Robert arrived at my place late Wednesday morning. My eye had been bothering me, so he kindly drove. With Rob behind the wheel, Walter and I piled into the truck and we set off for wastelands of Eastern Oregon to visit Scott McDonald.
Scott, Robert and I have been friends since we were teenagers, some five and a half decades ago. We enjoy one another’s company, but rarely see each other. Scott comes to the Wet Side much more frequently than we make the trek through the wheat fields and desert to Old McDonald’s Farm. We were overdue for a visit.
We arrived around 5:00 in the evening. Scott led us up the hill to a ridgetop above his house where he had a couple of brand new tipis. Scott’s been clearing the understory, leaving a park-like, open pine forest with a view of Nan’s Rock across the canyon.
We set up our bunks in the eighteen foot lodge. The smaller one was reserved for the kitchen.
Once we got squared away we moved over to the smaller tipi and watched the sun fade as we drank and prevaricated. Walter and the horses had to come to an understanding but they got that sorted early, with a minimum of noise and no bloodshed.
We spent a beautiful night in Scott’s tipi, slept well and had breakfast for lunch. When Scott went down the hill to feed the horses, his girls told him they could hear us laughing clear down at the house.
Thursday we probably had a high near 90f (32C), mostly clear with a light breeze. The air was perfumed with the scent of hot pine pitch.
.
I lost my phone Wednesday night and found it late Thursday under a cooler near the kitchen. This, not my BAC, accounts for the lapse in photographic documentation. That’s my story and I am sticking to it.
We threw knives and tomahawks, and shot guns, but mostly I’ve spent the day sitting around with a couple of guys I have known forever, who talk just like me, exchanging lies and exaggerations.
That evening, Robert used flint and steel to strike a light, and kindled the first fire burned inside Scott’s new lodge. We roasted some brats for dinner.
I tied Walter to the butt of the lifting pole so he wouldn’t bother the horses. He had just enough slack to push under the head of Robert’s cot, where he promptly fell asleep and snored all night.
Friday morning I woke with the sun rising behind Nan’s Rock.
We had a late breakfast; bacon and pancakes with an egg fried inside and the whole thing slathered with syrup.
Post breakfast slothfulness extended into the afternoon. although we did manage to bestir ourselves to take a short walk along the contour of the hillock to investigate Scott’s spring.
After dinner, the horses returned. They got a little aggressive, rummaging through an ice chest and one of them stole my drink. Walter looked at me with reproach when I forbade him from barking at the equine miscreants.
45 53F (11.6C) Clear with a chance of horses.
A fingernail moon hangs above the pines. It will wink out tomorrow.
Last night one of Scott’s mares stole my drink. This morning I woke up to find the same horse inside the lodge, front feet, head and shoulders, with her nose in the fire bucket. These Eastern Oregon girls lead a more wanton lifestyle than I have been led to believe.
It was a pleasant morning, warming quickly. By 9:00 it was 68F (20C) heading for 90F (32.2C).
We had breakfast for lunch again, this time steak and eggs. Scott has a secret recipe which yields a delightful crust on the steak.
Good morning.
.
7/12/26 5:30 Sunrise at Nan’s Rock. Temperature probably in the mid-fifties. Scott tells me the popcorn clouds portend a lightning storm, perhaps nearby, in the afternoon.
Harmony joined us for breakfast – Scott made french toast.
7/13/26 O’dark-thirty. Stars are out and it is dark. There are noises behind me as I squat at the latrine. I flip on a flashlight and find myself surrounded by horses, blinking in the glare.
Back to bed to sleep until dawn. Left-over rhubarb cobbler for breakfast.
Bumbled around all morning getting packed. Pulled out around eleven, home by four.
EIEIO
.
.
0 Comments