Pine cones, pain, and peanut butter

I mentioned in yesterday's post that the book Grandma's Bag of Tricks: Toad Cottages & Shooting Stars is a great boredom-busting book. It's also an awesome need-a-mellow-activity-while-recovering-from-tonsil-and-adenoid-surgery book. I can vouch for that because that's exactly what it offered up for my recent visit to see Bubby while he healed from his surgery.

The mellow activity I chose to do with Bubby was to make a pine cone bird feeder, using the pine cones I packed away in my Grandma Bag for the trip. (I lugged them along because while I have far too many pine cones in my yard in the mountains, they're nowhere to be found in Bubby's yard in the desert and he didn't even know what pine cones are.)

This is how the activity went:

First you take the pine cones ...

Then you add a wire to the top and coat them with peanut butter:

You taste the peanut butter, of course:

Then you spread a little more on the pine cone:

You roll your coated pine cone in birdseed:

And realize too late that tasting the seed probably wasn't such a good idea:

You finish the feeder:

And take a break because your throat hurts so cuss bad (maybe as much from swallowing peanut butter and seeds as from the T&A surgery):

Next, you hang your completed bird feeder in the yard:

And smile so proud for a job well done:

Then you sit back and wait for birds to arrive. Or for a dog, enticed by the scent of peanut butter, to nab the low-hanging fruit and gobble it down within a day of being hung. Which Roxy did. Twice.

So you complete the process all over again (thankful that Gramma brought spare pine cones and seed) and hang your new feeder up for the birds ... only this time you hang it high enough that Roxy can't reach it.

Today's question:

What is your latest project, completed or still in progress?

A drive on the wild side

Jim and I visited my dad on Saturday, which meant a drive on the slightly wild side for us, in more ways than one.

First, we had to traverse what I consider the scariest highway in Colorado. Not because it features winding roads and steep slopes, but because the highway is dotted with numerous crosses and flowers marking the spots where unfortunate travelers have lost their lives, usually attributed to excessive speed on stretches filled with blind curves. I hate that road. But it's the best way to Westcliffe, where my dad lives and my mom used to own property on which we camped with the girls many summers running.

After the Highway o' Death, we passed Supermax, the penitentiary housing "the worst of the worst," including Unabomber Ted Kaczynski, Terry Nichols, Sammy the Bull Gravano, Zacarias Moussaiou (of 9/11 attacks), Ramzi Yousef (of 1993 WTC bombing) and many other infamous criminals, past and present. I'm always intrigued by the calm and quiet exterior, knowing what horrible monsters reside inside. 

Soon after Supermax, we came upon one of the many wildfires currently plaguing our state, this one in the San Isabel Forest. We were stopped by a sheriff and told it was safe to travel through the area — the road had opened just hours before — as long as we stayed at 25 mph and watched for the firefighters on both sides of the road as "their eyes are focused on other things."

Firetrucks, helicopters, and "hot shots" vehicles were visible along the stretch, and we got to see helicopters dropping water on the hot spots. (Slightly blurry photo as we were driving ... and watching for firefighters.)

Once we were safely through the wildfire area, we were delighted by the animals. We saw bighorn sheep ...

and what I thought were baby bighorns (but my Dad said they were likely mountain goats).

We also saw deer ...

and yielded to deer ...

and saw even more deer.

Then we rounded a bend and saw the Sangre de Cristos ahead.

We got closer ...

and closer ...

then eventually rolled into town at the base of the range.

After some fine food, good conversation, and a bit of instruction for my dad and stepmom on how to use Facebook, Jim and I were on our way, back on the road and doing the trip in reverse.

With fond farewells, of course, from our newfound friends as they foraged for dinner.

Today's question:

How wild was your weekend?

Spring not yet sprung

Many of the blogs I visit regularly have lately featured spring in all its glory: trees in bloom and flowers, flowers, flowers. Beautiful flowers of purples and yellows and pinks and more.

Well, that's not the way we do spring in Colorado. At least not yet, at least not in my neighborhood.

As proof, here are two highlights from my walk with the dogs yesterday, neither of which feature flowers. (Neither of the photos, not the dogs. Well, the dogs don't feature flowers either).

(The white bar on the photo is part of the fence they're standing on the other side of.)

Sure, I'd be thrilled to see and smell flowers blooming, the true signs of spring. But if I can't have those, I'll gladly accept and appreciate what else Mother Nature has to offer, including snow-covered Pikes Peak and three curious deer.

As for blooming trees and flowers, I'll wait patiently.

For now, anyway.

Today's question:

What does spring look like in your neighborhood today?