Himping

Himping?

That's right.  Himping.

Combines two of us siblings' favorite things to do: hiking and camping.

Back when everyone was a bit younger, but not too much younger, we made it a point to get out, see more of Oregon, appreciate nature, and get moving.  I have a great little book--titled something along the lines of 60 Hikes Within 60 Miles of Portland, or something like that--and we just started picking at random and have we ever had some good times and great trips!

One of the first trips we took was to a lovely place just Northeast of here called Bagby. And I had not thoroughly checked out the campsite and was very much not prepared with some basic necessities.

I forgot firewood.

I brought a tent that I'd never actually set up by myself before.

The campsite was fairly rustic which meant:

a) we were the only people there

b) it was absent a lovely camp host who did things like refill the toilet paper in the pit toilets

c) there was no source of potable water

d) all of the above

In my family we're a pretty hardy, never say die type though and as the kids explored the area I drove (rather quickly I might add, and yes they were definitely old enough to hang on their own) down the mountainside to a nearby town and bought TP, firewood, and some extra s'mores supplies.

All went well, we had chairs, plenty of food, a new board game to play, a creek/river rushing near the campsite...total bliss...until it came time to set up the tent.  The group of us just couldn't figure it out.  

I was quite upset.  

The boys didn't mind and hacked it on the ground under the stars in their sleeping bags while my lil' sis and I huddled in the back of the station hatchback wagon.  Not my finest night's sleep.

But the next day was great and we drove about 20 miles nearby to the Bagby Hot Springs where we reclined in rustic, rough-hewn logs that we filled with piping hot spring water.  After we were properly pruny, we headed to Pegleg Falls where there was a VERY cool humongous rope swing that quite frankly scared me to death but they enjoyed immensely (I didn't know if was a trustworthy person who had tied the rope and how secure of a branch it was on....we all survived so must have been okay).

As summer nears (though from the snow a couple weeks ago you wouldn't know) I can't help but think of all the places we still get to himp as well as all the lovely places that we have himped in the past.

And with that I'll close with one of my favorite pictures of us on a siblings (+one cousin) hike to Mirror Lake and Tom, Dick, and Harry Peak.

Spring Break...Roar!

Waaaaay back in the Spring Break of 2003 I decided to take as many siblings as could fit in my Pontiac Sunbird (2-door, white) and we sped down I-5 to the exciting destination of...Grants Pass!   Oooooh, you say, how exciting!  I must note that that many kids crammed into that small of space behaved VERY well on the drive down (seriously they were packed in there like a circus clowns in a mini-cooper).

Anyway, Grants Pass was where my good friend was living, having found her first teaching job down there and while she was gone, she let us use her apartment--wasn't that nice of her?  And while it was a lovely apartment, we really had two other destinations in mind: the Oregon Vortex in Gold Hill, Oregon and Wildlife Safari in Winston, Oregon.

The Oregon Vortex is either a grand hoax or a mysterious whirlpool of force, depending on your point of view.  In the House of Mystery my siblings observed golf balls naturally roll up what appeared to be an incline (instead of down as one would expect) and a taller sibling become the shorter sibling as they switched places on what appeared to be level ground.  Truly mind-boggling!  By the time we left they were believers!

The next day we drove a bit further north and visited the Wildlife Safari.  Correction, we drove through Wildlife Safari.  Wildlife Safari is a zoological park in which a 4.5 mile 'trail' winds through various natural gated areas and visitors risk the well-being of their vehicles to drive through the actual habitats.  It was way cool.  Animals from Asia, Africa, and the Americas roam free (do NOT feed the animals, thank you!) and you can park your little car and stare at them as long as your heart desires.  Or you can speed through to the next habitat when a certain four-legged feline starts attacking your rear tire.  NOT the place to mend a flat!

And while it's been a few years since we've managed to go on a trip together for Spring Break, I know that everyone will still celebrate in their own special way and I'll hold out hope that as people get more settled (and local) that we'll have the opportunity to do it again!  Beach house anyone?

St. Paddy for Paddy

St. Paddy's Day...one of us siblings' most beloved holidays.  It's a time for dancing and celebrating and sharing....heck, who am I kidding, we all know what we love it for.  And while it was several generations ago that our Irish ancestors set foot on the Americas, it's days like this that we remember it being just a wee bit closer and like to celebrate it up.  And in the off-season, we each have our own ways of 'owning' this part of our heritage--some by hanging flags in houses, some via Celtic tattoos or jewelry, others music and yet others through clothing or brew choices.  

And one day we'll all travel there and feel that 'home away from home' feeling as we gaze out at the rolling green fields through the smudged window of a tiny Irish pub.  Pint in hand and a song in our hearts.

But in the meantime, since my brother Paddy is so far away on St. Paddy's Day, I decided to do a little tribute to him...here you go, bro!  Here's to hoping you find a way to Irish it up in Kuwait!

P: Pretty, isn't Paddy pretty?

A: Athletic, never seen a guy work so hard and be so tough on his body.

D: Dork...yup, he's a bit dorky sometimes.

D: Dang nice...I was going to say 'darling' but I thought that might be a bit silly, but he truly is a really dang nice guy!

Y: Yee-haw.  That's for the cowboy that hides inside him and suddenly pops out from time to time wearing a hat and wranglers and wants to go shooting.

So here's to you Paddy!

Bouncing Baby, er....Toddler

As the time nears for me to biologically become a parent I find myself looking back at the various adventures, that inevitably led to mishaps from time to time, that were a part of our childhood growing up on a farm.  And I always end up shaking my head in disbelief that somehow we managed to defy what must have been the greatest odds ever, to not only survive but survive with all body parts and all siblings intact and whole.

No exaggeration.

A truly noteworthy feat.

Seriously.

Take for example, 'little' KP as a bouncing baby boy--though truth be told at the time of this particular incident he was more of a toddler than a baby.  And the bouncing part of this description is incredibly important to remember.

And no, you siblings of mine who are reading this, this is not THE KP story that you all think it is.  Seriously, this is at the most a PG-rated family blog and that particular story at least earns a PG-13 rating though most men would say R.

Back to the story that this is, rather than rehashing the one it isn't.  

Growing up our family was known from time to time to gather with other devout Catholic families to pray together (the Rosary) and to hand make Rosaries to be smuggled to the other side of the Iron Curtain (where, we were told, the Communist leaders there would torture and kill people if they found them carrying these religious items--yup, totally cheery, stress-free childhood).

On this particular sunny spring day there must have been 5 or 6 moms, their eldest daughters, and their Rosary kits sprawled about our rectangular shaped living room slipping 10 Hail Mary beads on string, knotting it, one Our Father bead, knotting it...you get the idea, and chatting about various family and religious topics.  

The kids that were too young to string beads were romping upstairs and from time to time we'd hear a thump through the ceiling, pause to hear if it was followed by a cry and when it wasn't, went back to making Rosaries.

I remember coming back from my fourth or fifth trip to the bathroom (yup, I was slacking off) when all of a sudden, right when I entered the living room, one of the mothers let out a blood curdling scream.  Like the rest of the women and girls in the room we quickly looked to where she pointed.  

And managed to see the last segment of my still-in-diapers-brother, KP, fall out of a two-story window.

I didn't know how to swear yet, but whatever my equivalent was at the time, you better believe it was going through my head.

The women rushed outside to check on the toddler KP and I rushed upstairs to check on the rest of the kids.  I flew up one and a half flights of stairs and into the bedroom at the end of the hall where sure enough, a gaggle of tattered boys were leaning out of the second story window.  They appeared to be looking for something and I quickly assumed it was my brother.

I was wrong. 

Let me back track and give you a little landscape here: this was a two-story farm house, circa 1910.  Not only did the windows not fit perfectly in the sills, but there weren't such luxuries as screens either.  This particular window opened up to the tin roof covering the ground floor porch.

In the innocent way of little boys, the window had been open and somehow a toy figurine had landed on the steeply sloped tin roof. 

Well the obvious solution was to dangle the toddler out the window onto the roof and tell him to reach for the toy.

Brilliant boy logic.

It is still undetermined exactly who was holding KP and how and why they let go.  But let go they did and my still-in-diapers-brother, KP, skidded down the tin roof where he was caught in a rather large Camellia tree.  Which managed to hold the stout lad on each branch for approximately 2.5 seconds before dropping him down to the next limb.  Through the large downstairs picture window, it looked like he was bouncing from limb to limb--hence the blood-curdling scream.

It's likely that this branch-bouncing (see I told you to remember he was a bouncing baby boy) saved him from real harm or, as I like to exaggerate (but not by much)...from death.

And there you have it.  One very true example of how it shocks me that all my siblings survived.  Whole and all body parts accounted for.

See?  Perfectly normal, nice guy.

Enchanting Eighteen

Well today she did it.  My baby sister turned 18.  

Is it crazy that I remember the night she was born?  All 11 lb 7 oz of her.  It was super foggy and quite cold (sound familiar?) and when I called our Aunt, Uncle, and cousins in Ronald to tell them the new babe was a girl, my silly Uncle Pat shouted to his family that it was a boy.  And then my aunt took the phone from him and I told her the real answer.  

And everyone was relieved, after five boys who didn't want the baby to be a girl?

So here's to you, dear sister, may you enjoy 18 and have the happiest of birthdays!

MWAH!

How Much We've Grown...Or Have We?

I was lucky enough to get a stash of old (old as in when the sibs and I were younger...in some cases much younger) photos from Grandma and in the few weeks I've had them, I must have looked through them at least fifty times.  There's something heartwarming in looking back at where we used to be (and seriously, how CUTE were Sis and the boys!?!?!) and it also amazes me that even then, in cherubic faces, little personalities were shining through...and how those faces have grown and their personalities are the same but yet somehow more.

And speaking of more--how crazy that we used to be here:

And now we're here!

And how we can take a great family picture and then the next minute it's...well, personality!

Normal, see?

Can you pick out the Seven Fenns (Pouty, Hungry, I'm Outta Here...)?

Think this is an anomaly?  Try these if you don't believe me.  Watch carefully, here's the nice, normal family:

And seconds later, the reality that is our family (and yes, though it's difficult to tell, there are FOUR adult-sized male children in this photo):

Here's to another Christmas season with these Doll-Faces!

Move It, Move It!

Whether it was growing up on a farm or just the way we were raised, one thing all of us siblings can agree on (yes, we do all occasionally agree on things) is that we like to be active!  It could be organized sports like volleyball or rugby, community athletic events such as 5K runs, getting out into the wide open spaces and enjoying all that Oregon has to offer (not to mention it means the boys have another excuse to take their shirts off...silly show offs) or just tossing the ball around in the yard (be careful of my rhododendrons!)--we enjoy it all!  And some of us...okay ALL of us are a teensie weensie little tiny bit competitive...

Who looks like a dolphin?  This guy.

After taking 1st and 2nd in their divisions they still had enough energy to chase each other around and have a water fight...

Don't come home without the bling, baby!

"Come on, boys, I promise to give you a five-point advantage if you'll play..."

 

Rugby mode. Grunt.  Don't mess with me.  Growl.