Terror On Alt 95

Terror On Alt 95

At the crossroads of Silver Spring, I pulled into a gas station to get my daughter, Shannon, a soda.  She had been demanding a coke for over fifteen minutes.  She was only three years old, but knew what she wanted. The afternoon was warm and we had no air conditioning in our car back in the early 70’s.  I was thirsty too.  We were going to visit my mother in Yerington about thirty-three miles away. Silver Springs was a true crossroad. East was Fallon, West led to Carson City, North was Fernley from which we had just passed through from Reno where we lived, and South lead to our destination, Yerington and then to Las Vegas. For thirty miles, give or take, in any direction from Silver Springs was mainly desert with no services.  To this respect Silver Springs was a little oasis for travelers.

I was in no hurry this day.  I took Shannon to the restroom and got her a Coke and her favorite “potato chips with windows” - pretzels.  She was delighted.  In those days we did not have car seats for children or seat belts. I stood her in the passenger seat - her favorite way to ride, so she could see everything.  I had to wait for two other cars to pass before I pulled from the gas station.

I was reminded of a time a few years back, when at this very crossroads, I picked up a skinny bare-chested, bare-footed hippie in work overalls, who had only a large family-size Bible clutched to his chest. “Where are you headed?” I yelled at him through the open passenger window.  “Las Vegas.” he replied. “Well come on, I can take you as far as Yerington.” I motioned to him.  We visited and talked about the Lord and when we arrived in Yerington, I offered to buy him something to eat, but he refused as he was anxious to get to Las Vegas. I figured he was fasting and on a mission from God. I dropped him on the corner of Main & Goldfield.  I always wondered how he made out.

Even though Silver Springs had very few buildings and businesses, it had a 25 mile per hour speed limit that went for miles.  It alway irritated the hell out of me.  Nevadans were use to driving fast as there were no speed limits outside of city limits. “Why does Silver Springs have such a large city limit?” I would cursedly question every time I went through it.  Most the time the further from the crossroads, the faster I would go.  However, this afternoon I was behind a California tourist in a black Buick, who was following the speed limit exactly.  Every time I tried to pass, oncoming traffic prevented me.

I impatiently tapped my fingers on the steering wheel, whistled in the air and cursed under my breath, “son of a bitch!”.  I was looking ahead for the speed limit to change, so I could pass this “jerk”.  The road from here to Yerington was only a two-lane highway, one lane for each direction.  Everyone in Nevada knew the rules and politeness of driving these kind of roads. Don’t keep your brights on at night for oncoming traffic, always keep a watch out for deer and cattle in the open range, slow down when someone tries to pass in both directions, leave plenty of space to pass and don’t pass on a double line. Additionally, be careful not to hit the soft shoulders as you could get into a car roll with nothing to stop you.  People have been known to roll up to twenty times over the flat sagebrush-covered desert before coming to a stop.

Finally, we reached the end of the speed limit and began to accelerate.  Still there were a few oncoming cars.  When they passed I looked ahead and saw a large oncoming semi-truck very far ahead.  I had plenty of room and time to pass. I put on my blinker and increased my speed to overtake the Buick.  To my surprise, the Buick accelerated to match my speed.  I accelerate more and so did he.  I stepped on it to 90 miles per hour.  He matched me.  “What the hell is he trying to do?”  I yelled into the air.  “Kill us?”  I was eyeing the semi getting closer and so decided to back off and pull back in behind him.  As I slowed, so did he.  “He is trying to kill us!” I exclaimed.

I looked at the driver in the Buick.  He was a 30ish man with black hair and an evil smirk. His girlfriend was beside him and she was laughing.  This was great fun for them. I looked across at the man and hand signaled him to let me in.  His eyebrows lifted into a murderous arch. Now I was getting really scared.  My mind was racing.  What to do? In split-second thinking, I viewed my three options.  I could have a head-on with the truck, I could turn into the Buick on the right, or I could veer to the left and try and hold the car upright across the desert. All options were disastrous.

As the truck drew nearer, I knew I must make a move.  I yelled, “You may kill us, but this is what I think of you!” and violently flipped him the bird.  At this point, he slammed on his brakes to let me in.  I slide to the right in front of him just seconds before an inedible head-on collision could have occurred.  I was still shaking when we reached my mothers house.  It began to sink in how close we had come to dying that day.  The personification of evil for delight has puzzled me since that event.  I cannot conceive it.  I did learn one thing. When all our options are explored, there may still be one more option - a miracle.

Goat Memories

“If you’re short of trouble, take a goat.”~ Finnish saying

When one gets old, the slightest little thing can send one’s mind spinning down memory lane. This morning I watched at a little video of my nephew Christopher’s sons at a petting zoo. They had accidentally let one of the little goats out of its pen, and the boys and their dad were trying to coax it back in. It was funny and sent my memory whirling to a time when my daughter, Shannon, (age 4 at the time) and I had a goat experience of our own.

It was the best of times; it was the worst of times. I had just recently received the Lord-that made it the best of times. But I was struggling financially, following a divorce. Things were so tight; the best I could afford for us was a little cabin back off the road in Olivehurst, California. The rent was $50 per month including utilities, and I still had a hard time making it!

I worked in Sacramento, which was an hour’s commute, so I was gone from our little shack a long time each day. I started having a problem with my neighbors breaking into my cabin while I was gone. I was broken into seven times, in a two-month period, but did not have the money to move. I had almost everything stolen, including my daughter’s toys, clothes, iron and ironing board, and even the meat out of my freezer. I remember my mother coming to visit and her remarking to me, “Chere, you have no earthly goods!”

One hot summer day, I came home to find my door wide open. As I drove up, I was shocked to see two big horned Billy goats munching on my couch in the living room. Leaving my daughter in the car, I jumped out and grabbed a two-by-four lying on the ground. I started yelling at them and hitting the side of the house with the board, hoping to scare them out. They were not even fazed; as a matter of fact, they simply looked at me as if to say, “What are you doing here?” The only one that seemed to be scared was me. Their big horns were very frightening to me. Shannon started laughing, and I kept on yelling and crying.

It was “hot as a Billy goat in a pepper patch,” as the old Texas saying goes. I was tired, frustrated and scared, and just when I had reached the apex of my hysteria; I looked up and observed a Mexican man with a piece of garden hose in his hand moseying towards my cabin. As he reached the door of my house, he yelled something in Spanish to the goats and waved the hose and out they flew. The Mexican man gave me an apologetic look and nod. As the goats wandered past me, they paused to stare with vacant brown eyes, bleated sneeringly, and then they and their master moved on back over to their property behind my cabin.

I learned a few things about goats that day. All goats are mischievous thieves, gatecrashers, and trespassers. It was OK to be afraid for Edgar Watson Howe said, “One has fear in front of a goat, in back of a mule, and on every side of a fool.” Goats will eat just about anything-including couches. That is why an Italian proverb states, “No one ever saw a goat dead of hunger.” But most important, I learned that one must speak in a language that goats understand, if you are to get their cooperation. An Indonesian proverb says, “If you enter a goat stable, bleat; if you enter a water buffalo stable, bellow.” I would like to add, if your goats speak Spanish, then bleat in Spanish and carry a big hose.

Roof Gardens

It’s sad that often we do not know who is in our mist until we read their obituary.  I have visited Keller Beach on the Miller/Knox Regional Shoreline out in Point Richmond, but I had no knowledge of the landscape architect who designed.  I guess I just thought God created its design. He’s has created so many wonderful landscapes.

Prominent Bay Area roof garden architect dies at 88

Come to find out God had some help from Theodore Osmundson, a local landscape architect who gained prominence with his designs of roof gardens and the popular Keller Beach on Richmond's shores. As beautiful as the park is, I was even more intrigued by his concepts of roof gardens. Mr. Osmundson died April 9, 2009. He was 88. Mr. Osmundson designed parks, gardens, college campuses, homes and businesses over a career that spanned 60 years. His fingerprints can be found around the Bay Area, from office buildings in San Francisco to the Berkeley Marina.

Osmundson at Kaiser Roof Garden in 1998

Theodore Osmundson authored the book "Roof Gardens" in 1999

The first comprehensive study published in English, respected landscape architect Theodore Osmundson provides the practical information professionals need to be able to include well-designed and well-constructed roof gardens in their projects. Roof Gardens covers site considerations, construction, design elements, and maintenance, as well as useful data and sources of supply and information. It presents a wealth of material, including typical sections and details of raised planters, walls, paving, drainage, and lighting. It also discusses planting soils and root-proofing, reviews useful new construction techniques-largely unknown in the United States-and offers a richly illustrated tour of roof gardens around the world and through history.

Comments on his book include:

"Has been considered the bible of traditional rooftop design….a classic…a must have in your library of design books."
—Greenroofs.com

"This should become the guidebook on the subject of roof gardens, acquired by every landscape architect employed in the task of greening cities and buildings."
—Ian McHarg, fasla

He made a name for himself in 1958 when he designed a 3-acre garden on the roof of the garage at Oakland's Kaiser Center. It was the first major roof garden built in the country since World War II. Osmundson’s Kaiser Center remains a highly successful prototype of an extensive roof-deck park.

ROOF GARDEN AT 1500 WEST GEORGIA STREET

Ted Osmundson, Landscape Architect 1978 This roof garden sat atop 1500 West Georgia for 27 years. It was demolished in 2006 to allow for replacement of building insulation, and will be replaced with a newly designed outdoor amenity area.

Layers of a Rood Garden

Theodore Osmundson also was a well-known photographer

Artist’s Statement 
"These photos represent my intense interest in capturing the fleeting moment at hand. They have both been part of gallery exhibits. The Japanese photo was taken during an extended Cultural Exchange in 1963. The California photo was taken in 1956 for Sunset Magazine's travel section."

Artist Statement: Ted had a fantastic ability to see a scene as it would look in a picture and would quickly seize the opportunity by grabbing one of three cameras that he kept with him at all times. While “Old Farmer Resting Near San Giminanno, Italy” is dated 1962, he actually shot the photograph in 1972. The Ca'd'oro Palace is a beautiful building with Moorish touches on the Grand Canal in the Cannaregio District of old Venice. – Lorraine Osmundson

 

Thanks, Mr. Osmundson, for the many garden “rooms’ you left us to enjoy in the San Francisco Bay Area.