Α Ω (Kid Stuff)

Or is it a dream?

This place where “warm waters halt”.  This place in the shadows of the Continental Divide.  This place that has awed and inspired, roused and stirred.  This place that’s been traveled and searched but never really known.  This time just beyond – as real as the here and now yet fog-like as is the past.

And so we approach the omega somewhere just over the horizon.  As our vision approaches the boundary, the details become less and less discernible until they drop from view completely and we’re left once again with pure speculation.  But that contemplation of the unknown is what captures the imagination - touches the soul.  It’s the stuff of dreams. 

Our arrival in this space is founded in American law - the instruments of titles and deeds of ownership.  Perhaps a shiny new key.  All possessed with the assistance of the United States Postal Service.  These events set in motion with fireworks and messages of congratulations along with an invitation to enter the name and address of the lucky contestant.  Yes, luck plays a major role, but the name and password (each 24 digits) and which trigger all this excitement require anything but chance.  Indeed, simply locating this obscure website somewhere in the vastness of the internet will demand a large degree of precision.  But the home page adorned with flowers and butterflies is a vision of fantasy.  A domain where childhood cartoon friends and Hollywood actors past spring to life kindles the imagination.  Yes, this is the province where the challenge of the impossible is overcome and illuminated.  Together, they bring a smile.

Someone once said “the devil is in the details”.  And with that we crash back to reality.  Here in the present hour is the time and place where dreams roll into theory.  And the cold reality of those 24 digit codes stare us in the face.  And as with life itself, one theory demands another and another again.  So, to make the story short, let’s just focus on three foundational theories and view them from the proverbial 30,000 feet: 

1)  Forrest Fenn’s book, The Thrill of the Chase, contains any number of “minor” clues as to where to find his treasure.  But the most “critical” clues are the last.  And those last few clues are encrypted amongst the writing.

2)  Find the specific text that holds the encrypted messages.  For that we need directions - a “map” so to speak.  The “minor” clues lead to all manner of things, i.e. national parks, the internet, The Bible, popular movies, artwork, novels, etc.  And from these we gather information from which to puzzle together the “map”.

3)  Decipher the encrypted messages.  And for this we need to build a “machine” based on a blueprint.  And again, we piece together the blueprint from information gathered by following the “minor” clues.  Now, what the final version of this “machine” looks like is anyone’s guess but here’s a hint:  one part Enigma Machine, two parts Mickey Mouse watch, three parts better mouse trap – with a splash of Antikythera Mechanism thrown in for spice and a pinch of sextant for a little pizzazz.

It reminds of another “machine”.  A machine dubbed the Stealth Treasure Arrest and Retrieval System - STARS IV for short.  Version four was perfect.  Designed to retrieve the chest of gold (11” x 11” x 6” and 42 pounds guesstimate) laying a few feet below the surface of slowly moving water without attracting the curiosity of every fisherman and tourist within eye shot.  Nonchalantly wade in as if angling for a prize Brown, casually attach the machine to the chest resting peacefully on the river bottom, and smoothly slide it all up onto a serene and secluded bank. 

Easy.  Peasy.  Done.

Sadly, STARS never made it off dry land.  Perhaps for the better.  The arresting part of the contraption might have worked.  The stealth part – maybe not so much.  The sight of its 60 year old inventor thrashing, entangled, and gasping profanities while going under in the cold mountain runoff might have raised an eyebrow or two.

But before STARS could ever be initiated, the theory that brought it to life fell apart in any number of ways.  Just a few short weeks into The Chase and the first of so many theories that have gone wanting came up snake eyes.                     

Nonetheless, the alpha began along the Firehole River as it meanders through the meadows and gathers the steaming waters from the numerous geothermal features of the Upper Geyser Basin in Yellowstone National Park.

“Begin it where warm waters halt”.

To start with a theory.

Wild Blackberry Pie (Kid Stuff)

One of the great mysteries of my aging process is that the vast majority of my body is trapped in a glacial-like transition into disrepair.  But not my taste buds.  Nor the mechanism, whatever that may be, that generates hunger.  Those two functions truly are getting stronger with each passing day.  Boy, do I like food.  Almost any food.  Although I’d still step away from that steamed spinach flavored with vinegar that my Mom (Esther Evelyn) used to put on the table every now and again when I was kid.  I think it was her not so subtle teaching method in regards to hardships and life trials. 

I’ve been thinking about that lately.  The food that is.  So, I decided to count down my top ten favorites:

17)    Barbecued baby back ribs

16)    Steamed asparagus

15)    Swedish rye bread (Made by my maternal grandmother, Esther Desideria Carlson Anderson.  The flavor, the texture, and the aroma are as real today as they were some sixty years ago.  Sadly, the recipe, the artistry, was buried along with my grandmother.)

14)    Pho soup

13)    Hostess chocolate cup cakes

12)    Salmon barbecued on a cedar plank

11)    Corned beef and cabbage

10)    Filet of sole with a lemon/caper sauce                 

9)      Dungeness crab with melted butter

8)      A Big Mac

7)      Fresh papaya with lime juice (although the addition of a veranda and tropical breeze will move this one up a couple notches)

6)      Spaghetti with marinara sauce and Italian sausage

5)      Steamed mussels in a chorizo and onion broth

4)      Fresh bread with raspberry jam       

3)      Lobster with melted butter

2)      Rib eye steak topped with melted Gorgonzola cheese

1)      Wild blackberry pie

Now, there is considerable internal debate as to where each of these foods should fall on that list.  And there are a good many items that might appear on another day, in a different mood.  But nothing challenges number one.  Numero uno it is.  Let’s look closer.    

The Patch

The hunt for a patch is a year round hobby.  And a prerequisite as each patch has a limited life span before the surrounding vegetation overruns the tract.  An area can seldom be spotted from a passing vehicle as the vines blend with the natural greenery.  So, a foot search is required.  But springtime brings little white flowers that stand out like stars on a moonless night.  Overconfidence is always lurking during this interval.  Too hot and the buds wither and die.  Too cold and the buds never develop.  But perfect weather is no guarantee either. On these occasions I suspect that bees, or lack thereof, are to blame.  But the reality of it all may simply reside with the fickle.  Hence, the best odds require a reconnoiter of multiple patches in hopes that at least one will prove fruitful.

The Pick

There is only a brief period when the picking can be done.  Just about the Fourth of July here in the Pacific Northwest – although weather and elevation have a say.  And nature has somehow determined that these little treasures will not be secured without cost.  Each and every berry deposited in the bottom of the bucket will require a toll.  The first fee is simply psychological.  Rule #1 - never look into the pail because discouragement is sure to be staring back.  The berries look really small when viewed under the hot summer sun and the floor of the container remains visible for oh so long.  But there are physical taxes as well.  The vines grow low on uneven ground and there is a certain irony within the ongoing battle between an aging, aching back and the  rejuvenated taste buds.  That should be charge enough.  But no.  The wee tiny berries nestle insidiously close to wee tiny thorns on the vines.  And the whole area is often home to stinging nettles and thistles as well.  Long sleeves and trousers are a must. 

Once home the cleaning process begins.  And a tedious chore it is.  Each little berry seems to have an even smaller piece of grass or seed attached to it.  But before long, all are washed.  And if lucky, not only will there be enough for a pie, but some will be frozen in anticipation of brightening a winter holiday to come.

The Prep

No doubt, this is the critical step.  And I’ve been blessed to have lived with two of the best cooks who have ever walked this planet.  Esther Evelyn used to call the whole process a “labor of love”.  And the standards she set have been carried forward in no small part by my wife, Jamie Lynne.  Jamie shares my “love of the labor”. 

My role here is simply one of nuisance – “Is it done yet?”  And eventually, when the answer comes back “yes”, there is still a wait.  A lesson in patience.  As a cold pie far out performs a warm one.  And true self-mortification may be experienced if one waits overnight.  Some sort of miraculous fermentation segue takes place. 

 

The Pie

Nuff said.