Jack went up a tree

Shuffled tree limbs from the ground into the chipper for Jack Walker last week up at Wallowa Lake with his brother and Dave McConathy.

Here's Jack up a tree, but both of them are on their way down. Dizzying, I tell you.

Applying tension to nudge a section over:

New bridge

I expected this to go badly.

Neighbor Bill decommissioned the bridge that had been across his stream and asked if I wanted it. I didn't really need it, I guess, but it was free and, as my Uncle Bob taught me, that is one four-letter F word that is always a joy and a pleasure to hear.

Armed with my copy of the manual for Egyptian building methods, written on a papyrus scroll, rollers were placed. I expected calamity. 16-feet of bridge tilting into the little stream and sitting there useless. I was prepared to use it as a ramp to jump BMX bikes.

But the unexpected happened. She rolled right off, pretty as you please. No cussing or fighting involved. Here's the video.

Phase two was yanking the trailer out. Roll tape.

And there you have it. A new bridge.

Thanks, pyramid builders. And trailer makers. And neighbor Bill. And Toyota, maker of the T100. And Jacey Bell, technical advisor, engineer and film documenter for the project.

Trimming trees

Neighbor Gene and I rented a 40-foot extendo-ladder, or "man lift," as they say in the trades, to give his willow trees a haircut before they packed on their leaves and got unwieldly.

Looking down on TG. I've always looked up to them before this.

I'm not exactly afraid of heights, but I don't write love letters to heights either.

Moving this bucket around with the hydraulics with the boom or mast or whatever the hell that long slender thing holding you up is called, when the bucket is fully extended, can get . . . uh, well, it can make you re-think your relationship with heights.

But then I was distracted by running a chainsaw with one hand and getting slapped in the face by branches with the other, so what with the welts on my cheeks and sawdust being spit in my eyes, the time passed quickly enough.

Take that, willow trees.

And Furthermore column: WC homing beacon

And Furthermore column, Wallowa County Chieftain. April 3, 2013

All roads lead to Wallowa County. Even a dirt road next to the beach in Baja Mexico a few weeks ago.

I knew Chris and Christina Geyer of Lostine would be at their place in Los Barriles. I was visiting Baja with my mom, dad and aunt Donna and hoped to see the Geyers, but we were staying a couple hours south of them and the timing didn’t look like it was going to work.

Then Chris put on an M. Crow & Company t-shirt. I’m convinced that’s what triggered the Wallowa County homing beacon. Our plans changed and we ended up driving by Los Barriles, where the Geyers have their place. I didn’t have a way to get a message to the Geyers on the fly. But I didn’t need to.

To calculate the probability of me driving by Chris Geyer at the precise moment we crossed paths would take one of those computers that fill a warehouse to factor in the chain of events, wrong turns and me getting lost on just the right dirt road at precisely the right instant for our rental car to be where it was when I saw Chris turn onto the road. Los Barriles has a population of around 5,000 and it’s spread out pretty good. Big enough that the magnetic force of an M. Crow & Company t-shirt is the only reasonable explanation.

Chris was coming back from a beach volleyball game. I performed a highly illegal U-turn that should have landed me in a Mexican prison and set off after him in a low-speed chase, tracking him down at his hacienda.

 This wasn’t the first time Wallowa County magnetism had worked for the Geyers in Mexico. They’d had a similar run-in when they knew Ted and Sue Juve were in the area but didn’t know how to – oh, look, there they are right there.

My last Wallowa County coincidence before this was crossing paths with Brady Goss in the Columbia Gorge. I said Hi, Brady. Instead of looking surprised he shook his head and said I was the third person from Wallowa County he’d seen in a few days while traveling from a music performance. I don’t know what’s going on, he said.

Well, Brady, it works like this. People are drawn to Wallowa County for various reasons. The natural splendor, Andy Griffith Show sense of community, outstanding warrants, whatever. Our law enforcement crew handles that last bunch. Once an individual resides in Wallowa Country for a particular length of time, they absorb certain characteristics and properties.

Some evidence that Wallowa County has a grip on you are simple enough. Recent studies indicate that 86% of Wallowa County residents have dog hair woven permanently into their clothing, vehicle upholstery and/or home floor coverings. 68% of that dog hair is from border collies. My husky dog accounts for 4% of the remainder all by herself. She sheds at a startling rate.

Another outward sign of Wallowa County connection is wincing when the words “Portland” and “traffic” are heard spoken together. Often this triggers a curling of the lip and looking away in disgust.

Swearing you can’t stand fast food but eating it on the down-low when you leave the Wallowas is another common trait. Confusion over popular culture. Becoming partial to Carhartt clothing. The list goes on.

The unseen effects of Wallowa County entering your double helix are the result of invisible magic laser beams sent from atop Mount Joseph. When you are outside the Wallowa County line, your internal processor searches for that signal, much like a cell phone that is roaming and trying to connect.

External antennas, such as Carhartt jeans, border collie hair on your clothing or an M. Crow & Company shirt boost the signal on the Wallowas frequency. If other signals are in the vicinity they exert the same magnetic draw that pulled you to the Wallowas. Next thing you know, you’re eating lunch in Baja with friends from Lostine. It’s a small world. But only when you’ve just had a strange coincidence, otherwise it’s still a pretty big world.

Jon Rombach is a local columnist for the Chieftain.

Imnaha pics

Here's some photos from a recent Imnaha steelhead trip, courtesy of Tony Tranquilli.

My, but that's pretty country.

Camp being attacked by sunbeams.

Hiking back.

Ice cap on Wallowa Lake

Wallowa Lake has been a hardcase for a good long stretch this winter, but the temperature of the water isn't all that much different than when you go swimming in August.

It's been doing that thing where the ice shifts or cracks and it sounds like Star Wars weapons.

Out of the ashes, into my Arment art collection

And Furthermore column, Wallowa County Chieftain. March 6, 2013

Steve Arment’s art collection and my art collection are similar in some ways. We’ve both gathered paintings and sculpture over the years. Arment recruits art that he likes, either because it’s easy on the eyes or has a good story. Same here. But Steve’s collection includes stuff by a whole bunch of people. Mine is mostly by one guy. Steve Arment. Another way our collections are different is that mine got started by pulling things out of a burnpile. 

When I first got to know Steve he was moving his studio from the old cheese factory on Hurricane Creek. He had a heap of things to clear out. Mostly wood scraps and lumber ends. But there were also abandoned or not-quite finished wood carvings. Fragments of carousel animal anatomy. A three-foot long plywood carrot. Unpainted kingfishers and songbirds. Stencils for a giraffe head and other exotic creatures. Pretty much a Noah’s Ark of the animal and vegetable kingdoms rendered in wood. Steve was planning to haul these to the dump. I have a burnpile that’s closer and offered its services. He took me up on it, thankfully, and once I saw what he was throwing away I started pulling out the good stuff. So began my art collection.

The plywood carrot got screwed to the side of my storage shed. Why? I don’t know. What else do you do with a plywood carrot? It makes a dandy landmark. I once saw someone on my property and went to see why. It was a photographer. He was shooting senior pictures and the student wanted a photo by the carrot with the mountains in the background. That’s why you hang a plywood carrot on your shed. Because it’s art.

You’ve seen Steve Arment’s artwork if you’ve been inside Wallowa County. The Blue Banana. Lear’s. Bookloft. TG. Gypsy Java. Old Town Café. Mutiny. Calderas. ToZion. 1917 Lumber. That list is just getting warmed up. The man carves so much wood that on more than a few occasions I’ve entered a place of business, noticed a dusting of wood shavings on the floor and asked, “Steve just here?” and the answer was always yes. It makes me feel like a tracker when that happens.

So it makes sense that a busy artist has been busy collecting art. Go see the exhibit, if you haven’t already, of artwork by other folks that Steve likes. It’s on display through March 24 at the freshly-squeezed Josephy Center for Arts and Culture in Joseph. That’s the old Community Bank building next to Sports Corral. Good things are happening there. Go in and take a gander. Say hi to Rich upstairs in the spiffy new home of the Alvin Josephy Library. And give Mike Koloski a high-five for doing such nice work with the art exhibits.

He actually carved that tuxedo.

Walk around those paintings and sculptures from the Arment collection. The artwork is worth seeing for its own sake, but I also think it’s interesting to see what Steve thinks is interesting. Nobody does exactly what Steve does. I’m not even sure what it is exactly that he’s doing, but nobody does it better. If you’re not familiar with his work, let me describe real quick one of the things he’s made and you’ll get the idea. He made a children’s toy that I guess would be called a rocking horse, except it’s a pig, with wings, painted with zebra stripes. Not something you just order out of a catalogue, you know?   

Looking around my living room at the art by Arment I’ve managed to collect, I see an Egyptian scarab beetle with a four-foot wingspan. Two giant codfish heads holding a stick between their mouths. They used to support pots and pans in Steve’s kitchen but now reside near my woodstove. I hang my waders there after fishing. There’s a set of butterfly shelves. A painting of a castle. Another of a heron. A little carved dinosaur with a broken leg. And this is just stuff Steve was going to throw away or didn’t have room for anymore.

I should really get Koloski over here to curate my collection. Until then, go see the exhibit at the Josephy Center. None of it came out of a burnpile, but it’s still pretty impressive.

Jon Rombach is a local columnist for the Chieftain.