Stuff

There is a place where things don't grow under the Desert Willow. My theory is, when people get here we tell them not to drink the sink water. Nothing wrong with it but it's salty coming out of the well down the hill a bit. When they wake up in the morning I think they forget. Go in the kitchen, make coffee with sink water, step outside to enjoy the amazing scenery, take a drink of coffee and that's the spot they spit it out. Seventeen years of sink coffee have done it.

My wallet tore in town yesterday. I think I've had it since I've been here and probably before. Tosha, a guest who has stayed here previously gave me a pretty cool wallet she made a year or two ago but I don't think I want to use it, it's so nicely done. Here's both sides.

When the red winged-blackbirds leave the cowbirds had traditionally showed up the same day. This year one cowbird showed up and he's been sitting in the top of the Cottonwood tree every day looking up river to see where everybody was. They showed up today, first wave, twenty or so of them. Blowers have begun to bloom. Indian Paintbrush is about.