TO THE CREATOR OF US ALL

Just a blast from the past.

Tewa is a language group spoken by Pueblo peoples including some Hopi.

I found this lovely little prayer in a book called American Indian Healing Arts.

O our Mother the Earth,
O our Father the Sky,
Your children are we, and with tired backs
We bring you the gifts you love.

Then weave for us a garment of brightness.
May the warp be the white light of morning.
May the weft be the red light of evening.
May the fringes be the falling rain,
May the border be the standing rainbow.
Then weave for us a garment of brightness
That we may walk fittingly where grass is green,

O our Mother the Earth,
O our Father the Sky!

Which led to this variation from me.

Only Child of the One who created us all,

We have brought to You the best we have.
Weave these threads together into a new world.
Use our hands to weave the white light of morning and the red light of evening.
Use our hearts to weave the blue of moonlight and the silver of rain.
Use our minds to weave the green of grass and the gray of mist.
Use our joy to weave the thunder of the sea and the whispers of the wind.
Weave throughout the threads of peace, justice, compassion and generosity.
Over all place the glowing rainbow of the promise and the sparkling stars.

Only Child of the Creator weave us a new world.

Inspired by a Tewa Pueblo prayer

A MICRO WORLD

You drive west on West D street in Springfield until you hit the end of the street and either turn left to pick up the parking area/boat ramp (sort of a ramp) bike/hiking paths or right onto Locust. There used to be a building there that had something to do with the water system. Frankly I forget because it was torn down about forty years ago. The land was eventually turned into a little park and some houses were built along the access road.

Near as I can tell that building was the only reason there is a little creek running off the Middle Fork, down by what used to be a landfill, now bordering the bike path, and rejoining the main river at Alton Baker Park. Anyway there is a short bridge across the creek that allows park personnel access to the bike path.

At the southeast end of this bridge there used to be a beat up stump about say, eight inches across and three feet high. That stump was its own little world. Of all the places I took pictures of I never thought to take a picture of that microworld. I remember at least two kinds of moss. The green velvety kind and the rougher yellow green kind.

After a rain there would be a little cluster of midget toadstools about and inch or so tall. A few grass seeds would come in on the wind, looking like tiny trees with their seed clusters. If you looked closely there might have been a lady bug or two and the tiniest daddy longlegs spiders. At least they looked like daddy longlegs. On a foggy moring there might be a tiny spider web woven between the grasses and sparkling if a puff of breeze parted the mist. Midget spiders weaving webs to catch even smaller prey.

The bark on the stump was raggedy with moss in the cracks. It had either been a very small tree or a bush with delusions of grandeur. I don't remember how many times I stopped by that micro world and almost got lost in that world. It's been years since I remembered that little world. May have been a couple of collections of haiku no longer hiding on my bookcase.

ALIEN THRONES

I am a sucker for NASA's Astronomy Picture of the Day site. Lately if I can't come up with something? Well I go looking there. NASA has been posting a picture every day since the mid nineties.

Now believe it or not this is a real landscape in the wilderness of Ah-Shi-Sie-Pah badlands of New Mexico. It's a composite shot of foreground and background exposures taken in late May. The photographer is Martin Zajac. The rock formation is called the Alien Throne. That's the Milky Way shining ovver the rocks. The bright "star" to the left is Jupiter with Saturn below and furthere left. And darn the Milky Way doesn't look like that up here in Oregon. You have to go further south. And yeah, it doesn't look like that without multiple exposures and some enhancing but it sure is spectacular.

As spectacular as this shot is, it's too bad it's a night shot. Becuase you can't see the spectacular colors of the rock formations. The common name is a Hoodoo. It's a tall, thin, or other formation that can be found in a dry lands drainage basin or badlands. The stripes are usually sedementary rocks or volcanic ash topped by a harder rock that resists erosion. The colors can be spectacular.

This shot is from Bryce Canyon National Park in Utah. The spectacular rock fomations can be found  further south in Arizona and New Mexico. Finally ending up at the Grand Canyon. Anywhere you see something green the soil has trapped just enough water to allow a little bit of green.

In what is now the central section of the US there was once a shallow sea. Between the sediments, vulcanism, time, and erosion these spires are some of the results.

As usual I started in one plae and ended up somewhere else. LOL

CHRISTMAS 1964

Actually it started on the 18th of the month. It had been really cold. It had snowed early in the month. Looked like a white Christmas was in our futures. Two days before the Christmas break. Two and a half actually when we were sent home. It was raining. I mean it was raining. I was within walking distance from home but I believe the schools wanted to get the bus kids home. We didn't even have time to clean out the refrigerators in the home ec. room. Christmas concert delayed. We didn't know it at the time but Oregon, about half of Idaho, and Northern California were about to get slammed. Drowned. Inundated.

It started with a cold snap. Froze the ground, heavy snow on top. When it warmed up the melting snow and heavy rains had nowhere to go except down river.

The media calls them the "Pineapple Express." A river of warm, very wet air that starts out near the Hawaian Islands and heads northeast. In this case it was packing rainfall of up to fifteen inches in twenty four hours. It hit the snowpacks. It hit the mountains. The USGS called it a hundred year flood. December of '64 still holds the record as one of the worst floods in this part of the US in the twentieth century. A politician in California politician called it a thousand year flood. Maybe it was. For California.

Deception Creek took out the bridge on 58 north of town. One of our neighbors parked his vehicle at the gas station where the railroad bridged the Willamette and hiked into town. The Greyhound bus made it into town before the highway was washed out east of town and after the bridge was washed out west of town. Folks in town put the passengers up until the roads opened. Good thing it was just before Christmas and the stores were well stocked. And most folks had well stocked pantries and freezers.

We were lucky. Oakridge is in the Cascade foothills, elevation about 1,200 feet. We were at the head of the valley. Heading north the water piled up. Log jams, destroyed bridges, took out the ports in Gold Beach and Brookings, the waterfall at Oregon City disappeared.

Why tell this story now. Well it's part of my history. And it's a prime example of the amount of control human beings seem to believe they have over the natural world. We can build dikes and dams. And then Mother Nature comes along and reminds us who really is the boss. It can be a big reminder and we forget for awhile. Or it can be a gradual reminder like Climate change may work things out. Or one of these days a cat 5 is going to hit Miami. Any guesses how that will work out?

My World

This was my world for over sixty years of my life. I miss my mountains damn it.

The Elijah Bristow state park is off Hwy. 58 just before you get to the first of three dams on the Middle Fork of the Willamette River. The highway is on one side of Dexter reservoir and Lowell is on the other side. The road across the lake originally included a covered bridge.

In the 1980's the bridge was retired and turned into an interpretive center coering the history of covered bridges in the county. It was replaced by a concrete bridge, uncovered. The old part of the road is popular for kids fishing off the non traffic side. Lowell has a blackberry festival every summer. The lake is popular for boating, fishing. Wonder how it's doing this summer.

At the head of the head of the reservoir and about two hundred feet higher Is Look Out Point Reservoir. I can remember, barely, the construction of the Look Out Point dam. Actually what I remember is having to wait while the nearby mountain was being blown up to provide the gravel for the fill on the dam. I was probably about four at the time. Wish I could remember what it was like to drive on the old road that went by the river was like.

Honestly this must a really old shot. I haven't seen this reservoir this full in years. Years of low rainfall have meant that the lake has seldom filled. Built mainly for flood control the dam does have a small power station at the base of the dam. The drive is sort of scenic. Can't see much of the lake at least half the time. The trees have grown up since the dam was completed and the new highway completed. Great view of mountain on one side, railroad tracks on the other and road cuts until you hit the head of the reservoir. The RR crosses the river, the trees get closer to the road, the air gets a lot cooler and, smells a lot better.

The Middle Fork of the Willamette from Black Canyon campground.The woods are mainly Douglas fir and cedar with some hemlock mixed in. These are the woods my dad worked in for nearly twenty years. He started his logging years in the Coast Range but the Cascades were his life. My life.

Another shot of the woods near the little bridge that crosses Deception Creek on the way to Oakridge.

There is a fairly straight shot on the highway then you hit a curve near the old LaDuke place and you see the first mountains. Not much really, but an honest to goodness mountain. Something that was tight insside relaxes.

WHAT DIDN'T GET TAUGHT IN HISTORY CLASS

I really ddidn't know how this post was going to work out. Guess it just depends. It's starting to look like a batch of my bread. Trying to get out of the bowl. I grew up in Oakridge, Oregon. Just under forty miles SE of Springfield/Eugene. When we wanted to go back for a visit there are two ways to get there. The fast way and the slow way.

If you are sort of in a hurry and not too much on sight seeing you can pick up the freeway, head south east and take the exit for Hwy 58. And until today I had passed through Pleasant Hill and by the Elijah Bristow State Park without too much thought. Pleasant Hill doesn't look like much from the highway but the net claims a population of over five thousand. I know mom lived there for a year or so when she was a little girl. Went to a one room school house with an out house and pump to work if you wanted a drink of water.

Elijah Bristow. Born in Southwestern Virginia in 1788. Served in the War of 1812. Got married in Tennessee, moved around ended up in Illinois. Raised a family. Left them in Illinois while he headed west with an ox team. I can't find out if he was traveling alone or with a party. Fetched up at Sutter's Fort. This was 1845, before the gold rush and Bristow was 58 years old. Headed north in 1846 following a route through the mountains known as the Siskiou Trail that later became Interstate 5. Traveled as far as the Salem area, came back south passed through what is now Jasper and forded the MIddle Fork of the Willmette.

Bristow checked out the land south of what is now Springfield. Liked what he saw and named the area Pleaant Hill. Claimed 640 acres and built the first permanent house in what is now Lane County and sent for his family.Pleasant Hill was the first town in the county. Bristow became the first postmaster. He and his wife donated land for a school, a church and a cemetary. The cemetary is still there. You can see it from the highway. it isn't very big.

Well, well. See what happens when you head in one direction and find yourself exploring something and somewhere else entirly. Two of the four settled near the Bristow claim. The fourth member of the party was named Eugene Skinner. Three guesses which city is named for him. I;ll get back to him later.

Might as well stop here and pick up the road trip tomorrow.

I WANT TO BE CLEAR

That last post was a rant about a specific branch of Christianity that seems to be unique to America. But not all American Christians belong to the "I accepted Jesus as my savior and that is pretty much all I have to do."

Some of the first responders to natural disasters are often the Amish. Somebody else may be doing the driving but men show up with their tools and get to work. UMCOR, the United Methodist Council on Relief, is often there just behind the Amish and the Mennonites. Nuns run half way houses and support day care centers in inner cities. Good grief Dorothy Day is pracitically up for saint hood. Journalist, anarchist, (oh that word) and devout Catholic, she was one of the founders of the Catholic Worker Movement.

Martin Luther King was a minister whose faith was the foundation of his belief in civil and economic rights not just for African Americans but for everyone. the irony is that his growing radicalism is largely ignored in mainstream America. It's as if the last five years of his life didn't happen. He gave that famous speech, went to Memphis and, well you know the rest.

Thomas Merton was a cloistered Trappist monk whose biting commentaries in support of peace and against nuclear weapons were supported by his faith, not in spite of it.

Those few who know me, know that I have a twisted sense of humor. I just had this vision of that itinerant rabbi back up in wherever God/dess hangs out. "I tramped around Gallilee and Judea for three years. I didn't really preach anything that Amos, Micah, Jeremiah and the rest hadn't already preached. Thanks for the miracles by the way. I went up against the temple establishement who turned me over to the Romans. I freakin' died. Maybe it WAS temporary but going through the one to get to the other was pretty darn painful. And this is what some of my so called followers are claiming in MY NAME?????" Fill in the blanks after that.

If I've stepped on any toes it was not my intention. But I do have to wonder what does go on in the world on the other side of the veil. If the spirits do try to help or have so many of us have become so spiritually tone deaf that we may end up spending a few cycles as dung beatles to teach us humility.

IT STARTED AS A SHORT RANT, AND GREW

This is my place for thoughts that are more personal. If someone is taking the time to check this journal out you are welcome. Agree or disagree. Actually I would welcome good criticism or feed back. I'll be the first to admit that there is a heck of a lot I don't know.

This will be a short one, I hope. Half an eye on the tube this morning with the commercials muted and who popped up with an overlong presentation? Franklin Graham, son of the late come to Jesus revival spouting Billy Graham. Never really could stand the father and I have less use for his son.

I was raised Methodist and Methodists are just that. Methodical. At least more restrained than the Pentacostals and the Charismatics. Honestly there were some Sundays when I was more likely to dose off than to start speaking in tongues or passing out on the floor. The only thing that saved me was I was in the choir. Anywway, this is already heading out on its own.

And that original label was not meant as a complement. I don't believe John Wesley intended to split off from the Anglicans. He was a member in good standing, I believe, of the established church to the end. His targets were the poor. Mill workers, miners, rural farmers their workers. He used lay preachers. He allowed women to preach. At least until his death and his successors ended that quickly. Actually the women were better at going into prisons and work houses to spread the gospel than some of the men

And incidentally when follks start going on about going back to the Old Time Religion at the time the constitution was ratified you can forget about the Methodists and their offshoots. Those denominations did not exist. An early abolitionist his Thoughts Upon Slavery was written in the mid seventeen hundreds as a pamphlet. He did extensive research to supports his descriptions of the tribes that ended up as targets for European slavers. Especially the English God help us. Peaceful, for the most part. Living decent lives, taking care of their own. At least before the coastal rulers began raiding to provide cargoes for the West Indies, the Carribean and the colonies that became the southern states.

Anyway back to the Grahams. Billy was basically the tame preacher who pretty much supported the status quo. I'm not sure he ever came out against the Viet Nam war. He was also as far as I can  find out a late supporter of the civil rights movement. His revivals were reported as long on alter calls and short on providing those that "accepted Jesus" with follow up to help them find a church or any kind of community support.

Well what was planned as a short rant is getting a little longer than planned. Anyway, the commercial. Just accept Jesus and let Him take over your life and what? That's been my problem from almost as long as I can remember.. No pagan deity that I have studied has commanded absolute obedience. And thereby hangs the trap. When life goes wrong it isn't God's fault. It's your fault because your faith wasn't strong enough.

And on the other side we've been hit with the centuries old "God has chosen this ruler" and we have to obey no matter how ill equiped that person is for the job. Funny how Bush II and the current occuapant  were divinely appointed but somehow the man in the middle of the succession was slipped in by the devil, or somebody at the bottom of the divine hierarchy. Yes the Bible tells stories of men who sinned, King David for example, and were still used to do God's will. But David repented of his sins. I doubt if the current occupant has repented of anything or even had much of a sense of sin in the first place. My, my we are getting a little cranky this evening.

Anyway, there is an evening breeze rustling the tree outside my window. The finches and the siskins are working on their pecking order at the feeder. I believe there is a second hatching learning the ropes. I got a look at one at the feeder who still had bits of down clinging to its flight feathers. They can fly well enough but seem to have a little trouble gauging their landings.

From a good friend the mystery bird is an English Sparrow or House Sparrow. A non native so I guess that's why my searches of Oregon birds didn't bring them up. Back in Springfield some of our hummers liked to dive bomb the sparrows next door. But they also dive bombed me once in awhile. a buzz of wings. a chp, chp, chp and off they'd go.

Well, this did grow. Hopefully my next entry will be a little less all over the place.

MYSTERY BIRD

This little guy is too big for a chickadee. Beak seems too small for a grosbeak. Black chin, brown cap on the head. Net has a list for all the birds around Eugene, but just a list no internet connections. Anybody know what this little guy is?

THIS SIDE OF HEAVEN

There's a loop drive that starts in Springfield. Head east on 126 towards Sisters and Bend. 126 is a state road, well maintained but a little on the narrow side. There's the Mckenzie River on one side and mountains on the other. It's about and hour drive to Koosah Falls.

About a half mile or so further east you come to Sahalie Falls.

Both shots from the net by the way. One of the sources for the McKenzie River is Clear Lake. About Three Thousand years ago two separate lava flows temporarily blocked the lake. When the lake started flowing again the results were two small, but beautiful waterfalls. There is a faily easy walking trail between the two. Fairly easy if you can walk fairly well. Not exactly walker friendly but really, really beautiful. 

Trees, moss covered rocks, the smell of the bark on the trail, the sound of the falls. You just might think you made it to heaven or at least Sahalie Falls. In the Chinook trade jargon the word for heaven is Sahalie. 

Access to both falls is just off the highway, but bring your own water and rest room facilities are at Sahalie and it's basically a very high class outhouse. It's a beutiful drive and a wonderfull hike.

SKY JEWELS

From NASA's Astronomy Picture of the Day archive. This galaxy is designated NGC2442 in the southern skies. Sometimes if I can't come up with something I go looking for jewels in the skies.

The galaxy can be found in the constellation Volans, the Flying Fish. Like most constellations a fair amount of imagination to actually "see" that fish. A distorted spiral the center glows with older stars withi the bright blue is that of younger white hot stars. The reddish glows in the arms may be clouds of gas where new stars are being born. This is a combined image from the Hubble telescope and the Europaen Southern Observatory. The light captured in this image started towards us about fifty million years ago.

Fifty million years. The surviving dinosaurs were testing their wings, mammals were on the up and coming and Oregon barely existed.

I WAS

Drop by for a visit and you never know where you will end up. 

Somethng I really should have worked on last night even if it would have made me late to bed. It's not like I have to be somewhere at a certain time in the morning. I wrote this as an experiment several years ago patterned on the Boast of Amergin, a bard and one of the sons of Mil.

"I was the sun, warm rays piercing the clouds to the sea.

I was the sea, mists rising to join the clouds.

I was the clouds riding the winds to rise above the coast range.

I was the mountain, heavy mists drifting across the cliffs.

I was the cliffs, wind carved trees clinging to the crags and bluffs.

I was the trees, leaves catching the fogs; releasing moisture into the earth below.

I was the mist, caught in the moss and last year’s leaves.

I was the moss, trapping the rainbow drops, releasing them into the soil

I was the soil, water full, drops working down, down the foundations of the mountain.

I was the bedrock, water following the cracks, pooling, feeding the deep springs.

I was the deep springs feeding the pools under the trees.

I was the pools, home to little streams bubbling over the rocks fallen from the cliffs.

I was the little streams, rushing to join the great river as it rushes to the salt marshes.

I was the salt marsh, feeding my water back into the sea.

I am the sea, sun warmed, giving up the mists to the sky."

Not too bad for an amateur. But as I reread this I was struck by time. Somewhere around ten to twelve billion years ago this universe was created. Current theories revolve around the Big Bang. Literally almost all the hydrogen in the universe was created in that whatever it was. All the rest of the elements that make up the rest of the universe were cooked in stars. 

Some shed as stars like the sun become red giants and shed rings of gas. Others, the heavy elements like oxygen and iron are created when the blue white giants die in the cataclysms of novas and supernovas. The lives of stars like the sun are measured in billions of years. The lives of the giant blue white stars can be measured in millions of years. generation after generation cooking the elements needed to build a world and shedding them into space.

Hydrogen. One proton, one electron. Needs an additional electron for stability. Oxygen. Eight protons, eight electrons. Two electrons in the inner "shell" six in the outer shell. Two hydrogen atoms will combine with one oxygen atom to form one molecule of water. 

That water that rises to the clouds, falls as rain, trickles deep into the rocks or runs off in a million streams is millions if not billions of years old. That water may have misted the first green to colonize the land. That water may have supported an ammonite or an ancient shark. Sheltered the early crocodiles or refreashed a dinosaur. Perhaps provided a bath for the first birds. Rained on the first flowers.

As I reread that little piece I was struck for the first time by time. Water in whatever form made of atoms millions to billions of years old. Perhaps even part of other worlds. The universe is a great recycler. And you might end up feeling a little humbled and maybe a little more willing to treat that precious water with the respect given to any elder. 

I STARTED THERE AND ENDED UP SOMEWHERE

I've  been thinking about the protests  since  George Floyd  was murdered. The protests, the reactions to them, and time. I was fourteen, my middle sister was four when JFK was assassinated. My little sister wasn't even born yet. Frankly the urban riots of the civil rights and anti war era were almost off the radar in rural and almost small city Oregon. The most we knew about Watts was from my uncle, an LA cop. And he was driving to Oregon on vacation his family the day before the ghetto blew up.

By the time the Viet Nam war sort of ended one sister was finish high school and the other was heading for junior high. In spite of the watching of the news, the two papers we took, and the magazines neither one was very political and both were far more religious than I will ever be.

Jump forward the fifty or so years. We all look at the protests in a different way. For me, it's we have been down this road before. In a way the protests are trying to change beliefs and actions from the top down. It didn't work then and it doesn't work now.

Barack Obama was elected and suddenly the US was a post racial society. Just ask the talking heads. Many of whom were terribly shocked when the election of the current occupant was like getting hit in the face with a bucket of ice water.

Damn this entry is taking over. The progressives hopped up and down with glee when AOC was elected from a traditionally democratic precinct. And that changed what in the bigger scheme of things. Not much. I got a ton of e mails this spring from progressive dems in Oregon trying to drum up opposition to senator Merkley. A fairly liberal Oregon Democrat. He wasn't "progressive" enough.

Yo! A senator represents the whole state, or should. And here in thinly populated Oregon east of the Cascades? That song doesn't play very well. Although there is a fairly large Hispanic population and several Native American reservations this is the part of the country coveted by some of the really far right militia groups who would like to set up a whites only enclave.

This could go on for pages or I can pause for a bit. How I react to the protests is colored by the ones I've seen before. It's as if we remodeled part of house, looked at the whole thing and said the job was done. But didn't  touch the foundations. The internet makes it far too easy to only communicate with those who agree with us. Back in the day there was no internet but a lot of good old fashioned shoe leather, knocking on doors, and talking to people.

All I can do is write. I don't even comment on FB very much anymore unless I can add to the discussion and half the time what I say gets twisted into something I never meant in the first place. A reply may not be acknowledged or it starts and endless thread. You've probably been there.

All I can suggest is that the progressives stop talking to each other all the time and get out and listen to other folks. Not everyone who voted for the current occupant is a blithering idiot. Many of them are watching their small towns dry up and blow away. Too many jobs pay too little and in some parts of the country it costs almost as much to keep a job as the job pays.

There's a lot bouncing around in the old brain box and this entry is miles from what I was thinking about when I started. Hopefully some of this makes sense.

MEDITATION

I was doing some guided imagery experiments once upon a time. Trying to get my e

head back in the right space. Takes time. Body may be boxed in, body doesn't have to be.

This is a tree known at the stinton oak. It is or was several years ago in county Devon in England. The tree is probably close to a thousand years old. Give or take a century. Kind of reminds me of an Ent, actually. Battered, missing branches, still standing. 

MEDITATION

Close your eyes and feel your body. Breath in, breath out; savor the miracle of breath. Feel your fingers. Feel your hands and arms. Savor the miracle of touch. You can find out so much; rough or smooth, hot or cold.

Move down your body, feel your legs and feet. With them you can explore the world whether it’s your backyard or the other side of the world. Walk barefoot through your world. Dry, rustling autumn leaves or the cold wet sands of an Oregon beach at low tide.

Breath in, breath out. Stretch out your consciousness. Feel the essence of your life. Your body may be new, but your soul is old. Finally it can express its beauty in songs, poems, dance, story, tears and joy. 

You are no longer bound by time or space. Let your thoughts drift. They are as free as the breezes that kiss you on a cool spring morning. But, it could be a summer night in Greece two thousand years ago. It could be autumn in Tuscany next year. You are no longer bound by time or place.

Stretch out you consciousness. You are an acorn born in the spring. You grew ripe through the summer. The winds of an August thunderstorm pulled you from the tree. You fell down, down to nestle among the wildflowers of late summer. The flowers die with the fall frosts and they bury you among their dead leaves. You are not alone, the banches of your mother tree were full. In half a millennia a new grove will rise again.

Another year, another spring; your shell splits. The first tiny leaves reach up towards the sun, the silk thread roots begin their long journey towards the center of the earth. Spring comes and goes. Summer sun comes and goes. A sapling slowly reaches for the sky. The wheel of the year turns and turns again. After all what is a century or so to an oak.

Another century of summers and winters. Your roots are intertwined with soil and gravels that rode the melting ice sheets that began to retreat ten thousand years ago. Remember, you weren’t the only acorn that fell that long ago spring. Your branches touch and intertwine with the trees next to you. Their branches intertwine with all the others. A grove of oaks a thousand strong.

Another century comes, another goes. You are slowly returning the soil that gave you birth. Even as your trunk weakens, it provides life to the moss and lichens growing in your bark. Trees were there before you. Perhaps they knew the ancient Druids. Perhaps Hern led the Wild Hunt through your grove. Times are harder, the earth changes faster and faster. But, not so much yet, that your sons and daughters have failed to take root and begin their long journey towards the sun.

Know this your life, and the lives of the trees and the stars are as intertwined as the branches of that grove of oaks.

Inspired by a piece on the website for the Raven Wood Grove.