March 12 reflections

The sky is a cloudless blue. That thick, white blanket of crusty snow hugs the ground with gritty determination of permanence. The weather forecast shows more of the same: 40s in the daytime, low 30s at night.

It's the season of sameness.

Politics are dirty. Snow along the roadsides is dirty. I even considered not writing today. I do that when it seems like there's not one iota of newness. As I reflect, however, and think about a nice dirt-road walk or bike ride during a sunny Wednesday afternoon, I can resurrect thoughts of old and "young but getting older."

It has suddenly dawned on me that there's a little boy over on the West Coast who turned 6 years old today. And, I wish him the happiest of birthdays. I also know this was the day 54 years ago that my mother and our new dad Harold tied the knot in Thompson Falls, Montana, and then drove around Western Montana snapping dozens of deer photos.

While they tied the knot and honeymooned, I stayed in town on Lake Street with the Crocketts. My brothers stayed with the Bests who owned a dairy just down the road from our North Boyer farm. I've written about both the Crocketts and the Bests in many past stories. I've also written about my dad. Only my mother remains among those elder folks in our young lives.

Harold died just months before they would have celebrated 50 years together. That was back in 2003. Today's blanket of crusty, stubborn snow still covers his grave down Selle Road at Pack River Cemetery.

I know if the snow were gone, Mother would be down there with a bouquet of flowers to place at his monument. Maybe Easter, or maybe even his birthday on April 12. Maybe just maybe, the snow will be gone by then.

I stood at Helen and Ed Crockett's graves the day their family gathered around to say a final good bye. We always called Helen's husband "Ed," but Helen always called him Edwin. Helen came to the hospital the night I was born, along with my mother. So, she's a special person in my life, and it seemed fitting that I would stay with her and Ed 54 years ago when my mother and stepfather were wed.

I really don't know where the Bests are buried, but I do know there's a "Baby Best" resting eternally not far from our little sister Jeanne Marie's grave at Pinecrest Cemetery. Every year we have to dig into the grass to find Jeanne Marie's nameplate, and every year Mother says we need to get a better marker for her grave. Maybe that can be done this year before we visit the cemetery on Memorial Day, and maybe the snow will be gone.

Maybe, that little boy on the West Coast who turns 6 today will have a great birthday party with no snow. And, maybe part of his celebration will include learning a little more about all the people who came before him and who were permanently connected in our minds because of a wedding on this March 12 so long ago.