Bloodlines

 

Bloodlines

Noel Laflin

3-17-22

 

Ancestral records indicate that the first Laflins (our branch of the family anyway) set sail from Ireland and set up home on America's East Coast nearly three hundred years ago. They became fond of Vermont, in particular.

 

Over the next century, grandsons and great-grandsons of the original clan moved further west, finally settling in the Red River region of Minnesota.

 

But my dad, fast forward to a new century, grew tired of shoving snow (or so he said many times during my youth) and pushed on to sunny California, extending our rapidly diluted Irish bloodline all the way to the West Coast.

 

And here we are, in yet another new century, contemplating St. Patrick's Day far from the original motherland, diluted bloodline and all

.

But Jesus, Joseph and Mary, it's still a pretty fine day in Orange. I wish we had a town named Green adjoining city limits, but alas, the closest hamlet in that color range is Old Olive.

And come May 17th, we'll fly the Norwegian flag, break out the lefse, and appease my mother's ghost

.

Otherwise, she might call upon nasty nisse (mythological creatures from Nordic folklore) to sour the cream, or so she warned us back in childhood. And how would we make Irish coffee then, by Jaysus!

The Old Fountain

The Old Fountain

Noel Laflin

3-16-22

The old fountain in Irvine Park was designed by Florence Yoch, a Santa Ana resident and American landscape architect who was active from 1915 through the 1950s. Her career included commissions for private residential clients, parks, public spaces, and film sets for Hollywood movies, including the grounds for Tara in Gone with the Wind, the 1930's film Romeo and Juliet, The Garden of Allah, and How Green Was My Valley, amongst others.

The fountain can be viewed up close or by a train ride in the park as it makes its turn to head back to the station.
It's been functioning nicely for the past 103 years, bringing in a multitude of critters every day and night.
A helpful link here regarding more about this remarkable woman and what she created: https://la.curbed.com/.../florence-yoch-gone-with-the-wind

Keep Aiming for the Tree

 

Keep Aiming for the Tree

Noel Laflin

3-15-22

I know for certain that spring has finally arrived in my garden as the bumble bees have reclaimed the hollowed out interior of the old dead plum tree as home once again.

They were here last year, showing up in spring, making my presence precarious when around that old stump. Then they pulled up stakes, flew off one day, and disappeared last fall. I immediately got caught up on some overdue yard maintenance.

But, daylight savings must have been their signal to return and set up headquarters once more.

And so, I weed and water there a bit more carefully again.  Fortunately, their presence is easily detected by the loud buzzing, giving me time to duck or jump out of their flight path when they come lumbering in, lining up their approach, like a drunken B52 bomber squad, aiming for the hole in the tree. Somehow they never miss their target.

Better that dead old plum tree than me, I suppose.

 

Old Growth

Old Growth

Noel Laflin

3-10-22

I look at pine trees growing in our greenbelt here on the outer edges of suburbia and marvel at how tall they have grown in less than forty years. When planted, they were no taller than myself. Thirty-eight years later the pines are just under fifty feet in height, and are home to raptors, songbirds, and fox squirrels. The shade they provide is wonderful, and the pine cones numerous.

All this gets me to thinking about camp, of course, and reminds me that most of the lush forest that we called home half a century ago was not much older than the age of these trees outside my door here in Orange.

Sure, many of the stately oaks in camp were older, along with some ponderosas, and the giant white fir tree in Lightningville (estimated to be over four hundred years old) but on the whole, what we grew up in was primarily new growth, as logging in the San Bernardino Mt. Range had only ceased by 1915. That meant that when the council finally purchased the land they would christen Ahwahnee in 1955, the majority of the trees were only forty years old.

Consequently, this often makes me wonder how much different camp, and all of the surrounding area would have looked, barring forest fires, of course, had we inherited it in its old growth, primal state. And keep in mind that our neck of the woods was never touched by fire, other than the occasional lightning strike.

Wikipedia gives a brief summation of old growth as, "An old-growth forest – also termed primary forest, virgin forest, late seral forest, primeval forest or first-growth forest – is a forest that has attained great age without significant disturbance and thereby exhibits unique ecological features and might be classified as a climax community.

In scientific ecology, climax community or climatic climax community is a historic term for a community of plants, animals, and fungi which, through the process of ecological succession in the development of vegetation in an area over time, have reached a steady state. This equilibrium was thought to occur because the climax community is composed of species best adapted to average conditions in that area."

In my mind, all of that means is, damn, I wish we could have seen and been a part of that old, virgin, primeval, steady, harmonious community of trees.

And yet, despite all that limited that from occurring, it was still the most memorable place on Earth.

And still is.

I am grateful for the ever growing evergreens, just outside my door, for the constant reminder.

I'm even grateful for the damn squirrels.

I Think it was the Backstroke

 

I Think it was the Backstroke

Noel Laflin

3-6-22

Wondering where I might have set my reading glasses, I start the hunt upstairs – but to no avail.  Sure, there are other pairs scattered about in convenient locations, but it’s a matter of principal, not to mention, pride, that I find the favorite pair.

Downstairs, I wander, and in my search for the missing glasses come across a near-empty roll of toilet paper off the master bath. Checking the cupboard, I find it to be empty of backup reinforcements, thus moving over to the guest bathroom cupboard (which has plenty of toilet paper and for which I intend to steal a few rolls for bathroom number one), but first notice that there’s a spider doing the breast stroke in this toilet.

Grabbing the toilet bowl brush, I rescue the spider, tap her into the trash can – knowing that she’ll soon dry off and climb her way out to freedom once more – but notice that the toilet needs a good brushing as the water calcium ring catches my eye (who needs glasses to notice that?), so I open the cupboard to look for the pumice stick, which will take off the offending water ring, only to be surprised by the numerous extra rolls of toilet paper, which, in turn, reminds me as to why I came to the guest bathroom in the first place. 

So as not to forget the original errand – other than looking for glasses - I take out several rolls as my reminder to restock the other bathroom cupboard. Finally locating the pumice stick, I take care of the water ring, notice the spider making her way over the edge of the trash can, wish her well, grab the rolls of toilet paper set out as my reminder as to why I was there in the first place, return to bathroom number one, restock that cupboard, replenish the near-empty roll, and wander back upstairs, take my chair, and try to read the message recently dinged to my phone, only to wonder where my reading glasses might have wandered off to.

Scratching my head in consternation, I find the glasses firmly perched there all the while.

Consequently (and happily, I might add), I am now able to write of my brief Sunday morning adventure and actually see what I am typing.

And in the process, I saved a spider, cleaned a toilet bowl, and replenished near-empty toilet roll reserves as well.  So there is all that to be proud of, too, I suppose.

If I can remember where I left the good camera, I’ll eventually wander outside and see what needs taken care there, and hopefully remember that the eventually-found camera (which will be hiding, slung across my left shoulder) might actually come in handy.