Well, as a movie critic I have failed “Titles 101.” Last week a wonderful British flick was here erroneously given the name Titfield Cannonball.  Librarian Sally Portman read the report and sought to get it for the library, but the name never came up. Ever diligent, she discovered the correct title is Titfield Thunderbolt. Apologies for the glitch, I must have recently seen a Civil War movie.

On to more-accurate information, about Harts Pass. I had heard a couple of days ago of someone riding a bike up to Dead Horse Point. Ms. Gloria wondered if the road to Harts Pass was open, and we called the U.S. Forest Service for up-to-date information.

The road is not open, according to Kathy Corrigan at Forest Service headquarters. She said there were 50 inches of snow at the campground last Monday, and checking today’s depth (June 10) noted it was down to 31 inches. And early this Monday morning the temperature up there was still above freezing, so the melt continues apace and at this rate you might be able to drive up there before the usual July 4 opening. As she said, “It all depends on the weather.”

The river is again rising and our pond here in West Boesel is refilling, so with 11 days to go until summer, spring seems to be here. Incidentally, in 12 days the days begin to get shorter. There is somehow something not right about that.

Sam and Virginia King are recently back from their winter quarters in Oregon. He said he was pretty well wrung out after three days of graduations of various kinfolk here in the valley. One unrelated recent college grad, from the University of Portland, is Mariel LeDuc, middle daughter of the Mazama Store’s dynamic dynasty of LeDucs. She’ll be working there full time for a while, brightening the store with her smile and demeanor.

I was out on the deck the other evening watching the ducks, when suddenly there was this flash of light from above. I knew it was not God as I am not quite ready to go, and looking upwards on Grizzly Mountain I saw the source of the beacon. It was the sun having reached a certain angle, reflecting off the TV antenna on a shelf of the peak, maybe 300 feet above.

The shaft of light persisted for no more than five minutes and then diminished. The realization hit me that here was an object on the skyline and I wondered if it was worthy of a “Move the Antenna” campaign. I decided not, as it serves too many people well, and ultimately the FCC would get involved. I’d rather be blinded than deal with a government agency.

For the benefit of Ken Westman and the other hard workers of the TV district, aside from the reflection, this is all tongue in cheek.