Nov 20 rain

December is the rainiest month on the Oregon coast. As we approach it, there are few days when no rain falls. There are, however, many days when it comes intermittently. Yesterday I picked up the  roll of 3/4" tubing to build cloche covers for the raised beds and drove home in a drizzle--on my right, the hills were enshrouded with dark clouds; on the left, the ocean sparkled under blue sky.
In the afternoon the storm retreated into the Siskyous and I cut and mounted nine eight-foot hoops for one of the four raised beds. I covered the young greens then thought, not raining, low tide, I better get to the beach!
 Grabbing my camera, I assessed my clothing-- dirty black sweat pants, a stained 2001 Kodiak High school hooded sweatshirt, and my muck boots, and decided that I didn't want to take the time to change and that putting a raincoat over an already damp sweatshirt would be less comfortable than taking my chances with another squall.

After the five minute walk to the beach, I walked through the ubiquitous invasive European grass that had been planted to stabilize the dunes and has done its job too well. Shifting sands are the life of the dunes, the spreading grass has enabled brush and trees to encroach, altering the landscape and wildlife.
On the beach, I smiled to see it devoid of footprints. The sun played hide and seek behind cumulus clouds. The breeze blew the tops off of the offshore swells. A string of pebbles dotted the wet sand and I rolled a couple of interesting green rocks and a couple of sugar agates in my hand and deposited them in my pocket. Taking a few pictures, I noticed the storm clouds rolling in over the tops of the cumulus, similar to the waves breaking over the foam-covered receding waves. I  returned home.
I was invited to Terri and Steve's, next door, for dinner. I am always thankful when I walk the circle driveway between our houses, not just for great neighbors, but also for the excuse to be outside on a night that the stars and an almost-full moon light my way.
I had made a modified salade nicoise. I didn't use eggs, but I put in home-canned albacore. Not canned by me, I trade canned red salmon for albacore and goat cheese.
Terri baked a free-range chicken (not one of mine), made brown rice, and we shared a bottle of Zinfandel.
She made tea and we sat around the living room fireplace talking about Thanksgiving plans.
Terri works upriver at Tu'tu'tun lodge and has the ability to remember every guest's name as she seats them for breakfast or dinner.
After work, she  brings  leftovers for my chickens. Yesterday she brought them baked polenta with olive tapenade, rosemary shortbread with oven-roasted tomato pesto, curried chicken salad with currents and nuts, cornmeal toast, home fries, and caramelized onion tart. Terri whispers the word chicken when referring to cannibalism. She hoped that there was adequate curry so they didn't recognize a cousin.
The day before she cooked up some old buckwheat spaghetti for the chickens. A black and white Brahma and a Rhode Island red hen went at the pile of pasta like Lady and the Tramp eating spaghetti.

young greens in the raised bed