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Letter 4: Enchanted Garden

8/5/2021

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Photo by Mick Haupt on Unsplash
Hey friends,

Well, it's still hotter than Satan's house cat, but the Yamhillians are settling in. Against their will, mind you, but still adapting.  Life must go on you know. Occasions must be acknowledged, even celebrated. 

My friend Lucy runs Manzanita's cafe, the prettiest building on the block. It's a white two story with large colonial windows. Each window front is covered by an oversized fabric awning. The idea was stolen from Georgio's of Beverly Hills. It's not really stealing, it's more like borrowing inspiration. We just take the best ideas and make them our own.

Manzanita's awning is lavender with white stripes. Shutters of the same color flank the top windows. Globe lights illuminate the sidewalks and front entry. More flower boxes line the windows of the top floor. It appears you can never have enough flower boxes. 

The sandwich board is near the front entrance. The daily specials are written on it with pastel chalks. Reyna is the local artist who created the special board.

The Cafe's master piece is the secluded garden in the back. Just the sight of it arouses my romantic side. I sometimes sneak back there when Lucy isn't paying attention. That's where my best ideas are born. 

Three tables. That's it. Three, tres, trois.  Lucy loves the threes, particularly the maiden, maid and crone.

These tables are enveloped with trees, ivy and of course more flowers. The gardens have been designed to act as a privacy wall so each table feels like it is the only one, and diners feel as if they're the only people in the world. 

If you are one of the fortunate ones, you will sit in white cane chairs. The cushions are so plush you will never want to leave. Linen table cloths adorn round tables and goblets fit for royalty are used for toasting life's pleasures. 

The finest china and the shiniest silver in Yamhill are set out for your delight. If you dare to be messy in this formal setting the linen napkins Lucy folds into birds will clean you up. 

The aroma of flowers hypnotize you. The best food in town (possibly the state, or country) will satisfy you, Enchanting music will soothe you. The harp. Oh my. The harp is angelic.

The ones born under a lucky star will share an experience with someone worthy. On rare occasions Lucy will show her non-business side and treat an unsuspecting couple to the garden. The private get away is for special occasions only. Lucy decides.

Lots of memories are created there. Miriam Swanson, winner of the tourism slogan contest toasted her husband with a Diet Coke over veal piccata with good news. The results of her medical tests came back clean. Yes sir, from that moment on she wanted to be referred to as a breast cancer survivor.

Wyatt Koch brought his wife of ten years to tell her he just won the lottery. He also informed her the marriage was over and he was done with her lying, cheating ass. While his wife was frozen in horror he handed her a check for twenty five thousand dollars to help ease the pain. On the way out he tipped his hat, then tipped Lucy a crisp hundred dollar bill.

I didn't say they were all good memories. Just memories.

Earl, Celia Dotson's husband already knew his wife was pregnant. No news there. What he didn't know was she was carrying triplets. This was the garden's first surprise where an ambulance was called. He fainted and cracked his head wide open when he fell off the chair. The chairs are plush. The cobblestone patio is not. 

He lived.

Earl is now the proud papa of three spoiled girls. 

Of course there are marriage proposals, anniversary dinners, and the announcement of the stork visiting. It doesn't matter how memorable the occasion is, The Garden elevates it to Wowza. If you are invited to dine there, you KNOW something special or significant is on the horizon.   
​
Here's a little ditty about Jack and Diane...


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Photo by James Wainscoat on Unsplash
Jack Flynn secured a table at the Enchanted Garden. It was no easy task especially in August. He owed Lucy big. Good thing he's a plumber. It's a handy trade to have these days. Not only did it provide him with a good living, but it was his ticket to the best place in the world to propose marriage. 

He's dated Freda Persnickity for a little over a year. They've attended multiple weddings this summer. When Covid shut the world down it forced people to postpone nuptials. So, wedding season tripled  AC, "after Covid".


 At every wedding Freda was emotional. She didn't hint at marriage, but he felt like it was something she wanted. She seemed more sad than happy at the weddings. Maybe that's just how women are.

They were set up on a blind date. I'm not sure they would have clicked in any other circumstance. But it was the beginning of their boring affair.  I know.

I KNOW!

That sounds rude. I don't mean to be, but together they are dull. On their own they are full of life, but something about their chemistry is dreary, stodgy, really quite wearisome.  I think they just want someone to love.

Look, they have 
their moments, but it's forced. It seems like they've both given up and are doing the worst thing you can do with a future partner. Settling.  But, who am I to judge. Maybe I'm wrong. I hope I am. But who am I kidding? I'm never wrong.
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Photo by Michael Olsen on Unsplash
Freda was getting ready for the evening. She put on the most beautiful dress she owned, an emerald green off the shoulder gown. It accentuated her red hair and green eyes. Flame head,  that's what Jack called her. She hated that name. 

She sat in front of her vanity putting on her make up  and thought about the evening. Actually, she thought about her and Jack's future for the first time. 


Jack was taking her to The Garden at Manzanita's. In her gut, she knew he was going to propose. There's no other special occasion to warrant The Garden. What else could it be? Her stomach was doing cartwheels and back hand springs. At one point she thought her intestines were walking a high wire above Niagra Falls. Those curvy organs held a pretty parasol just to taunt her. Their relationship was bland, blah, and limp, if you know what I mean. And I think you know what I mean.

Marriage proposals are common. A night in The Garden, well, that's a once in a lifetime experience. If you're lucky. It's more like a once in a blue moon event. Guess what tonight is? A Blue full moon.

Right then she knew as her gut plunged off the high wire slamming into the jagged rocks meeting its gruesome death in a torturous end. Well, she most definitely did NOT want to marry Jack.  Then she looked down at the carnage that was her gut and saw the pretty parasol floating in the current, and realized she coveted a night in the garden more.
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Photo by Larisa Birta on Unsplash
​The skies were clear that evening, so along with the twinkle lights the patio was fully illuminated. Lucy loved these evenings. She knew when there was a bright full moon that all bets were off. She used to dread these nights, but now she's come to look forward to the pandemonium. The trickster fairies held a field day during these times, and she had a front row seat.

This particular  full moon they started before nightfall. Mr. and Mrs. Green were to celebrate their 50th wedding anniversary, but Mrs. Green called and said Mr. Green had a heart attack. He's going to live, but please pass on the table and pre ordered menu to someone else. 

Lucy, was happy to hear he was going make it. As for the third table, she didn't know what to do. Normally, this would bring out her giddiness. The thought of surprising someone to the garden experience makes her tingle. But, it was a blue moon. Would it be a gift or a curse?

Now there were two tables left for the evening. The first one was Jack and Freda. He was proposing marriage. Lucy didn't like the idea of those two spending a lifetime together, but she did love the idea of a plumber on call for six months.

The second table was Diane and Sophie. This pairing touched Lucy because it was the love of two friends. Diane is going to be maid of honor in Sophie's wedding and wanted to do something special for her life long friend. Something for just the two of them.
​
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Photo by Pedro Ramos on Unsplash
Lucy was not up for chaos this evening and decided two tables on a blue moon was plenty. She called the local nursing home and found out there was a couple who've been together for 76 years.  She sent a couple of her staff to set up a magical table and treat them to a romantic meal. This was a good decision.

Dinner service was starting at the restaurant. It was a busy evening in the main dining room as well. She heard a collective gasp from the front of the dining room and knew one of the garden couples arrived.

Freda floated in. She commanded attention worthy of an Irish Goddess. She glowed. Jack being the gentlemen, took her elbow while Lucy escorted them to the garden. The hair on the back of Lucy's neck stood up. Chills shot down her spine.

Ut oh.

Their entrance was reminiscent of the red carpet leading to the Oscars. The moment they left the main dining room and crossed the threshold into The Garden, Freda's eyes went hollow. Everything else about her was the same. The megawatt smile, her posture, was exactly the same, but Lucy knew her soul flew out the second she crossed over.

She sat them and poured two glasses of champagne. She wished them a lovely evening and left them alone. 

Not long after Diane and Sophie showed up. They were already a little bit buzzed. They started the day at the spa, and while getting pampered and spoiled by a glam team they were getting plied with wine. The lovely charcuterie tray kept them from getting wasted.

They looked beautiful and really happy. Not just libation happy, but joyful. This was indeed a celebration of friends and upcoming nuptials. The Garden was the cherry on top for this kind of euphoric celebration.
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Photo by Anto Meneghini on Unsplash
"Sophie, I can't believe we are at The Garden. I can't believe you are getting married! Does, Robbie know he's marrying me too?" Diane said.

Sophie laughed. "By the way, The Garden is just the beginning of our escapade. After dinner we fly to Vegas! And of course he knows you are his second wifey. But I'm telling you that you are friend wifey and nothing more.  He also knows we have done everything together since kindergarten. Well, he doesn't know we 
talked Tommy Crown into letting us both lose our virginity to him."  Sophie said while pointing an olive at her life long friend. Her original soul mate.


" Vegas! Are you kidding? This is going to be the best night ever." She hugged her friend for the millionth time that day. "Did you see the couple as we sat down? He's hot. What do you think is happening with them tonight? Marriage? Baby news? Or is he telling her he'd like to give polygamy a try and invites us over?" Diane laughed so hard she was crying.


Sophie straightened up and leaned in. "His name is Jack. You are not going to believe this but I wanted to fix you up with him. He's friends with Robbie." She grabbed a cracker and scooped up some cheese, closed her eyes savored the bite before continuing.

" He said that Jack, that's his name don't wear it out." she laughed at her own silly joke. " He said I couldn't meddle because Jack had a girl and she was really nice." 

"Did you meet her?"

" I did, but only once. We had them over for a BBQ, but they left early because of an emergency. It was a Godsend. It was going to be the longest afternoon of my life. They were dreary, hum drum, and very, very bland." She grabbed a piece of salami.  "Unlike this food. They needed some spicing up."

She took a sip of champagne. "But, a few weeks after that I ran into her at the grocery store. She walked over and said hello. We started talking and stood in the produce section for a half an hour talking. She was engaging, interesting and um, alive. Yes, alive. It was bizarre." 

Diane listened half-ass and reached for a grape. "Do you think we could get some French Fries?"

​Sophie rolled her eyes at her non-foodie friend.


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Photo by Kimberly Fowler on Unsplash
Jack and Freda clinked their glasses without a proper toast. Silence engulfed, and a long, awkward silence followed. Jack's eyes darted around trying to find something to talk about until he did the deed.  He broke out in a sweat.

​Freda didn't take her eyes of her nails. It was a gorgeous manicure, but she envisioned them clawing  her eyes out just so she could be rushed to the hospital. The Garden, was exquisite. Her entrance was flawless, but it dawned on her it wasn't worth marrying someone she didn't love.


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Photo by Jianxiang Wu on Unsplash
Diane tried to peek around to the table where Jack and Freda sat. The flower hedges that separated them were too long for her to just stretch and look. She tried anyway and fell off her chair.  Then she lost it. 


Cupid sat on top of the trellis where deep purple Clematis of the vagabond variety climbed. It was the perfect spot not only because it matched his pink toga, but it also gave him a perfect shot. 

Blossom the cute trickster fairy, who he was trying to hook up with dared him to shoot Diane in stead of Freda. If he did she would go out with him.  He took that dare because the rules are he can't shoot a possible love match for himself. Plus, he knew they were not a match. Not even a friend match really.

He would lose his God of desire status if he did, because that's how wrong they were for each other. He is mighty, but his power isn't strong enough to make a love match out of the two of them.


He let an arrow fly and it hit Diane. It was an easy shot because she was lying on the floor laughing. He drew another and hit Jack. 

 Freda and Jack looked at Diane on the floor. The distraction is just what they needed. Right away Jack got up to help Diane. She was still laughing. When he lifted her up and stood eye to eye sparks flew. The electricity was off the charts. 


​Diane caught the scent of his cologne and buried her nose into the crook of his neck. She wished she could stay there forever. It was then Sophie got up and released Diane from Jack.

"Forgive us you two. We have been having a two person bachelorette party and I'm afraid my friend has lost her mind." 

"Well congratulations to you and Robbie." said Jack as he reluctantly let go of Diane.

"Thank you. Freda, you look stunning this evening" Sophie said. "We'll let you two get back to your evening."

Back at the table Sophie started laughing too. "Well, I see you took a shine to Jack. I knew my instincts were right. I'm sorry I listened to Robby." She took Diane's hand.

"I know to trust my instincts from now on. Let's eat so we can catch a plane." 
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Photo by PhotoMIX Company: https://www.pexels.com/photo/two-almost-empty-long-stem-wine-glasses-beside-wine-bottle-and-lighted-candles-95949/
Jack was feeling queasy and decided to go ahead and propose right away instead of waiting for desert. He was a nervous wreck. Diane the laughing beauty was on his mind. She felt so natural in his arms. His heart smiled. But, he's here with Freda.  

He got up and went to her side of the table and took a knee. He had a proposal all set. The quote was, "
I would love for you to grow old with me. The best is yet to be and it begins from the moment you say yes." but those words wouldn't come out. He grabbed his throat like he lost his voice.

Freda was nauseous. She felt dizzy and couldn't believe she came tonight and allowed things to get this far. Jack deserved better and so did she. But it's already in motion. Should she say yes to save face until they left, the could let him dow when there when they were alone? She looked down the bank of the Niagara Falls where her gut was splayed out and that pretty parasol taunted her. She knew she made a mess of things.

Jack was still holding his throat, his eyes were bugging out, then he coughed. He noticed Sophie and Diane peeking at them to watch. He lit up.

Still on his knee he swiveled and faced the two peeping Toms and his voice returned.


" Diane, I found the reason for my smile, the day I found you. Which was five minutes ago. Will you let me be the reason for your smile? Marry me?"

​Sophie who is the more reserved of the two friends shoved her friend Diane out to meet them and yelled yes on her behalf. 

Diane, trying to catch her balance after being pushed knelt down beside him while Freda  watched the drama play out.

"Yes! I will marry you." She took his face in her hands and kissed him tenderly. 

The kiss went on and on and even the good sport Freda was get a little annoyed  with them even though her problem was solved.
 
​She cleared her throat. 

They stopped kissing and looked at her. Jack stood up and picked up Diane. 

He did have the decency to look over his shoulder and say, "I'm sorry Freda." 


It was all very Officer and A Gentlemen- esque. 

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Photo by Zalman Grossbaum on Unsplash
Sophie texted Diane the Vegas tickets, then went and got Freda.

"Freda, come sit with me. Are you alright?" 

Freda felt like a huge burden the size of an elephant was lifted. She beamed. Her soul flew back. 

"I'm more than alright. Did that just happen?" she asked.


"It sure did, but the good news is you can have dinner with me. You are in for quite a treat because I ordered the ultimate menu from soup to nuts, chefs choice. " Sophie told her.

"Did we just become best friends?" she asked Sophie. 

​"Nope, my best friend just ran off with your fiancé. They are headed to the airport now to catch a flight to Las Vegas. I'm sure they will find a chapel where Jim Beam, Jack Daniels and Johnny Walker will be their wedding party.  However, I'm such a loyal friend that my regular friend status trumps most peoples best friend standing. You are my new foodie friend. It's going to be beautiful." Sophie smiled then waved over the waiter for the second course. 
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Photo by Gigi on Unsplash
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Letter #3: Blaze

7/26/2021

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Photo by Nathan Lindahl on Unsplash
Dear Friends,

I'm writing today from the shade of an ancient crab apple tree. It's still blazing hot, just ask Chuck Norris. I felt the need to write somewhere special. Blaze deserves respect. My hope is I will gain some wisdom through this tree with her gnarled branches and deep roots. The best part of this tree is it keeps the sun out of my eyes.

It's pretty bright in Yamhill. you see it puts off a light, kind of a beacon guiding lost souls. The soil is remarkable. It allows the plants to grow, in turn emitting the life supporting chemical oxygen. Yamhill plants also release an unknown stimulus which inspires hope, faith and opportunity. Don't get nervous on me. It's not a metaphysical thing, but a meta-muse-al thing. There are many muses here who help expel negative thoughts and metaphorical chains that bind you so you can live the life you truly seek.

​The young folks call it authenticity. The church goers call it faith. It's normal for people to try on different masks until they figure out what makes them tick. Some figure it out quick, others, well they hit rock bottom.  When they hit the lowest point they either go splat or land like a boss, Spiderman style.  Even if they land like a boss, it hurts too much to stay down there, soooooo..... like Blaze and the moths they fly towards the light. Yamhill has serious luminescence. The townies may judge the transplants, but Yamhill never will.
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Photo by Warren Wong on Unsplash
Millie Piper aka Blaze found Yamhill decades ago. She made the leap from Alaska, more specifically the Moose Pass district. Her and her husband Andrew ran a gold mining camp. They lived there year round. She was born and raised a rugged Alaskan. There aint too many people who have more grit than Blaze. Andrew was her equal. They knew each other since birth. It wasn't an arranged marriage, unless you call fate a matchmaker.

Every year they set aside gold for their nest egg. If it was a particularly good year the owners gave them a substantial bonus. They loved living in Alaska. This is where they would raise a family. The work was hard, but their surroundings were magnificent. The vast open space, the wild life, even the persnickety weather of every extreme and the ever haunting wildfires. The good, the bad and the fabulous. It was home.

​The regular miners who came up for the season started bringing Blaze books and movies set in the deep south. She devoured them. I'd even say she was obsessed with the southern way of life. The slow living, the food, the people. I imagine she could have taught a course in university about life in the south, both history and present. Well, from her book smarts that is.


Unfortunately that would never come to pass. At the end of the season Andrew was killed in a mining accident. In a sense, she died that day too.

After the funeral, she knew she couldn't remain in her beloved state. The pain of living without Andrew in Alaska was unbearable. Her instinct was to take their nest egg as well as the insurance money and move to Tifton, Georgia. It would be a bittersweet move. She'd make a cross country trip out of it.

While mapping out her route she came across an article about a Chinese lantern festival held on Lake Velvet in a town in the 
Pacific Northwest called Yamhill. It wasn't just the lanterns which fascinated her, but this would be a rare event when the northern lights would be visible and provide a majestic event. It was a little bit off her course, but it was a guiding light.
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Photo by Leon Contreras on Unsplash
She arrived in Yamhill the day before the festival and got a room at a bed and breakfast. It was near downtown and there are shuttles to the lake from the part that evening. In her room she read all the things downtown offered including a massive May Pole. She must see that. First she needed to eat. During the funeral planning and closing up on her life in Moose Pass she didn't have an appetite. Grief took hold of her. Today it caught up with her. She was famished. Manzanita's was the first restaurant she came across.

The eatery was beautiful. There was patio dining under the striped awnings street side. Inside were tables clothed with linen and matching napkins folded into exotic birds. In the back was a garden, a spectacular garden. It looked like it was reserved for the fairy folk. But it was 
not, it was however a reservation only seating that was booked a year in advance. Oh, I'll tell you about this place, but not today. Lucy the owner was welcoming to Blaze.

​There were lots of tourists in town for the festival. Lucy and the other businesses rolled out the welcome mat. She greeted Blaze and sat her on the patio. They chatted for a bit discussing the evening's events, and  some of the sights she should check out. Lucy told Blaze the special of the day, shrimp and grits with huckleberry iced tea. At first she was taken aback with this southern dish, but wasn't surprised. Ever since she stepped foot in this town everything felt right. However, this was the first time eating this dish even though she's read all about it. It was her lucky day.

After lunch she strolled down the streets looking at the shops. It was time she stopped dressing like a miner. A lovely boutique presented itself, so she went inside and bought a lovely floral sundress along with a wide brimmed hat and a pair of strappy sandals.  I do declare she looked like a southern belle, or at least she felt like one.  Her demeanor changed. The southern charm found its way into Blaze through the power of osmosis. It was eerie. She didn't get an accent, but everything else steeped in her. Graceful, she felt graceful. The funny thing is she always was but never acknowledged it. Funny how being somewhere new brings out what you already possessed.

After strolling through the town she made her way to the park. It was glorious. Smack dab in the middle was an ice skating rink with a fountain in the middle of the rink. Since it was summer it was used for roller skate, roller blades or scooters. She watched awhile then went on her way. Not far from the rink stood the massive  May Pole. Cecilia Sidewinder noticed how Blaze stood amazed in front of the landmark. Of course she sidled up to her and began telling her all about the May Day celebrations, spring festivals and the events in town.  She was a curt old broad and considered herself the town matriarch. 

I swear she was bragging about how she was the unofficial tour guide for the town. Really she was the official nosy rosy and busy body. I'd love to tell you she had a heart of gold. But I don't think she does. Say what you will about Cecilia Sidewinder she knows everything about Yamhill. You just don't want to hear it from her.

Blaze didn't know this of course, but her instinct told her to scream and run away. Fast. Especially since Ms. Sidewinder peppered her with personal questions. Blaze's new found southern charm put a stop to that.  This thought process was new to her, but it felt natural. Shaking her head she thought, I'll swannee, now I need a signature color.  One good thing came from the conversation, Ms. Sidewinder told her about historic houses surrounding the park. It would make a lovely stroll and get her away from this intrusive woman.
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Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

As she walked the streets, as a southern woman of course. Get your dang mind out of the gutter, she noticed all the beautiful homes. There were no two alike, it's like there was a convention of architects and they had a contest on who could build the best house. You would think it would be an ugly sight to behold, but somehow it worked. There were Spanish style houses, Victorian, Farmhouse, Cape Cods, and the one that took her breath away. A spectacular Colonial.

​The White House, no the manor, stood with perfect posture. It did have the help of four wide columns. The front porch was huge and inviting. There also was a deck up top surrounding a crows nest. The view must have been staggering.  She stood in front of the house for a long time soaking it in. It felt like the opposite of a horror movie where you wanted to run away.  This magnificent structure drew you in. There was a force stronger than her at play. She didn't care, she was daydreaming of how she would be the lady of the manor. How many rocking chairs could she put on the porch without it feeling crowded? Would she serve lemonade, iced tea or mint juleps? Every cell in her body was on high alert.


She didn't want to have the police called on her for stalking so she forced herself to leave. As she headed out a glint of light caught her attention. There was a silver balloon hung on a sign. A for sale sign. Without further ado, she called the realtor and made an offer. They honored her offer. (There's a little ditty that finishes that phrase but it's not appropriate here.)
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Photo by Neil Rosenstech on Unsplash
That night she went to the festival. It was one of the best nights of her life. The Aurora Borealis showed up. Hundreds of Chinese lanterns floated in the sky. She was glued to the sky. Then she was gifted with a shooting star. She knew in her heart it was Andrew giving her his blessing. 

Stargazing was one of the experiences they loved to share. They talked for hours under the stars about anything and everything. It was where their most intimate conversations  happened.  For the first time since his death, she felt at peace. 

Well, Blaze moved into the manor and began a life.  She exuded everything southern. Except the accent like I told you earlier. That would be a lie. People assumed she was from somewhere down south, but she never told anyone that.  As a matter of fact she told very little about her past. Blaze was a beacon of light to the townies. I really believe it's because of her slow manner and exceptional listening skills. People were drawn to her like moths to a flame. They would tell her their problems, desires, or just everyday life. Everyone left feeling validated. Dare I say cared for. 

​If Blaze was working the garden you could bet someone would show up and start helping. And talking. If she was knitting on the porch in a rocking chair. For sure someone would pop by and set a spell. She would host luncheons every now and again, and yes, she would even invite Cecilia Sidewinder. As annoying as she was she felt enormous gratitude towards her for helping her find her house, no her home.

And as irritating as Cecilia was, Blaze was more gracious so people came to her parties even if Ms. Sidewinder attended. They endured the infuriating presence of the town pain in the ass because spending time with Blaze in her warm home was worth the sacrifice. And playing hide and seek from the Sidewinder became a fun pastime. 

Look nobody can tell you why exactly, they just say it's a feeling. Like I said earlier, I'm convinced it's her superior listening skills along with her ability not to judge. Oh, and her good ol' fashioned southern charm. 

​Till next time. 

Love, 
​Kelly



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#2: Dog Days of Summer

7/14/2021

2 Comments

 
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Photo by Fabio Partenheimer from Pexels
Well friends we are smack dab in the middle of the dog days of summer. Only summer just began. It's late June as I write this and weather reports say we are experiencing the heatwave of the millennium. Temperatures are so high meteorologists are calling it the granddaddy of all heatwaves. A cranky, ill mannered, crochety grandpa that is. The weather man is giddy  with his sudden time in the limelight.

This long spell of over 100 degree weather is supposed to stretch out over a week. Charles Norris, yup, that's the weatherman's name, hates when people call him Chuck. But it's funny, especially when old man Chatteroy walked up to him and punched him square in the jaw. Now, you know I do not promote physical violence, but I feel like he had this one coming. Plus, the old man didn't hurt him. I've never seen Mr. Chatteroy so hot, excuse the pun, but he was sick and tired of not only the over the top weather reports, but the constant updates during his programs. 

​Old man Chatteroy is a God fearin' man, but lord knows it's too hot for the devil. When he walked by the coffee shop and saw Chuck, he snapped. He walked in with the focus of a tiger scouting his prey. I swear his eyes rolled back in his head and he began speaking in tongues. 

According to Wikipedia:
​"Speaking in tongues, also known as glossolalia, is a practice in which people utter words or speech -like sounds, often thought by believers to be languages unknown to the speaker"

At first he was mumbling then he said Chuck," You need to stop your meteorological masturbation every dang minute on television. It's hot. We know it. You aren't adding anything to help. You are just 
preening and puffing up your chest like some God, which you are not." He was spitting mad. He went on and on after he popped him in the jaw. Let me tell you I've never see the old guy go after anyone before. He's never uttered a bad word, let alone use the phrase meteorological masturbation. That's what happens when it's hotter than a billy goat with a blow torch. Yes sir. 

The coffee shop burst into applause. Everyone needed a release and Mr. Chatteroy provided it. His actions triggered an avalanche of usually kind folks turning on the weather man. 

Minka Pachucki owner of Minka's Perogi's let loose. "Dang it Chuck, you didn't go into that many details when blizzards or ice storms come to town. There is no reason for you to keep rubbing it in." She finished with a huff. Her fists landed on her hip, and well she was doing a formidable Wonder Woman pose. 

The town is not equipped for this type of heat and for this long of a stretch. I suppose that's because Yamhillians are used to cold snaps. They know what to do then. If you are wearing the right gear you can navigate the great outdoors. This heat, well, it's hell. People have short fuses.

Other folks chimed in on the trapped weather man. While all this pandemonium was going on I noticed Miriam Swanson working away as busy as could be in a persimmon colored romper. Yes, a ding dang romper! She was unphased by the scene. Her image was calm, cool and collected, not like a cucumber. Is a cucumber really calm and collected?  C'mon!

She exuded an appearance just like the women in hot climates she always wondered about. Wow. Good on you Miriam, but seeing what was happening in the balmy coffee shop, let's just say I was a tad nervous for her. The people in Yamhill love a triumphant story, but I can assure you not when the earth is melting. I whole heartedly believe the wild mob would've turned on her if it wasn't for Chuck showing up to show off.

Millie Piper, aka, Blaze walked in just at the right time. She exuded a light like no other. There's something special about her. When she noticed Chuck, she couldn't help it, she was a good natured woman, but he must be called Chuck. She walked over to him, took his arm and escorted him out. It was done with poise and a glowing smile. You would  have thought they were headed to the prom. Well,  she did anyway. He appeared shell shocked and I think he may have tinkled his trousers.  As soon as he was gone, it was like the scene never happened.  

​Just then the street sweepers passed by, the patrons swept this altercation right under the rug. Everyone will remember it, especially Chuck, but nobody will speak of it. 

I wonder what would've happened if Blaze didn't show up? She really is a guiding light. I'll tell you about her in the next letter.

Till next time,
Love Kelly



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Table of Contents

7/14/2021

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Photo by Gabriela Palai from Pexels

Letter #1: Welcome to Yamhill
Letter  #2 Dogs day of summer
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Letter 3: Blaze
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Letter 4: The Enchanted Garden
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Welcome to Yamhill Letter #1

7/9/2021

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Photo by Nico Becker from Pexels
There's a place called France
where the ladies wear no pants
All the men walk around
with their yo-yo's hanging down

Dear friends,
This aint that place. 


Why don't you get your favorite beverage and put up your feet and I'll tell you about it. Perhaps sit in your favorite chair, or if you're an outdoor lover go sit under a tree. If you have a magic garden with a bench, well, that's even better. 

I live in an apartment above Fergusons market and my main form of transportation is my pride and joy, The flying flamingo. It's a vintage pink bike my friend Blaze gave me. She showed me the light. Oh, she's a beautiful human with an intriguing story. Her start in Yamhill was kind of rocky, but she's a staple now.

Yamhill is an idyllic town which sits on Lake Velvet tucked between a mountain range referred to as the Yamhills. The cobblestone sidewalks are wide and lined with old fashioned street lights. Bold colored tulips bloom in spring rivaling their Holland ancestors. There's even a special species propagated by the village gardener Stella Bennet. It's called cotton candy and boy does it dazzle, as well as make your mouth water. Those specialities are planted by the maypole in the park downtown.

Summertime doesn't lack for flowers. Stella makes sure of it. Not only does she work for the town, she owns a nursery where she supplies not only Yamhill, but is also open to the public. Yes, it's definitely a monopoly, or is it a conflict of interest? No,  it's definitely not a conflict because she loves it and doesn't feel an ounce of conflict. Outsiders may question it, but well, as you'll figure out as time goes by Yamhill does things a bit different.

In the fall, pumpkins and scarecrows along with red and yellow leaves steal the show. Winter has it's own brand of beauty. Bare branches decorated with snow, icicles and twinkle lights.  Cranberry wreaths hang on shop doors while windows are filled with poinsettias. Downtown is like a giant Lite Brite toy, colors of the town change with a flip of the calendar page. 

How do I explain Yamhill? Well, it's not quite a big city, yet it's not a small town. It's rural chic. They have small town beliefs weaved with big city desires. Top travel magazines are hailing Yamhill as, " The best town you've never stayed in." 

All kinds of people visit, some even stay. This little paradise has been known to see a movie star from time to time. Miriam Swanson won the yearly tourism board's slogan contest with her entry, "Come vacation in the Yamptons." Her brilliant idea for bringing in tourists won her a pair of airline tickets to the destination of her choice.
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Photo by Julius Drost on Unsplash
Miriam is fascinated with everything fashionable in the big apple. You would never know it by looking at her. She dresses plain, and won't buy new clothes. Her excuse is she's waiting to lose weight.  

Every once in awhile she goes into town to buy a pretty outfit, but once in the fitting room she breaks down crying.  The image she sees in the mirror isn't at all what I see. Or most folks really. Something or someone took away her mojo, her 
joie de vivre. In her wildest fantasies she 's dolled up in the latest fashions. Just like the town she dresses seasonally.

However, she's a risk taker.  She dares to wear white after Labor Day, winter white that is. The time in the fitting room is brutal.  She feels the need to sneak out before anyone notices her mood. I really don't know why this is her battle. Or why her inner bully is picking on her. Whatever it is, it's stopping her from feeling pretty, and that's all she really wants is to feel good. Don't we all? Let me tell you, she's beautiful not only on the inside, but the outside too.


In her fashion daydreams she imagines herself with a seasonal wardrobe.  When it's autumn, her favorite, she fantasizes about cozy sweaters, scarves the colors of the leaves. And boots! Boots, boots, boots.

On crisp days you can find her at the pumpkin patch picking the best pumpkins for decorating. Then she gathers apples to make apple butter, pies, and cakes. After a day at the farmers market she heads home, starts a fire then prepares an amazing meal for friends. She loves making people feel cared for.

In winter, her fashion godmother turns her into a winter queen. She's wears pea coats in jewel colors with matching hats, fluffy collars and even a fur muffler. Faux fur that is. Most days you would find her window shopping downtown walking her Black and Tan afghan hound. In her mind it's the most elegant dog. She toys with the idea of a poodle, but it would have to be a standard, not one of those yippy pretentious little ones.

The dog must have style, yet be a dog. If she wasn't shopping you might find her gliding across the ice at the skating rink. Afterwards, she would stop for roasted chestnuts and sip hot chocolate while admiring the lights of the town.

Springtime is all about pastels, except pink. She says it washes her out. Everything from shoes, jewelry, and accessories are feminine like a fertility goddess. Really, in Yamhill, she would be wearing trendy galoshes, stylish raincoats and have an umbrella with a raven head handle. You know to be mysterious. Because it rains, and it rains, and yup, you guessed it, it rains.

You may find her going to work singing: 

It's raining, it's pouring the old man is snoring. He bumped his head and went to bed. And he couldn't get up in the morning.

​Of course her sophisticated dog would make a beeline for the biggest mud puddle to play in snapping her out of her one-woman-musical. Singing In The Rain, was next on the list as her song choice, but now she had to get Toto, yup, you guessed it she's a huge Wizard of Oz fan. She gets Toto and heads home to get washed but first takes a minute to splash in the puddle. If only there were a light post nearby she could hook her ravens head umbrella handle on it and twirl.

Then there's summer, oh sweet summer. It's where we are now. She dreams of wearing flowery sun dresses with cute hats to shade her face. Her Irish DNA makes her burn easily requiring sunblock as part of her wardrobe. 

Her sandals would showcase the perfect pedicure. The big toe, you know the one that went to market, would be adorned  with a rhinestone. During the hot season she would picnic with a basket full of divine treats that would make the chicest Parisian green with envy. Of course she'd get them from her best friend Sophie's bakery, The Holy Cannoli.
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Photo by Den Trushtin on Unsplash
In her reality, a place that tortures her daily, she wondered how certain people could stay put together and not look like a soggy dog when temperatures rose. How do they do it? She pulled out a bandana from her cutoff shorts and wiped her brow contemplating those people. If only she could talk with Sophie about these things. If only she could talk with anyone about these things.

Miriam owns the coffee stand, the Yamhill Grind. It's hot in there during the summer even with a small air conditioning unit. Her uniform is what ever she wants. Not really, I think I've told you what she really wants, but she wears what she has and goes on about her day. 

​Oh, I almost forgot. She chose New York City for her prize. No surprise. What is a bewilderment is she came home a 
butterfly. It seems she met a wonderful saleswoman at Neiman Marcus. This lady took a fascination with Miriam. This clerk, or witch some might say zoomed in on everything Miriam had ever felt about clothes, herself, and really her soul. To this day I don't know what she did to our town barista but she returned confident and this sorceress never sold her a stitch of clothes. 

Did she all of a sudden start dressing like she walked out of a magazine? Nope, but she did start wearing things that made her feel good. While we noticed her new style, it wasn't just the clothes, it was more, like the saying, "it's the clothes that make the woman." In this case it WAS the woman. Her new wardrobe brought her out. Still Miriam, but self-assured Miriam. Her metamorphisis was painful, but only until she released herself from her self imposed jail. 

Good gravy, what if she had chosen Las Vegas?

Alright, back to the town. I sure do get sidetracked. 
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The flattering magazine reviews teamed up with Miriam's winning slogan brought in tourists who wanted somewhere different, yet affordable. Not everyone can vacation in the ritzy Hamptons, but anyone can visit The Yamptons. The only difference is geography. Hmmm, maybe there's a few more discrepancies like social status, mansions, and unlimited credit. Otherwise, exactly the same.

Each time of year is as busy as the next. Yamhill has everything to offer. There's fishing and swimming at Lake Velvet. The Yamhills are perfect for hiking, biking and world class bird watching. There's no shortage of parks for picnics and festivals. You can find all the summer activities that go along with a lake town.

Winter is just as exciting. More so if you 're into snow. The Yamhills are home to some of the finest runs in the country Skiiers and snow boarders shred the mountain. There's plenty of room for snowmobilers too.

Sleigh rides through open fields are popular and of course there's the skating rink center stage in town.  It was copied from Rockefeller Center in New York. I wonder if it's where Miriam's fixation with New York began? Never mind that, this is all done in a picturesque setting with great neighborhood flair.

The locals love living here. One of the reasons is unique artisans are welcomed. Their shops sell one of a kind goods and the townies as well as the tourists support them. The town will keep you busy or leave you alone. It's your choice.

Yamhillian's love their festivals. They throw a hell of a party. We celebrate the change of the seasons with as much enthusiasm as EVERY one of the traditional holidays. It brings the town together uniting young and old, rich and poor. Most times they go off without a hitch, but there are moments....mmmm mmmmm mmmmm, that reveal an underbelly of the picturesque beast. Those times get swept under the rug as often as the city keeps the streets clean. A lot and on a strict schedule. It's as if Stephen King and the Hallmark channel had a baby.

Don't fret too much about that bizarre pairing. You don't have to have my over active imagination to feel like you are living in a victorian oil painting. Yamhill is clean and pristine, almost too good to be true. 

And it is.

Till next time.

Lots of  love,
​Kelly
1 Comment

    Yamhill

    is an imaginary town I'm obsessed with. Um, I'd say it's fictional-non-fiction.  It’s everything I’ve ever wanted in a town, and then some. Listen, it’s touched me, comforted me, and shocked the hell out of me. Mostly, it fascinates me. I wish that for you too.

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