I put Viggo's name in my headline, just to see if I could attract a small percentage of the hits my website www.mariannelove.com received from around the world when I posted my interview with him a few years ago. At the time, the piece attracted 4,700 hits in one week.
The interview still appears on the website under "Love Notes" if you among about half the people I know who look at me with a blank stare when I say the name "Viggo Mortensen."
To say the other half are more than demonstrative would be an understatement.
Well, Viggo has left a note to his neighbors in an unnamed village. I snapped this photo at the door of a convenience store in that unnamed village. Most locals, especially my son Willie (Happy Seventh Anniversary to you and Debbie, by the way) will know in a heartbeat.
We drove through that village yesterday on our way to pick hucks. And pick we did. Should have started earlier because the bushes were black with berries anywhere you wanted to pick.
Why is it that huckleberry pickers have to suffer through the first hour or so---bending over, fighting off mosquitoes, settling for mini-berries, walking around a lot to avoid mosquitoes and to find bigger berries, complaining----before finding the perfect patch.
The perfect patch for us yesterday was up on a saddle, where a rig with a horse trailer was parked. The perfect patch allowed me to sit on a stump and pick from loaded bushes surrounding the stump or to stand and pick those berries at eye level. It was cold and crisp in that spot so nary a mosquito caused me to cuss any more.
After a while of picking bliss, I heard a delightful sound: a horse blowing its nose. Soon after, I could hear the clip clop.
"I'm here in the bushes," I yelled to the unknown riders, hoping to keep their horses from spooking at my sudden appearance. Before seeing the horses, my eyes were drawn to a beautiful sight: another Border Collie to join our two assistant pickers. Then, I recognized good ol' Rod Moline and his friend. We talked young horses and their training for a minute; then, I heard more clipclops.
From the other direction (my patch was an island among road junctions) came two more riders. Last week I mentioned the passing of Harry Roberson. Well, his son and daughter-in-law, Roger and Randy from Roseberg, Ore., appeared in the opening. They had come up for Harry's funeral and had brought Randy's horse with them.
We enjoyed a nice visit, and my desire for a day in the mountains some day riding Lily was enhanced all the more.
They loaded up their horses, and I went back to picking. Bill had remained silent the whole time, so I know his bucket had more berries and I needed to play catch-up. We ended the outing with 3/4 of a gallon and a desire to get back up there soon to add to the winter supply.
The evening was topped off with huckleberry sundaes while watching the Olympics.
I always love Huckleberry Sundays, and yesterday was a good one.
To say the other half are more than demonstrative would be an understatement.
Well, Viggo has left a note to his neighbors in an unnamed village. I snapped this photo at the door of a convenience store in that unnamed village. Most locals, especially my son Willie (Happy Seventh Anniversary to you and Debbie, by the way) will know in a heartbeat.
We drove through that village yesterday on our way to pick hucks. And pick we did. Should have started earlier because the bushes were black with berries anywhere you wanted to pick.
Why is it that huckleberry pickers have to suffer through the first hour or so---bending over, fighting off mosquitoes, settling for mini-berries, walking around a lot to avoid mosquitoes and to find bigger berries, complaining----before finding the perfect patch.
The perfect patch for us yesterday was up on a saddle, where a rig with a horse trailer was parked. The perfect patch allowed me to sit on a stump and pick from loaded bushes surrounding the stump or to stand and pick those berries at eye level. It was cold and crisp in that spot so nary a mosquito caused me to cuss any more.
After a while of picking bliss, I heard a delightful sound: a horse blowing its nose. Soon after, I could hear the clip clop.
"I'm here in the bushes," I yelled to the unknown riders, hoping to keep their horses from spooking at my sudden appearance. Before seeing the horses, my eyes were drawn to a beautiful sight: another Border Collie to join our two assistant pickers. Then, I recognized good ol' Rod Moline and his friend. We talked young horses and their training for a minute; then, I heard more clipclops.
From the other direction (my patch was an island among road junctions) came two more riders. Last week I mentioned the passing of Harry Roberson. Well, his son and daughter-in-law, Roger and Randy from Roseberg, Ore., appeared in the opening. They had come up for Harry's funeral and had brought Randy's horse with them.
We enjoyed a nice visit, and my desire for a day in the mountains some day riding Lily was enhanced all the more.
They loaded up their horses, and I went back to picking. Bill had remained silent the whole time, so I know his bucket had more berries and I needed to play catch-up. We ended the outing with 3/4 of a gallon and a desire to get back up there soon to add to the winter supply.
The evening was topped off with huckleberry sundaes while watching the Olympics.
I always love Huckleberry Sundays, and yesterday was a good one.
4 comments:
Does finding the store and swiping the posted note from Viggo count as getting his autograph? Just curious...
Probably not. I'm gonna guess this is either Lee or Melissa, right?
After five years back in North Idaho, we finally found our "perfect patch" of huckleberries and have been up there picking three times already.
The third time, I'm hunkered down on the ground, surrounded by bushes loaded with the berries, picking away with my purple-stained fingers, when an older couple appears from around some trees with little plastic rakes in their hands.
My question is... It is really "picking" if you are "raking"? I watched them for awhile as they "raked" about a half-gallon in the same amount of time it took me to "pick" about 50 berries.
Regardless, my family is more than happy with the 3 or 4 gallons we've picked this year. We're all set for huckleberry jam, sauce, lemonade, pie, and everything else until this time next summer!
We were up picking huckleberries over the week end and came across a couple standing by the back of their pick up. The bed of the truck was filled with huckleberry plants and the two IDIOTS were picking the berries off the damaged plants. They were then just throwing away the cleaned bushes. I was so mad at this wasteful way of gathering precious berries. Destroy the plants so you can stand up and not have to bend over. For shame whomever you were.
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