The Largest Tree in the World

I made another sale at Constant Content today. It was rather unexpected as the piece was written for Americans taking a trip to the Sequoia National Park in California and finding the largest tree in the world. The article had been sitting on the site for nearly four months. Anyway, I thought I’d give you the story of how I came to write it.

Hubby and I took a short break to Guernsey. We each bought one of their fabulously cheap bus passes and took a ride to Saumarez Park, planning to circuit the park itself and then take a walk on footpaths to the sea, where we could pick up another bus back to our hotel.

One of the most memorable things about this park was the stump of a large felled tree and some educational notices explaining about its rings and how to tell its age. It was certainly a good specimen for this – about four feet across with well-defined rings. Another sign just happened to mention that the largest tree in the world is The General Sherman Tree.

A few days later we took the Condor back across the English Channel to Weymouth, pick up our car and head north for home. Every so often I found myself wondering about this General Sherman Tree. Where is it? What kind of tree is it? How big is it? How old is it? Why does it have that name - the name of a tank from the Second World War? Who was General Sherman?

When I was finally back in my office, sitting in front of my VDU and switching on my computer, at last I could find out the answers. So I did.

The tree is a Giant Sequoia, which is not the tallest ever tree, but is the largest by volume. It’s now believed to be around 2,000 years old. It was named after one of the famous Generals of the American Civil War, and shares that honour with the American-built M4 Sherman tank used by British forces in the Second World War.

I hope you’ve enjoyed this round trip from Dorset to Guernsey, to California, to the battle zones of Europe and back to Dorset. My article is still for sale as the customer only purchased one time rights, so you can read more about the General Sherman Tree and the Sequoia National Park by clicking on Read more against the title here.

A Butterfly at the Gillingham Festival

Each year, our little town has a Festival which runs for over two weeks and is patronised by the great and the good. Tonight it’s “An Evening with Michael Portillo” (which I’m not attending. Sad for him). And yes, it really is THE Michael Portillo. The music line up is varied, with classical concerts in the Methodist Church Hall, while a marquee on the festival site hosts some local talent alongside the likes of national stars such as Elkie Brookes and, on another night, The BIG Chris Barber Band.

Weekends see free daytime entertainment in the marquee, with children’s activities alongside. So Saturday morning saw me bopping away in the queue for face painting while holding the hand of a giggling, and slightly embarrassed five year old granddaughter.

Here she is with her butterfly face on.

More Distractions

I couldn’t post on Friday; I haven’t even been able to access this blog until a few minutes ago. The magic that worked was called SUPERantispyware, which I downloaded on a recommendation on Friday. When I'd updated it, I ran a scan that found over 400 tracking cookies and over 100 other threats. These were deleted and the system immediately speeded up. I could turn on my Windows Automatic Update and get the latest updates.

But I still couldn’t contact blogger.com or drop any entrecards. I’ve now updated again and rescanned. More threats were found and dealt with. And lo and behold: here I am. So back to normal tomorrow, I hope.

Distractions

I'm feeling bemused. Had all sorts of problems with my system today. While I was visiting my usual sites first thing, my anti-virus screamed at me that a trojan was trying to upload stuff. I told it to deny access, but a few strange things happened afterwards. I ran Spybot and deleted some cookies and was told it couldn't complete the deletions but would rerun as soon as I rebooted. I closed down and went off to do the ironing.

Anyway, all the work I was going to do today just went out the window. Hopefully I can get going properly tomorrow. I have a query to write on three ideas I have for one editor, plus several other ideas that need working up for constant content articles.

My five year old granddaughter will arrive for a weekend visit on Friday afternoon. I'm praying the rain will ease enough for our local festival to continue. I planned to entertain her on Saturday with circus workshops and face painting and stuff like that in the festival field. But I've told her mother to make sure she packs her wellies - I think they'll be needed anyway.

My Dream

Reading Jim’s Secret Thoughts, I was advised to visualise what I want most of all in life and write it down as clearly as possible. There are two things I really, really want at the moment: one is to become a consistently brilliant and admired writer; the other is to move to a home from which I can walk to the sea. I have a feeling that the first could be dependent on the second, so that’s what I should concentrate on.

Moving house can’t happen until I’ve sold my current one. That’s the stumbling block, and that’s what I’ve been concentrating on. But taking Jim’s advice means shifting that emphasis to the end result.

So here’s my dream.

I have moved to a semi-detached house in Legion Road, Hamworthy, a western suburb of Poole. Hubby has gone to work in the early hours and I wake again at 6.30 in my roomy bedroom and head downstairs to make my morning berry tea, and let our lovely Labrador out into the garden at the back. I take the tea back to bed and spend half an hour reading a novel and sipping my tea before taking a shower in my en-suite. Then it’s into my clothes, grab the dog’s lead and step out of the house into fresh, seaside air. A few minutes later, we enter the park behind the little beach huts that line the promenade.

As we cross the park, I’ll be playing fetch with the dog. I think he’ll be called Max. Our last dog, Sam, was adorable, but had to be watched carefully around other dogs as he was a Staffie, a fighting breed. It’s over twelve years since we lost him and I’ll never get over that heartbreak, but I think I’m ready for another canine love to enter my life.

Then I’ll be at the centre of my dream as we reach the sea and stride along watching the waves, with the sound of them lapping the beach in my ears, and their fresh, salty smell in my nostrils. That’s when I’ll feel I’ve come home at last.

I don’t want much really. Just that kind of background for my writing and homemaking efforts, with a few holidays and visits to and from family. I pray the opportunity comes soon.

New York, New York

It was reading the challenge here that inspired this topic today, on America’s Independence Day.

My visit to New York was my only time on US soil. The closest I got before that was the Canadian side of Niagara Falls, when I was with my daughter who had forgotten her passport so we couldn’t get over the bridge. Anyway when I arrived at JFK it was midnight (5 am for me) on 7th July, three years ago. So that’s three days after Independence Day.

My first impression of a New Yorker was gained from the taxi driver. Not good. How was I to know that I should be able to tell him whether the hotel was east or west of Madison? In London, you give the driver the name of the hotel and he knows exactly where to go. He’d be out of a job if he didn’t.

But here I was, sitting behind a growly driver muttering under his breath about ignorant foreigners. Not that his own speech was exactly with a New York accent; many of the cab drivers were obviously imported from elsewhere, so perhaps that explains their geographical inadequacies. And perhaps it was fortunate that I couldn’t make out everything he said. Once we’d crossed the bridge over the East River onto Manhattan, he drove around in circles and figures of eight as I watched the meter figures creeping upwards, until we suddenly recognised the lights of the hotel. And then he sat and watched as I struggled up the steps with my luggage.

Luckily the rest of the trip made up for that miserable start, and apart from the cab drivers, all the people I met in New York were smiley and up-beat, and falling over themselves to be helpful.

The reason for the trip was to celebrate a mate’s 40th birthday. She told me afterwards that she’d spent quite a while figuring out how to plan something that would get the highest number of her friends to travel over from Europe and party with her family and US pals. And she certainly got it right.

The party on the Saturday night was on board Amberjack, a boat that took us down the East River, and up the Hudson, before going out to Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty on the way back. The food was delicious and the wine flowed. We chatted, danced and took in the scenery as the light faded and the city lit up. It was an absolute dream for a first-time visitor to New York.

As was the rest of the trip. I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to go back so I made sure I had a couple of days to catch as much as possible of the island. I saw it all from a helicopter; went up the Empire State; paid my respects to Ground Zero; trekked the shops; walked through Central Park; chose to visit the wonderful Frick instead of the Guggenheim; saw Times Square, Grand Central Station, South Street Seaport and Brooklyn Bridge; and finally was refused entrance to the Rokefeller Rainbow Room because of my flip-flops, so got high on cocktails in the basement bar instead.

On Sunday morning, before flying home, I met the birthday girl alone for a real American breakfast with easy-over eggs. And, of course, for the good, long chinwag that we couldn’t have the night before, because so many other people were vying for her attention.

It was a really memorable visit that still sits in my mind as if it were yesterday.

Wordless Wednesday

Beautiful roses at Mottisfont