Mummies Only

Day 359: Hallowe'en is one of my least favourite days of the year. For all of the fact that I enjoy costuming, the emphasis on fear and horror (building over the last several decades) is something I find extremely off-putting. There's enough of that in the real world. The fantasy-world of spirits, shades, vampires, ghouls and the like holds no interest for me, and I can honestly say I've never seen a single zombie-themed movie. That said, it would not be October without bringing mummies into the picture, and after much deliberation, I settled on a dark red one. It's usually a debate between rich red and lavender, although I have been known to buy an orange or a yellow one occasionally just to change things up. Interestingly enough, sometimes these mummies arise from the tomb the following spring if the winter is kind, ready to put up a new flush of flowers.

Masks

Day 18: It goes without saying that I enjoy costuming, and I'll take almost any excuse to get dressed up. I've always garbed for the trick-or-treaters, but out here, you don't open your door after dark even on Hallowe'en and the kids would rather make the rounds in town where they're assured enough candy to keep them sick until Easter. However, in pre-covid times, friends would occasionally throw parties, and I could always be counted on to show up in something elaborate and homemade. That said, I don't usually put on a mask because I wear glasses. These three are cushioned with foam at the forehead to keep them away from my lenses. Generally, my costuming efforts involve quite a bit of make-up, and on one notable occasion, I had started the process of applying prosthetics fairly early in the day, knowing that I had a two-hour drive ahead of me to get to a gathering in Seattle. Hunting season had opened, and some dimwit had decided to try to shoot an elk from the highway despite the fact that the animal was on private property. Someone called the sheriff, and because I had gotten the license number and a description of the vehicle involved, the deputy wanted to interview me. I had forgotten I was partially costumed when I stepped out to talk to him and to his credit, he never said a word about my Vulcan ears.

Justice At Mount Rainier National Park

Day 18: Longmire, WA. A well-known Justice put in an appearance at the Ranger Division's annual "potato feed" today at Mount Rainier National Park's historic Longmire Community Building. The exact nature of her visit was not revealed, although she was seen to keep close company with Park icon P. B. van Trump. Rumour has it that the two spent the early hours of the day behind closed doors and deep in the records of past and present volunteers. Following the gathering, the Justice and Mr. van Trump returned to the offices of the Administration Building and remained closeted for several hours.

Good Mourning!

Day 18: What's the appropriate salutation for Hallowe'en? Why, "Good mourning," of course! You might find this odd, but as much as I enjoy costuming, Hallowe'en is one of my least favourite holidays. I don't understand it. Perhaps I was oblivious to the way adults celebrated it when I was a kid, but I don't recall as much emphasis on ghoulishness, gore and horror as there is in current times. The costumes of my youth were deliciously scary, not gruesome: cute witches, ghosts haunting in sheets, the occasional vampire. Most were cleverly cobbled together from items around the home rather than store-bought, mass-produced garb you see today. I remember attending one junior-high dance as Huckleberry Finn in tattered jeans and painted freckles, straw hat on my head, fishing pole over my shoulder, and a dead fish (real, bound in plastic wrap) in my hip pocket. I accidentally sat on the fish and although I hadn't expected any of the boys to ask me to dance, social pariah that I was, my math teacher spun me through a ballroom waltz despite the fishy scent which must have surrounded me.

These days, I don't open my door to strangers. In rural Pierce County, you don't open your door for someone you don't know even in broad daylight, let alone at night. When I used to go to my fishing buddy's home for Hallowe'en, I was surprised to find that most of the trick-or-treaters were between 12 and 16, and only a few had bothered to dress up. Eleven was considered too old for trick-or-treating fifty years ago.

When the Nisqually Land Trust hosted their annual Hallowe'en tree-planting, the flyer said, "Costumes optional." In the past, this event has been billed as the "zombie planting," presumably because as a zombie, you can get absolutely filthy and it just improves the effect. That said, I now have a greater sympathy for zombies, especially those in the Pacific Northwest where the blackberry vines are in league to pull them back into their graves as they search for brains.

Becaws It's Hallowe'en

Day 18: We're a bit short on cornfields around here, but Happy Hallowe'en from Crow!

The Professor

Day 18: In junior high and high school, my classmates called me "the Professor" and as you might expect from kids who were more interested in beer and parties than in books and science, the nickname was not applied kindly. For the most part, I was oblivious to their scorn, too busy analyzing rocks or reading about space to feel left out of the social scene. My best friend indulged me, and often set herself up for the inevitable answer, "It's leaverite...leave 'er right where it is" by asking me to identify a specimen she had in hand. She also teased me about my studious ways, but even at her most snide, it was obvious that she was encouraging my interest in the world around me. It wasn't until we got into high school that she took me aside and explained gently that I was putting people off (boys, particularly). My response was what you might expect: "So?" She went on to marry an engineer, and I survived two husbands, neither of whom were more than marginally interested in scientific pursuits. Unencumbered, the Professor re-emerged to follow her passions for birds (especially corvids) and wildflowers, and if you question any of her colleagues, you'll be told that she's more than just a little cracked on the subject of lichens. Happy Hallowe'en!

Planting Crew

Day 19: If each of us planted as few as twenty trees today (and I know I planted at least two dozen), Ohop Valley is richer by no less than 600 young saplings representing 8-10 different species of wetland-loving plants destined to provide future habitat for critters of all sorts. This was one of several planting events which will be held on the former Burwash property, and is just a single facet of a multi-tiered restoration program which also includes reestablishment of the creek's natural meander. Portions of the creek have already been reditched, adding a mile or more of shoreline, improving drainage and controlling erosion with engineered log jams.

Thirty volunteers turned out for the Nisqually Land Trust's annual Hallowe'en event, some in costume and others not, but all willing to get down and dirty in the mud for the occasion. Many were returnees back for a second, third or fourth year on this long-term project. They came prepared for any weather, with smiles on their faces and shovels in their gloved hands. For three hours, they dug holes and filled them with plants, lovingly packing the soil around the roots and often giving a final word of encouragement to their charges as they moved on to the next in line: "Grow up tall, little snowberry!" and conversations flew all around as they laughed and shared their experiences.

As always, it was a delight to work with such a dedicated crew. Thank you all for your work today.

The Beat Generation

Day 18: We were hip, baby.
We were cool.
Gimme five and lay down some jazz, daddy-o,
and don't be square.

Those nights in the coffee shop,
making the world over,
Conforming to a standard for nonconformity,
Hip cats, hepcats jivin'
to Patchen and the skins,
On the road to Nowheresville
Behind
Our shades.
We were gone, man.
Gone!

We birthed a new generation,
Paisley-patterned rebel sons and daughters of our blackness.
What goes around comes around, daddy-o,
We got ours.
Oh, yes, we did.

But we were hip, baby,
Hip to the end.
We were cool.
Now lay down some jazz and let me read a line or two because
(Can you dig it?) -
the beat goes on.

I Think I'll Go As Princess Leia

 Day 17: I think it'd take a lot more makeup than I have in my costuming kit to turn me into Princess Leia. I've always loved getting dressed up, and Hallowe'en gives me a good excuse but for one small issue: I don't get trick-or-treaters here. That said, the occasional get-together or event finds me dragging out the garb. My fishing buddy's great-grandkids love having costumed adults as their chaperones.

Sometimes getting into the act has its drawbacks. On one notable occasion, I'd planned to attend a friend's party as a Vulcan noblewoman, pointy ears and all. Application of the ears was a time-consuming project, painting on latex to join the prosthetic seamlessly with my skin and then blending makeup (both liquid and powder) to match the tone. I'd started early in the morning and finished up around noon, planning to leave home at two o'clock to drive to Seattle. I forgot one thing: I'd put in a call to the county weed control board in regard to tansy ragwort growing on the highway verge. When the agent knocked on my door, I'd forgotten all about the ears. If he did a double-take, I failed to see it, and thus accompanied him out onto the highway to show him several specimens of the weed, oblivious to the sight I presented. A few cars slowed down, but I still didn't make the connection. It was only after the agent had completed his interview and I'd gone back to the house that I realized I was wearing them.

Back to the idea of turning a sow's ear into a silk purse, then...I could never pull off the Princess Leia look. To wear a costume with any degree of success, you have to believe in your role. As I look at this photo, I am thinking, "Morgan Corbye is never gonna make it as a zombie," but of course I can't go as a pirate 'cuz that's my day job.