll get over it." -- I kept calling. Time became interminable. A long ten minutes later she emerged from the forest -- it's dense with ferns and brush -- sans harness. I'll get another but will "accustom" her to it when she's inside. Live and learn. 

It's great to be in love! IF she sticks around.

Mouth of The Smith

The sign appeared just like any other, but due to Smith The Cat's role in my life, it held greater significance.

At the end of the street is a small parking lot with some steep, concrete steps to the beach. I fortified with some lunch, tucked the bottle of nitro into my breast pocket, overalls are so cool, and sallied.

It was bracing!...much nicer than the 103 someone said it reached in Grants Pass a ways inland.

Sloshing Waves & Wind

Smith's Bar

After she-of-the-capri left I came down here. This's where, in August of 2016, Smith (the cat) came out of the woods & accosted me.

Circling

Double El had chemo a few years ago. Her oncologist pronounced her Free & Clear the other day and suggested she get her port removed. (A port is an implant that enables drugs, the chemo and others, to be injected and blood to be drawn without individual "stabs." It makes it painless too.) You can see the lump from it just below her clavicle but it's never caused any discomfort. The removal is one of those "rites of passage" I want to be there for so I'll return (to ABQ) on the 7th. In the meantime, Smith & I are working hard at finding a serendipitous route that's maybe a bit warmer.

We're in Wilcox, Arizona on Interstate 10 thinking of dropping down to Cochise Stronghold in the Dragoon Mountains. Then maybe over to Tombstone and up to Benson to Beat-feet it back. OR...we could go down to Douglas and then head up toward Rodeo. I haven't been to Tombstone but the prospect of Benson and the long haul back on the freeway doesn't appeal. So, this is where that stuff about whim (I've written about) comes in. The goddess'll provide....she hasn't failed us yet


Smith's lookin' pretty sleek these days, dontchyuh tink?

It Ain't Kansas - Los Padres National Forest

It ain''t Kansas. They drive like they gots sumwharz tuh go and they wants YOU tuh git outa the way. If you get outa line it may take uh halfn hour for yuh tuh git an opening so as tuh git back in. Yessir, there's peoples end-tuh-end. And no end in sight.

But we're be'un watched out for. (I guess since I ain't no drunk thet meenz ah mus be uh phool.) 

As preface to what follows, please take a moment to read An Average Life's blogpost of 10/25/16; it lends fine context to my tale.

At a remote campground that was empty I got out to read the regs & fees. I then went up the road where I stopped to look over the walk-in tent sites, remembering to roll up the window so the cat couldn't get out. A little further I came to the main campground and toodled about, stopping to compliment a young woman on her beautiful, full length, aubergine gown. It was nice to see someone dressed in something more original than the grey t-shirt 'n' khaki shorts uniform. I returned to the remote place, filled out the form, paid the fee and discovered, upon unloading the car, that I didn't have a cat.

I suffer from loss issues. Thus, my first reaction was, "Oh well, it was inevitable. I'll get over it." But then, after about ten minutes, years of therapy kicked in and I began thinking of where she might've gotten out. I began calling as I walked back to the C.G. pay station. Circling the area and continuing to call, I practically fell over when she came trotting across an open area heading for the nearby woods. She stopped to sniff the leg of a picnic table (she enjoys making fun of dogs) before jumping onto a low limb of a tree and and (are you watching?) pantomiming checking the tie-downs on her packboard before heading off into the wilds. I called and she paused, letting me get near enough (sssoOOO beneficent) to grab her. Cuddling her in my arms, I asked if she wanted to leave, if she was unhappy with me. Her quick glance with frightened eyes reassured me it wasn't about me. She's just a kitten and wanted to get out. 

The next evening, after driving for too long, we were forced into a campground where many of the sites, although empty, were reserved. With nowhere else to go, I chose the first one, fortuitously separated from the others, and unloaded the absolute minimum. I figured we'd keep it warm for them and when they showed up it'd take mere minutes to get packed and out of the way. I hoped to get a few hours sleep, enough to be able to drive on to somewhere. The ranger, who was kind enough to have waited until we finished our repast, was having none of it. "Move on, buddy. And be quick about it." I know I'd have been grateful if I'd been the reservee.

In my haste I forgot to close the back door. I'd looped the end of Smith's lead over the gearshift lever but, about 500 feet from the campsite, looked down and noticed it wasn't there. As I braked to a stop, the back door slammed shut. I soon realized, I was, once again, catless.

It was pitch dark and the woods were dense. A steep ravine, a fav exploratorium of hers, loomed its depths next to the road. I walked about with my flashlight, hoping no one else would show up and scare her. I scanned the campsite, calling into the night. I imagined her entangled lead, preventing her from responding. Existentialist correlaries and Waiting for Godot played about my (alleged) psyche. 

She came trotting down the boulevard with her lead trailing, "Thanks for waiting. You left the door open so I figured it was okay to get out. Ha, ha!" When I stooped to intercept her, she veered and quickened her pace, but my foot, always chancey with one eye (the left is blind), found its mark and I was able to reel her in.  An hour later, crispy-crittered to the hilt, we checked into the aforementioned remote C.G.  

The next day was better. After 12 miles of steep, narrow and winding up to the Figueroa Recreation Area (Hah! No muttering of generators up here!), we found a little knoll. There, between the steepyer (like pointyer but slantyer) slopes of the Sierra Madre mountains in the Los Padres National Forest, amongst the oaks, where much of the land is either up or down, I noticed a faint track of tires. Walking it, they soon disappeared. But upon turning to return, and with the light now behind me, I could see a vague suggestion. And we didn't even need 4WD. With all the trees (uhg!) Smith was in heaven!

Her exuberance is wonderful. It brought a full-on laugh when she came racing out of the forest, leaped in through the bathroom window and, with zuchinni tail in full-fluff (mock anger/terror), exited, still at fullspeed, stage right, through the front passenger door. My hair, blown by the afterdraft, streamed out beside my head and I reeled back expecting a herd of jackals to be hot on her heels.

The next day A few miles down the road the gods had left this little hidey-hole (see photo) open. It's atop the mountain overlooking Santa Barbara about 1,000 feet before the gun club (BLAM!! BLAM!! BLAM, BLAM, BLAM!!!). We surmised they'd forgotten their night vision stuff cuz it got quiet after dark.

The weather's fyne. Upper 70s to low 80s during the day. Nights in the 60s and, at these elevations, no fog.


NOTE: The local Nat'l Forest cop gave hard time cuz yer sposedly only ''llowed tuh be one car length fum duh pavement. Everything I've read said 300 feet, but, of course, I didn't have it to hand. As per his authority, he took umbrage at the suggestion he didn't know the law.

Ready To Ride - Bolon Island

There's a Memorial Trail on the southwest side of the bridge over the Smith River. It runs along a shipyard.

They were moving this boat back to the water.

The trail is less than a quarter mile. If you go, please consider taking a bag to collect trash. There seem to be wild pigs leaving pepsi cups, banana peels, pandemic masks & other. 

Preparing to launch.

My collection

Inside the pepsi cup was this candy bar, unopened.

Not having had breakfast, it was just what I needed.

138 To Diamond Lake

Once east of the Roseburg outliers, it's pretty calm. Turnouts are almost frequent enough to keep folks behind me from getting their fur up. It's mostly other travelers with an occasional semi.

The Umpqua River morphs between wide, placid to narrow racing to shallow with rapids...a real panoply! Smith and I came this way in 2016.

It's the smoke that's diff. Hit whar layin' heavy in spots. Hyarz whut hit lookt lak gwan up thuh mountin.

I forgot tuh fill muh jug an' when I got out, around 9 pm, the fog was so dense I could barely see ten feet. There was a strong smell of smoke that had me wondering just how far away the fires were. But the literature from the Roseburg Library book sale soon had me distracted.

This morning was a whole nuther whurld.

Further down the road, I made camp inna small roadside slot. Time was I'd've felt too exposed this close to the road. But after years of "no problems," I'm more at ease. Besides, this one doesn't go anywhere and there've only been three cars in the hour and a half I've been here. 

Phoebe

As with the "windows" in Utah, there's a cutoff date, usually mid-August, for enjoying (western/coastal) Oregon; that's when the rains begin again. Though the fog grew noticeably denser passed the mid-month mark and started earlier in the evening, the rain held off until yesterday. The forecast was for it to continue through Sunday, but the gods saw fit to give me a break.

This Doug Fir (I think that's what it is) is about 3 feet acrosst at the ground.

Sky!

Rain began promptly at 8 pm.

It's Coming Together

Smith came through (getting fixed - $157.00 incl microchip, distemper & de-worming) without complications. She's behaving herself -- not licking the wound -- so has been able to forego the Elizabethan collar. 

The plan was to return to the wilds after her surgery, but I caught a cold (What you get when yuh patronize Walmart) and decided to Motel it for another day. Then, late in the afternoon, the guy called and said he could install the front-to-back rails for a roof rack at 10:00 tomorrow (now today); that clinched it.

Closed on Mondays. The other side of the roof is totally moss.

Sign funding obviously isn't a priority. But you'd think they could do a bit better for this moderne-era building.

Built in 1936 as a post office.

Smith's First Halloween