I make plans to do things early in the morning but lately that hasn't been working out. My phone alarms went off at 7:15am, 7:17am and 7:18am, and then every five minutes after that until I managed to become conscious enough to disable all three of them. By then, it was about 8:20am. Alarms are worthless.
Furthermore, I was planning on picking Tomko up from Fort Zarpaws around 10am, but that wasn't really happening either. Mish ended up bringing him over to the Nuthouse sometime before noon. I packed things, lost things, found things, ate breakfast, jumped on Brian's bed with Davi, and tetrised Byzantium into some semblance of order. We left Olympia by one in the afternoon.
We drove up the Olympia Peninsula towards Port Angeles. Here are some things you may or may not know: The Olympia Peninsula is formed by Puget Sound, which is a body of water that Seattle is on the east side of. On the west, we drove up a main highway that did not seem to enjoy this status (signs warned that "back-ups of more than five cars are ILLEGAL" and gave copious turn-arounds in an attempt to make us speed up).
This is also where the Twilight books take place. The main character lives in Forks, but the nearest real town is Port Angeles. Port Angeles seems to enjoy this status. We saw a store called "Dazzled by Twilight" that appeared to have nothing but Twilight-themed knickknacks.
We wandered Port Angeles because it did not occur to us that ferries fill up. When we arrived, the sign said "5:15 FULL, tickets available for 9:15." So we went to watch a movie across from the Twilight store. We could have gone to see TWILIGHT: ECLIPSE, but instead we saw Scott Pilgrim vs. The World (?). It started out like it would have made sense, but by the end I think everyone was just staring at the screen in confusion. And by everyone, I mean all six people that were going to see this movie at 5pm on a Monday in Port Angeles.
After the movie, we were bored, cold, and had three more hours to kill. I had been trying to call Herbwise Farm, but both numbers I had weren't working. I called up a friend and had her log into my e-mail, in which Karla had e-mailed us to say that her phone wasn't working, and my friend e-mailed her back saying that we were going to be later than expected, sorry. Then Tomko and I went into the building on the water that was some sort of visitor's center/art gallery/ferry routing/bathrooms collection and went to the restaurant on the second floor, ordered a pitcher of beer, and drank it. By the time we were done, it was 8:30pm and reasonable to go back to our car in anticipation of ferrying.
I have never seen or ridden on a ferry before.
When we bought our ticket, we drove through this little... drive-through place, paid $70, and then were told to park our car in Lane 11 and return before 9pm, when they load the ferry. So we came back and sat around in our car for about half an hour, while other people returned to their cars. We were all immobilized by the other cars around us, waiting for the cars ahead of us to go so that we might one day. Some guy came around and collected tickets from each of the cars. There were signs telling us not to bring gasoline onto the ferry. Eventually, the cars in front of us started moving and we followed them. Dudes with flags directed us to park in a certain area. I got out and looked around: We were at the bottom of a ship. It was like a parking garage, except that instead of doors there were hatches to escape. Ferries are kind of cute. We left the car as directed and went up. There was an area of chairs, an area of benches and tables against the walls, an area where food existed, and we could go outside but who would want to? It is cold outside. We went out and watched Port Angeles lights receeding and the water churning out from behind the ferry, then hustled back inside, where we pulled out
our laptop and watched an episode of True Blood.
We didn't get to finish the episode when an announcement came on telling us to go back to our car. Then we waited for a long while until eventually our line of cars drove away. The "customs checkpoint" was a little toll booth, except instead of making us pay a toll they looked at our passports and then asked us a few questions and waved us through. Now we are in Canada!
The ferry drops us in a city called Victoria, which is a very cute city, but Herbwise Farm is about 50 miles north of it, so we didn't stop anywhere and headed off. We didn't have any difficulty finding the farm and luckily I remembered the street number because it wasn't labelled with its name.
We parked in a gravel driveway among some other cars, all which were from "Beautiful British Columbia" according to their license plates. Then we looked around. There was a light on in a window, and some other mysterious buildings in the dark. We walked toward the window, and a very bright security light came on. Some guy appeared in the window.
Me: "Hi, I'm Kylara?"
Tomko: "Is this Herbwise Farm?"
Scott: "Yeah. Do you sleep in your truck or do you need a place?"
Me: "Uhmm, we could pitch a tent?"
Scott: "I'll be down."
We waited for ten minutes or so. Scott had a flashlight and told us to grab our sleeping bags and things, and led us along a path, around a pile of gravel and tractor, through some trees and to a little cottage. It had an adorable porch and electric lights, which we turned on. It also had a bed and two little tables. It's like a real place.
Scott waved his flashlight further down the path and said that's the outhouse, then left. I checked out the outhouse: A very traditional-type outhouse, with a half-moon on the door, a handle made out of the jawbone of some animal (the teeth wiggle a little like they want to come out when you grab it), and latches made out of sticks that rotate to block the door.
I made the bed and then went to sleep, for it was late.
Showing posts with label people: davi. Show all posts
Showing posts with label people: davi. Show all posts
Monday, August 23, 2010
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Helsing Junction
When we arrived at Olympia, Davi explained that she was planning to spend the weekend at a farm nearby called Helsing Junction, which was having an organic music festival fundraiser something something, and that we could get free admission if we spent at least 4 hours volunteering.
She had a meeting on Friday that went a little long, and by the time she got home I had pretty much packed everything we needed into the car, and off we went! We got only a little lost and had to call her brother Brian for re-direction. (The street signs were turned, we discovered.) We parked Byzantium in a field and went up to where all the people were.
We went straight to the kitchen and were put to work. I was shanghaied into making stir-fry. Initially, I was told to fry tempeh, which I do not know how to do. (Tempeh, for those of you who don't hang out with vegans, is some sort of fermented soybean product.) I was recommended by various other people in the kitchen that "it's like cooking bacon except it doesn't make its own grease" and "you can't screw it up" and "don't burn it." Then someone responsible came by and said, "How about you just make the stir-fry and it'll cook in there."
The stir-fry involved two coolers full of pre-prepped vegetables and stuff, including: minced garlic, chopped onions, yellow squash rounds, green squash quarters, marinated tempeh, yellow and orange sliced carrots, broccoli, bok choy, chard, shiitake mushrooms, olive oil, soy sauce, and a collection of spices. There was a frying pan and a large wok, a metal spatula, a pink plastic spatula, and two propane ranges. There was usually one other person with me, which is good because I spent about two hours making the same thing over and over, often times forgetting about the mushrooms or the tempeh or other ingredients. I left the plastic spatula leaning against the frying pan, then picked it up and burnt the hell out of my finger by getting pink plastic stuck all over it.
I spent most of the weekend in the kitchen. I liked the people and the endless supply of delicious tiny yellow tomatoes. The kitchen was very close to the stage, and so you could always hear the music that was going on.
If I left the kitchen and went to the music, the best part of the music was the giant stack of straw bales from which one could watch the stage. It was a roughly pyramid-like structure, with nooks and crannies that became less and less defined as the weekend went on and people kept jumping around on it.
At one point, I slept on the straw pile inside a sleeping bag. I got two people to make nuclear paper cranes and met a boy who made an amazing orgami eagle in like fifteen minutes. There was a backrub circle around the campfire on Saturday night. I got to wear my blue and yellow hair all weekend, and I got a Helsing Junction Farm t-shirt for helpfulness. Davi picked the same shirt color, so we matched.
We were some of the last people out of the farm on Sunday. We did a lot of dishes and packed things up and then realized that we hadn't packed up our tent and camp stuff yet, so by the time we got back to the Nuthouse it was already six o'clock on Sunday night. Davi ran off for dance class with seemingly infinite energy; I decided to laze around the house. I hung out with Brian, who I don't really know--I met him once during Davi's 21st birthday party--but who is a thoroughly enjoyable human person.
She had a meeting on Friday that went a little long, and by the time she got home I had pretty much packed everything we needed into the car, and off we went! We got only a little lost and had to call her brother Brian for re-direction. (The street signs were turned, we discovered.) We parked Byzantium in a field and went up to where all the people were.
We went straight to the kitchen and were put to work. I was shanghaied into making stir-fry. Initially, I was told to fry tempeh, which I do not know how to do. (Tempeh, for those of you who don't hang out with vegans, is some sort of fermented soybean product.) I was recommended by various other people in the kitchen that "it's like cooking bacon except it doesn't make its own grease" and "you can't screw it up" and "don't burn it." Then someone responsible came by and said, "How about you just make the stir-fry and it'll cook in there."
The stir-fry involved two coolers full of pre-prepped vegetables and stuff, including: minced garlic, chopped onions, yellow squash rounds, green squash quarters, marinated tempeh, yellow and orange sliced carrots, broccoli, bok choy, chard, shiitake mushrooms, olive oil, soy sauce, and a collection of spices. There was a frying pan and a large wok, a metal spatula, a pink plastic spatula, and two propane ranges. There was usually one other person with me, which is good because I spent about two hours making the same thing over and over, often times forgetting about the mushrooms or the tempeh or other ingredients. I left the plastic spatula leaning against the frying pan, then picked it up and burnt the hell out of my finger by getting pink plastic stuck all over it.
I spent most of the weekend in the kitchen. I liked the people and the endless supply of delicious tiny yellow tomatoes. The kitchen was very close to the stage, and so you could always hear the music that was going on.
If I left the kitchen and went to the music, the best part of the music was the giant stack of straw bales from which one could watch the stage. It was a roughly pyramid-like structure, with nooks and crannies that became less and less defined as the weekend went on and people kept jumping around on it.
At one point, I slept on the straw pile inside a sleeping bag. I got two people to make nuclear paper cranes and met a boy who made an amazing orgami eagle in like fifteen minutes. There was a backrub circle around the campfire on Saturday night. I got to wear my blue and yellow hair all weekend, and I got a Helsing Junction Farm t-shirt for helpfulness. Davi picked the same shirt color, so we matched.
We were some of the last people out of the farm on Sunday. We did a lot of dishes and packed things up and then realized that we hadn't packed up our tent and camp stuff yet, so by the time we got back to the Nuthouse it was already six o'clock on Sunday night. Davi ran off for dance class with seemingly infinite energy; I decided to laze around the house. I hung out with Brian, who I don't really know--I met him once during Davi's 21st birthday party--but who is a thoroughly enjoyable human person.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Salt Lake City to Olympia
The drive seems like a blur that includes about 16 hours and 900 miles.
View Larger Map
Shortly after getting out of the SLC metropolitan area, we passed into the state of Idaho.
Neither Tomko nor I had a very good idea of what the upper, leafy part of the potato plant looks like. At the beginning of Idaho, we saw a lot of corn and occasional hay, but nothing else: Particularly, we expected to see fields and fields of unidentified crops, which we could quickly assume to be potatoes.
By observation, Tomko and I determined that potatoes have above-ground parts that are kind of like soybeans in height and greenitude. We have not yet checked with the internet to verify this one way or another.
We were ahead of schedule--we were going to Portland and then leaving for Olympia at 2am--so we were somewhat leisurely about our drive. We decided to stop in Boise, since who doesn't want to be able to say that they went to Boise? Also, it was about 4pm and I figured that if we wanted to hang out at a public library, then we better do it sooner than later (before all libraries close).
There are many reasons that you will find homeless punk kids hanging out around a library. We ran into several when be pulled into the library, asking Tomko for cigarettes. Libraries are great places because they have: climate-control, electrical outlets, computers and internet access, potable water and sanitary facilities, and because you don't need to justify being at a library. You can hang out and that's just what you're supposed to be doing. If you have no money but want to hang around a nice place for a while, libraries are where it is at.
After we chatted with the punk kids for a while, we went inside. The first thing I remembered to do was to call VW parts places to see if they had headlights that would fit my car. The first place said yes. $62 each, including bulbs and orange plastic bits and so on. Great. Fine.
I am shocked that I managed to get from Baltimore to Boise without front turn signals, without being pulled over a single time.
We went to the place and got the new turn signals. I got someone to come outside with me to see if I was attaching them correctly, and as I was putting in the driver's-side one (the one that simply disappeared and I never got to see the inside workings of), I realized exactly where the hook on the spring was supposed to go. I made sure everything else was lined up and the light was plugged in, then yanked the spring into place. Horray!
The passenger's side one (the one that fell out because I had not placed the spring correctly) was a lot harder and took a lot more time, because unlike the driver's side, this had pieces of the engine blocking most access to the place where you wanted to put the spring. After I repeatedly bruised the top of my hand and knuckles shoving against gravity and springs, and then using miscellaneous silverware from the car as levers, Tomko managed to place the spring onto a piece of metal. It was not the correct piece of metal, but this isn't relevant. I yanked on it and couldn't get it loose, proclaimed Byzantium healed, and we got on our way.
Boise has adoooorable rush-hour traffic wherein we were stationary for about thirty seconds.
Oh, also we got a sleeping bag in Boise. Apparently, my mother reports to me, there were like three sleeping bags in the garage that I could have taken from Maryland but no one checked the garage to find this out.
On and on we drove. We hit Portland around 1am, and then hung out at a gay bar waiting for our friend Davi to get off work an hour later. Then he jumped into our car and directed us to his house in Olympia, Washington, where we quickly fell asleep.
View Larger Map
Shortly after getting out of the SLC metropolitan area, we passed into the state of Idaho.
Neither Tomko nor I had a very good idea of what the upper, leafy part of the potato plant looks like. At the beginning of Idaho, we saw a lot of corn and occasional hay, but nothing else: Particularly, we expected to see fields and fields of unidentified crops, which we could quickly assume to be potatoes.
By observation, Tomko and I determined that potatoes have above-ground parts that are kind of like soybeans in height and greenitude. We have not yet checked with the internet to verify this one way or another.
We were ahead of schedule--we were going to Portland and then leaving for Olympia at 2am--so we were somewhat leisurely about our drive. We decided to stop in Boise, since who doesn't want to be able to say that they went to Boise? Also, it was about 4pm and I figured that if we wanted to hang out at a public library, then we better do it sooner than later (before all libraries close).
There are many reasons that you will find homeless punk kids hanging out around a library. We ran into several when be pulled into the library, asking Tomko for cigarettes. Libraries are great places because they have: climate-control, electrical outlets, computers and internet access, potable water and sanitary facilities, and because you don't need to justify being at a library. You can hang out and that's just what you're supposed to be doing. If you have no money but want to hang around a nice place for a while, libraries are where it is at.
After we chatted with the punk kids for a while, we went inside. The first thing I remembered to do was to call VW parts places to see if they had headlights that would fit my car. The first place said yes. $62 each, including bulbs and orange plastic bits and so on. Great. Fine.
I am shocked that I managed to get from Baltimore to Boise without front turn signals, without being pulled over a single time.
We went to the place and got the new turn signals. I got someone to come outside with me to see if I was attaching them correctly, and as I was putting in the driver's-side one (the one that simply disappeared and I never got to see the inside workings of), I realized exactly where the hook on the spring was supposed to go. I made sure everything else was lined up and the light was plugged in, then yanked the spring into place. Horray!
The passenger's side one (the one that fell out because I had not placed the spring correctly) was a lot harder and took a lot more time, because unlike the driver's side, this had pieces of the engine blocking most access to the place where you wanted to put the spring. After I repeatedly bruised the top of my hand and knuckles shoving against gravity and springs, and then using miscellaneous silverware from the car as levers, Tomko managed to place the spring onto a piece of metal. It was not the correct piece of metal, but this isn't relevant. I yanked on it and couldn't get it loose, proclaimed Byzantium healed, and we got on our way.
Boise has adoooorable rush-hour traffic wherein we were stationary for about thirty seconds.
Oh, also we got a sleeping bag in Boise. Apparently, my mother reports to me, there were like three sleeping bags in the garage that I could have taken from Maryland but no one checked the garage to find this out.
On and on we drove. We hit Portland around 1am, and then hung out at a gay bar waiting for our friend Davi to get off work an hour later. Then he jumped into our car and directed us to his house in Olympia, Washington, where we quickly fell asleep.
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