Registration for Ghost Story Weekend at the spooky Oregon Coast is now open on ExpressLane.
Note that there are two sections: One is for 11 of us, who will stay in the cabins, and the other is for Florence residents who will go home at night (missing the best part, if you ask me).
CRN 43125 is for attending the workshop alone, no overnight stay. The tuition is $64 plus college fees of $8.00; total cost $72.
CRN 43124 is for attending the workshop AND staying in the Siltcoos cabins. The tuition is $64, $45 for overnight, shared accommodations, and the $8 college fee: total cost is $117.
I’ll email everybody who registers as the time approaches…
See you then…
The last two weeks of February are almost always beautiful. This is the promise of spring, I guess, or the false-hope that spring has actually arrived. These two glorious weeks of blue sky and light-jacket weather after months of cold gray drizzle make me a little giddy.
The first thing I do is get the pea bed ready, put up the trellis, and plant the peas. I did that today. And while I was in the garden, I pulled a bunch of weeds, and noticed the violets that are up, and the crocus. The daffodils are budding, and the tulips are popping up. Spring is definitely on the way.
But after the peas are in, winter returns. It always does. In fact, it’s going to rain tomorrow and turn cold again. But the rain isn’t the worst part. The worst is the fog. So we have cold, drizzly fog, after two weeks of actually believing that spring might be within grasp.
Every year I tell myself not to fall for nature’s cruel trick, but it never works. I fall for it. And I’m disappointed. Every year.
And yet, the peas will eventually come up, cold, drizzly fog and all, and by the time they’re ready to be lightly steamed and salted, it really will be spring.
Every year I hang flower baskets off the back deck, filled with coir, that coconut fiber. Every year, the birds rob the coir for their nests. This year, I hung a net bag of it for their convenience, hoping they will finish nesting before I put out my flowers. Just for fun, I added a variety of yarn ends to it, so the birds in my neighborhood will have the coolest , most colorful nests in town.
Among our birdhouses, we have two ceramic ones from magnificent potter Douglas Fey. (Check out his website!) Both have been up for an entire season now, and this morning, a chickadee was investigating the fish, and not for the first time. So I primed the pump, so to speak, with a little coir and a nice blue piece of soft cashmere.
We have another Fey birdhouse, his interpretation of a pelican, my all-time favorite bird. Al and I go down to the Rogue River frequently, and I just cannot get enough of these awesome birds. I’ve resisted collecting little pelican things, though, as I’m not a collector, but when I saw what Doug Fey does with all the rest of his critters, I had to ask him to make me a pelican. I haven’t seen any birds looking into this guy’s mouth yet, though, but I gave prospective tenants a nice bit of curly straw and a length of turquoise silk to tempt them with.
I hope they find our housing suitable. That would be great fun.
Well, now that I am certain I am not going to die of this respiratory infection, I got up off my death bed this morning and took my dog for a walk in the sunshine.
Spring is flirting with us. The crocus are blooming everywhere. The daffodils look ready to pop, and now and then you get a hint of one of them beginning to open. I saw yellow on my neighbor’s forsythia bushes, and big fat buds everywhere, on everything. Tulip leaves are up, paving the way, along with the hyacinth leaves. Bulbs everywhere, in fact, are waking up.
While still cool, it is a bright sunny day. My husband readied the raised vegetable beds last weekend in a fit of spring fever, and this morning I planted peas, lettuce and spinach.
But I know what’s coming. More winter. Every February, we get teased with this fabulous weather. Usually it’s warmer and lasts for a couple of weeks. I expect that’s still to come. Last year it came early. But after that comes the fog and drizzle of March, the depressing disappointment after two weeks of spring’s promise. March, for me, is the hardest season to weather in the Pacific Northwest.
But today it’s good. And I know on the other side of March is April, with its wild and wonderful weather, and then I’ll be putting in the garden. That’s my favorite time of the year–well, one of them, anyway. This flirty time of year is kind of nice, too.