April adieu

I'd like to say this was taken in 2008. Instead, I must report that the date for this garden photo at the Lovestead was April 11, 2007. Haven't seen a hyacinth poke its head much above the ground yet, which indicates that we're about three weeks behind this year.

The daffodils have just started popping out. Mary and Terry Taylor came over last night looking for their kitty cat. Mary went home with the second daffodil plucked for the year.

Tomorrow we say hello to May. Hopefully, we'll be able to greet and enjoy the usual April happenings around here, albeit the wrong calendar date. The snow bank by the shop will melt completely today.

When Annie and her friends roll in Friday night, they can still go play in the snow, cuz there's plenty left in the woods. I propped up Rambo's monument for his grave last night. Weight of snow had forced it to its side. A circle extending almost two feet around the monument shows bare ground---the rest snow. One of these nights, I'll take a jaunt down there and spread out some more wildflower seeds on the Lodgepole pasture pet resting places.

I walked around the broken-down orchard last night. My friend Judie told me yesterday at Yoke's that I could take one of those many volunteer sprouts growing around one of the apple trees, stick it in the ground, and maybe it will grow. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, I thought. Better than all the broken off tiny trunks sticking up where young trees were once gradually branching out. So, I took the shovel, did a little digging, and one of the sprout almost volunteered on its own to separate itself from the mother tree. While doing that job, I noticed that the living trees have tiny buds just beginning the transformation toward leafing out.

Usually, most tree buds have begun their leafy show by the third week in April. I'll be marking the day in May when that happens this year.

With May comes too many activities, but this year, I say, "Bring 'em on!" I'm rested enough from the long winter to welcome a hurry-up pace for a while. That includes lawn-mowing, seed planting, transplanting, horse transporting, horse welcoming, kid visiting, kid work with Laurie, horse shows, book signings-----and a fervent wish that in the midst of it all there's still time to enjoy in May the spiritually reviving shows of youthful nature that we missed in April.

Tuesday twitter and tumble

I read about twitters and tumbles yesterday.

The deck looks better now cuz all the planters have a fresh coat of barn-red paint.

Those carrots that hibernated over the winter in my garden tasted mighty good last night---boil, salt, pepper, Imperial margarine, a sprinkle of garlic and about two tablespoons of brown sugar . . . . yum, yum.

I found a nail . . . that was after digging up about two feet of wet sod out in the woods. The metal detector kept buzzing and screeching, but I got tired of digging.

Twitters are tiny thoughts that tumble out of your brain.

The Clintons must be overcome with ghoulish delight today. Iz Jeremiah Wright on their payroll or on the Republicans?

I hear the Feds' check with money I once owned and that they're giving back to me is in the mail . . . I'll pay for rototiller repair. I know that will pump money into Tony's economy. Lord knows he'll need it for the gas he uses to drive over here from Priest River.

Kea eats shoes every morning. She prefers Bill's hikers.

Susan Hubbard sure was smart when I had her as a student. Now, she teaches five-syllable scientific stuff at Notre Dame----and works for NASA. Not a bad showing for a grad from a hick town. She says her brother Paul stands 6 feet, 10 inches. He does smart stuff too.

I gave my mother this year's first daffodil from the Lovestead. Today there's a lotta yellow splashes showing up all over the place.

Grandpapa found Bill's most recent cache deposit sometime before 6 a.m. yesterday. Grandpapa loved the Ginter Fish and Game cache site out there on Rapid Lightning Road as much as we did.

Gotta watch for those ticks, though. They're out early this year. I've flicked one a week from my body already. Where's Brad Paisley when you need him?

Neil Diamond ranks right up there with Joan Baez on my list and with REM on Willie's. And, Neil's gonna show the American Idol contestants how to sing his songs tonight. Ought to be a great show. I liked it last week too, cuz prolific composer Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber has also created some wonderful notes.

Paint washes away in the rain; better not do that today.

This week's writing project has so much good twitter and tumble in it, I don't know where to start. Lili Pasteur lives in the Netherlands but rents a horse and rides the week-long Chief Joseph Trail Ride every year---well, at least since 2002. Bill and my favorite line from her interview: . . . on Monday morning, still a chill in the air, when the scouts call out that we leave in ten minutes - I mount Quicksilver . . . we stand for a while waiting while hundreds of Appaloosas assemble . . . a last sip of water for the horse and then the final signal is passed along . . . 'Moving out!' If I die on that moment, it will be the happiest way to cross the divide I can think of.

Twitter me your moment in life which would suffice to be your last . . . in the meantime, I'll tumble right out of here.

Twitter on, folks!

Spring scenes

Next week's salad makings; grown in the new greenhouse. And, the lettuce I planted around the dog kennel outside has come up. On with gardening 2008!!

Okay, okay, so it won't make Martha Stewart's list of America's most beautiful gardens, but I've still got esthetics to do around the edges. The important thing to note is that the dirt is rich stuff, well-aged from the compost pile and the horse-apple mounds. And, if it grows stuff like it did last year, who cares about the esthetics! I'll be chronicling its progress with similar photos over the growing season.

The GPS and the metal detector, which Bill gave me for Christmas, will, no doubt, get a lot of use as we take off on our jaunts this year. Yesterday was my first experience, and I'm not rich with the results but thrilled that I found an old canning jar lid. Of course, that was when I was allowed to use my metal detector. Someone else seems to be taking on a new addiction. We're hoping to go to some old Humbird sites to see if we can find memorabilia from Humbird's logging glory days in the early 1900s.

Now, geocachers, if they check the site: www.geocaching.com will soon know where we spent our late afternoon yesterday. In this photo, Bill is doing the final details of planting his latest cache. Guess where in the world we were. First correct respondent wins a free tomato plant from the Lovestead.

Frybread dues

Jeannie was at Wal-Mart when she called. She wanted to make sure we were home because she had fresh frybread to deliver. In her words, Jeannie's homemade treat would pay her dues for the Lodgepole Society this year. Jeannie Mikkelsen became a member last winter when she and Bill snow-shoed out to the Lodgepole aka "God Tree."

She knows we LOVE her frybread, and I was mighty glad I called back that number on the caller ID. I hadn't gotten to the phone in time, and she had already hung up. I don't know where the frybread would have gone if we hadn't been home, but that's not a problem. We know where some has already gone and we have plans for the remainder of the pile.

Bill was not home when Jeannie called. He was out fishing. He had finished his errands in town, coming home with new paddles for the aluminum boat. He scurried around completing the "honey-do's." It's amazing how hard and quickly a man can work when he's got geocaching or fishing on his mind.

It's mighty nice for the wifey too cuz she doesn't have to nag nearly as much. Praise God for good weather and a return to urgent recreational activities. I have a feeling that many projects will get completed around here a lot faster now that Bill can get back to his outdoor fun activities.

Jeannie and I had a nice visit, talking about things we want to accomplish in life before getting too old, too grizzled and too crippled. She's setting off in a couple of weeks for a 98-mile bike ride over in the Libby area. She was inspired to do this after seeing previews for Jack Nicholson's "Bucket" film.

So, of course, I shared my latest long-term goal: to get hold of a bottle of Advil big enough to allow me to participate some year soon on the Chief Joseph Trail Ride. Of course, my mare Lily has to be well-broke, seasoned and deemed reliable as a mount for an old arthritic woman.

The Chief Joseph ride retraces the path of the famous Nez Perce chief as he and his people attempted to escape the pursuit of the U.S. Cavalry in the late 1800s. It extends several hundred miles from Oregon to Northeastern Montana. Each year about 250 riders cover a leg of the trail, about 100 miles over a week's time. And, they all ride Appaloosas.

Bill and I have visited the ride a couple of times---the years it passed through Southeastern Idaho and West Yellowstone area. It's definitely an impressive spectacle to see all those spotted horses and their riders snaking along a trail or coming down a dirt road flanked by beautiful aspens and green meadows.

Anyway, some day I might do that, providing Lily's willing and my knees allow me to sit in the saddle that long. Don't need to worry about too much padding on the behind.

In the meantime, it was fun for Jeannie and me to talk about those goals yet to be met in life. Jeannie had to get going because their chocolate lab was looking like she was gonna have her pups. So, I gave her a potted cabbage plant and a home-planted blooming marigold in return for her frybread dues.

Bill came home about twenty minutes later with a 14-inch rainbow trout ready to throw in the frying pan. I told him he could top off that fish with some of Jeannie's frybread. He was delighted and smothered it in some of this last year's strawberry jelly. This morning, his frybread got the powdered sugar treatment.

We were all delighted with yesterday's lovely weather and with all we were able to do. And, it's looking like things are drying up enough that we'll soon be able to lure a few new folks out across the fields of new green grass for a stop at the Lodgepole and Bill's official induction into the society.

They'll just have to determine their own dues.

Saturday Slight

I'm anxious to get going. Today's possibilities remind me of an all-you-can-eat buffet---lots of offerings, too many choices. At least, we do have choices on this beautiful Saturday morning. Not a cloud in the sky, kinda cold out but promises of 60s later in the day. And, tomorrow's the same, so I'm sure the cloud has lifted in a lot of households around our area.

Finally, we can go at it. We still have a three-foot bank of snow about ten feet long next to the shop, but other than that, the yard is clear and growing greener by the minute. I have a feeling that those lawnmowers, which had their maintenance appointment six weeks ago will finally get to go into action----after Bill goes to town and spends an arm and a leg to fill up the gas cans, that is.

I have cabbages and tomatoes in the greenhouse that need to be transplanted into bigger containers. There's still fence along Stan's border to fix. We still have to figure out how to get the boat out of the storage shed without tearing it apart.

It's been impaled by those bent frames all winter, and it may take some doing (like the jaws of life) to extricate it. Next week the contractor will come to plot out the new building, so we want the present structure ready to haul off to whatever cemetery takes caved-in quansets.

I'm glad to have such problems, though. I'm glad we can finally get at them. This morning while walking from the barn to the paperbox, I was reminded, as we always are when winter moves on here in North Idaho, how fortunate we are to be where we are at this point in my life. Many of the dreams that lingered for so long within my imagination are becoming reality.

Who couldn't feel satisfaction while watching beautiful Border Collies, lying along a white board fence, doing their self-assigned duty of keeping an ever-vigilant eye on those two strikingly beautiful horses within the corral? Yup, the white fences and the horses were always waiting there in my imagined sense of the perfect life.

Admittedly, the Border Collie concept evolved of late, but there's no prettier sight those photogenic little buggers doing their work along the fence line or bounding at high speed and with a big smile through a field of lush green grass. The other night while taking a long-awaited walk through the woods, I saw Kiwi and Kea over by one of the sheds where Bill was working.

At first, I teased them by making noise but not saying anything. Kiwi always needs to hear our voices from afar before deciding we aren't scary intruders. So, she did the Border Collie dance-around while yapping my direction. Once I said, "Keeeeeeeeweeeeeeee," however, she and Kea left the starting gate and raced across the field to greet me.

Bill and I continued a little back and forth calling of the dogs. First, he'd call them back his way so he could watch the sheer beauty in motion. Then, I'd lure 'em back to my side of the field. Their energy is boundless, so we could have kept that up all night and the dogs would have responded every time.

I enjoyed another sweet moment of dream realization yesterday afternoon. Lily had her new shoes on, and I wanted to see how she was adjusting to them. So, I took her to the round pen and let her play---cantering, trotting and walking, even a little bucking. The shoes, I believe, help her because she tends to have tender hooves, especially after a trim. Yesterday, however, she was moving just fine.

Then, I decided to walk her out the driveway and down the road. Of course, when we got out of sight, Lefty's engines shifted into high gear.

It's hard to describe the beauty and grace of an exquisite purebred Arabian in motion, but I guarantee, there are few things that can top the scene. The little guy, who's almost shed off and looking phenomenal for a yearling, put on an impressive show as he raced and pranced around the barnyard with nostrils flaring. Lily and I were willing fans, as were the dogs.

Well, ya know instead of just talking about this stuff, I'm going to leave this computer, head outside and enjoy some more of it. This Saturday sunshine has been long-awaited, so I'd better make the most of it.

Have a great day.

Hoodoo Mugs and such

For my latte supplier friend, Karen, please note that this mug has been used this morning and that I've finally concocted a workable, homemade mocha combo for blog posting.

Well, things on my Internet connection are moving pretty slowly this morning. I'll try once more to upload a couple of photos of the mugs you can purchase at Vay, Idaho, when you visit the Hoodoo Creek Cafe.

Mother and I went there yesterday while waiting for her kitty cat, Rowdy, to be groomed. Rowdy had accumulated more than his share of matted hide over the winter from rolling on Mother's braided rugs. Turns out, Ruthann had to shave a lot of his hair off the top, but Mother says he's happy and looking okay.

The Hoodoo Creek Cafe, as I've mentioned before is about 18 miles southwest of Sandpoint, one mile off Dufort Road in the Vay/Clagstone country. The facility has been there for years and was once known as the Vay Cafe, but when the new owners took over about five years ago, the place got a dress-up and a fine menu.

We sampled the lemon-berry tart. Each bite of the 3,000-calorie ample serving leads to another. It's one of those rich desserts that you swear you'll never finish, but when your plate is almost licked clean, you know it was a delight.

The coffee is regular stuff in most attractive mugs, and if I can get the photos to download, you'll see what I mean. If not, take my word and go visit the place. It's worth the drive.

My horse shoer, John Fuller, is coming soon to nail on Lily's first-ever shoes and to give Mr. Lefty a much-needed pedicure. The two will head off next Saturday for school, so they'll get their finishing touches of preparation today.

Happy Friday and, in honor of Arbor Day, be sure to plant a tree!

Pretty stuff

My former student, Darlene Deeter Steffensen, sent me this yesterday. She reads my blog and figured I needed to be reminded that the flies and flowers will come. Of course, Darlene snapped this shot over on the West Coast, where I've been told by my daughter Annie that there has been a spring.

We're still hoping.

I did some fencing yesterday----after the snow followed by rain finally ceased. This project was a stretch along the border between our place and Meserve's. Stan has been repairing fence for the past few days in preparation for Bert Wood's herd of cows. He just kinda shook his head yesterday, as we visited over the fence in a furious snowstorm, and said usually the cows come by May 1, but he doubts there'll be enough grass by then.

We have a double row of fences between our place and Meserve's. The previous owners of this place had the goats and the goat fences. Stan said he usually didn't worry too much because those cows would have to go through his electric wire and then four strands of electrified zappings if they were wanting to come over for a visit.

We quit the all-electrified look and its no-so-inviting sensations that scared off neighbors, cows, deer, just about anything that dared set foot onto this place. The fences remain but not the jolts. I think the word has gotten out too, especially to the deer, and last year some of Bert's calves knew those fences on our side held no punch.

We don't intend to go back to shock-and-awe here, but we do have fence to fix. Last night's project involved about an hour's worth of pulling up the correct strands from the ground and stringing them back through their respective clamps. It took some time, and my finished job "ain't purty," as some folks would say, but I think it will work.

We've got lots of other sections of fence to do, and I figure if we approach a segment a day, we could get it all back in order within the next couple of weeks.

The rainy, snowy weather has been good for soft ground. That's good for some things, bad for others. Bill gave me pointers on using the new Kubota tractor with its loader because I was anxious to move the long bread-loaf pile of barn shavings and manure that built up over the winter.

After a couple of tries with the loader (I'm still learning to get coordinated with the up-down, up-down gears for bucket and its hydraulic lift), I stopped that job cuz the tractor was leaving big ruts in the grassy area around the piles.

The wet is good for digging up new sod, though. So, this week, one of my daily projects has been spading new rows couple of feet at a time in the garden west of the house. When and if it's safe to put all that greenhouse stuff outside, I'll need plenty of room, especially for all those healthy cucumber plants---and the cantaloupes.

Maybe, by this weekend, if weather forecast holds true with temps in the 60s, I can quit dreaming about pretty stuff and start snapping my own photos.

In the meantime, thanks, Darlene for the reminder. I did send your photo off to my sisters, Laurie and Barbara, who will be glad to know that flies are flourishing over there on the coast.

Double Yuck, Wednesday

The snow will not go away. We seem to be getting our "winter storm," originally scheduled for last weekend. So, it's one more day no flies will fly.


Lady McBeth aka "Hillary" will not go away.


In honor of William Shakespeare's birthday, I'll borrow a couple of phrases from the bard to express my thoughts on this double-yuck Wednesday:

"Hell is murky"

"Out, damn'd spot! out, I say!"

About the flies: Laurie's theory of relativity

Of course, the conversation gravitated to the usual topic. I was visiting my sisters last night. There are horse shows coming up in late May so I needed to provide them some copies of Lefty's registration and my Arabian Horse Club membership card. They'll add that paperwork to the packet when they send in the entries tomorrow.

We talked about movies and neighborhood gossip and horses---and fake tails for horses whose tails got chewed off over the winter. Then, our gabfest shifted to the cruise-control topic of the past five months: lamenting the endless winter.

Barbara told of a moment yesterday morning while she was driving to school. She had reached the Safeway store in town, having driven through clear skies and sun, only to see a true split personality. She could still see the clear skies in her review mirror but could hardly see in front of her because of a blinding snowstorm.

I'm guessing that was just right around the time I was bragging about no snow yesterday in my blog posting, only to momentarily look up and see the raging blizzard outside my window.

Well, we continued to talk weather and how hard it had been on everyone--definitely a subject everyone keeps talking about, no matter where you go. My sisters told me they'd heard that the local campgrounds along the Pend Oreille River, which usually start catering to guests by May 1, have pushed back their opening dates by two weeks.

To that, I said, "Well, we've all been short-changed this year."

To that, Laurie said, "But remember the flies."

To that, I smiled and instantly nixed any further commentary, agreeing with my younger sister. It was time to quit complaining.

After all, the day before, during a similar "ain't it awful" conversation, Laurie had brought up the flies.

"Think of the flies," she said. "They've had a real bummer this year. Their lives have been cut short by at least a couple of months." Laurie went on to point out that their population has suffered probably a lot more than the rest of us earthly critters.

What's a bunch of storm damage if you don't have a life? Who cares whether or not the flowers will ever come up if your life hasn't yet gotten off the ground?

I'm sure the flies in their larva stages aren't at all impressed with any of our moaning or groaning. After all, they're not yet alive to land on our noses where they can get an up-close and personal view of just what's on our mind that day.

Laurie's assertion concerning the flies does tend to stop one's tongue short. It's all relative, I guess, and if you're a fly, you've really got troubles this year.

So, if you catch yourself today or tomorrow bitching, moaning, complaining, cussing about the cruel hand life has dealt you, just think for one second and save the comments.

At least you've got a life.

The flies don't.

When they do, though, you'd be wise to have those swatters handy, cuz the little buggers have got good reason to be mad this year. You can bet that any self-respecting fly is gonna make hay with that limited life span and annoy the heck out of you.

Monday, Monday . . . . and No Snow, not just 'nother day

For the past week, the weather forecasters have added to our Seasonal Mood Deficits. "Snow this weekend," they said. As the week wore on getting closer to the predicted dump, the snow got deeper and more "measurable," as they like to say---3-6 inches. One guy, all bundled up in his winter coat and stocking cap, who walks by my place every day, used the term "appreciable" when referring to what he'd heard.

That made me mad, and that was about mid-week. Anyone who uses any term even resembling the word "appreciate" to describe a snowy weekend in late April after at least 16 snowy weekends since November needs to go to the nearest English teacher and brush up on better choices of words to suit certain situations. I'm not blaming the gaffe on the stocking cap guy; he probably heard it from a weather forecaster.

Time for those folks to go to some PC lessons for weather forecasting, just so they can make it easier on their audiences who have had just about enough of their interminable winter forecasts and are yearning, begging, wishing, praying, beating their heads against the wall, hoping for some "appreciable" sun and warm, dry weather. And, learning how to let us winter-stricken folks down a little easier with their dire predictions might be good for weather forecasters' mental and physical health.

This "winter storm watch" stuff for five days straight could be just as dangerous this time of the year as those weapons of mass destruction in Iraq. In this case, the weapons of mass destruction do exist---in the form of two-legged, weary humans who could inflict some severe damage on weather forecasters if they have the nerve one more time to tell us about "appreciable" snow.

In their favor and probably to their relief, however, just like the weapons of mass destruction, the winter storm has not been found----at least at the Lovestead. I'm sure Tom Sherry could go somewhere to find some snow, but he ain't gonna find it here, and for that I am very thankful. I was very thankful for yesterday, and I told Bill it may just be that God is happy with me.

I went to church. And, I must say, that for once, there was a bit more snow up Bonners Ferry way than here in Selle. The priest did not faint upon seeing me sitting in my back-corner pew. He simply said with a smile, "I got you here." What Fr. Carlos didn't know was that he, indeed, got me there out of desperation.

Mother and I have been talking all winter about our being sentenced to Purgatory aka the never-ending winter for something bad we must have done. I've suggested to her a couple of times that it probably has a lot to do with the bad things she's been saying about Hillary. But that's a lame argument because I know we're not the only people in America who have said bad things about Hillary, and a lot of them have not endured a winter like ours.

So, there must be something else we've done to deserve this, and, of course, as Catholics, we're guilty. Anyway, I decided yesterday that maybe an appearance at Mass would make God happy enough to spare us anymore winter misery. And, it seemed to work.

I couldn't believe what a beautiful (yes, cold) day we had yesterday. Instead of one more day of bundling up inside, cussing what was going on outside, we were able to finish removing almost all items from the storage shed, take stuff to the dump, visit with friends at the wood pile and even go for a nice little hike on a beautiful piece of Fish and Game property. Later, I cleaned out some more garden beds and even got started pushing back all those horse manure piles that built up over the winter.

It was definitely a day of "pennies from Heaven," and I'm sure God was as happy to see me show up at Mass as Fr. Carlos was. So, I'm going to do my best to appear more often.

Oops, hold that thought! And, this is the honest-to-goodness truth----this very second, after all this raving and praising God about the no-show of more "winter of mass destruction," I've just looked out the window, and what do I see?

You guessed it. And, a lot of it flurrying around like a swarm of furious killer bees.

God and I are going to have to have a talk.

Slightdetour Extra: Hats off to Hal and Virginia Overland who systematically picked up a heckuva lot of trash from ditches in the Center Valley complex of roads yesterday. They took their 4-wheeler and trailer. While Hal drove and spotted trash, Virginia jumped out and picked it up. If ya see either of these fine Bonner County locals, tell them thanks for doing their Earth Day civic project. Their efforts are much-appreciated.

Earth Day -- 2008

I just finished reading the full-page ad in the Spokesman, providing 50 ways to save the earth, and I liked the last one, which seemed to be a veiled approach to keep newspaper subscription numbers up. Wrap those presents in old newspapers, especially the funnies.

I like that idea for a variety of reasons. I hate buying expensive wrapping paper for a present for which I've already spent too much money. I also hate wrapping gifts cuz I never do a very neat job. Wrapping a present in a newspaper gives a person a little slack on the aforementioned problem. Who expects the funnies to look exquisite?

Of course, there's a double-edged sword in newspaper wrapping ploy. That would mean a continuance of cutting down trees, and that's not good for the earth----or is it? I think the big argument in tree cutting has more to do with which trees get the axe and for what reasons. My husband, the forester, would not slap all hands for cutting down trees.

Trees need room to grow, and if a whole bunch of trees are taking up the same root space, they're gonna have a hard time growing, just like those baby cabbages out in my greenhouse. I didn't realize I'd plopped half a dozen seeds in each pot. So far, in their infant stages, they're doing okay, but I hate to fathom the sight of half a dozen mature cabbage heads vying for food, drink and attention in a two inch by two inch container.

So, I'm going to have to do a thinning project. In the cabbages' case, I can uproot those little guys and put them each in a different container for if and when the winter ever ends around here, allowing me to put them in the ground.

With trees---especially if they get stuck together in a small plot and somebody doesn't notice until they're a few years old---transplanting isn't easy, and if moving them at that point is possible, there's a certain expense involved. So, sometimes people have to go through and thin out a few by, yes, cutting them down, to allow better growing space for the others.

How did I get on this topic? Oh yeah, it was using those newspapers to wrap my presents and, thus, save the earth. By the way, my husband, the forester, does follow one of the other 50 suggestions: he plants trees and lots of them---with plenty of space in between. He's got a new supply for this year and has spent several nights this week out in the woods, planting young 'uns. I hope the earth is noticing.

Actually, we tend to observe Earth Day guidelines with most things every day, and I think a lot of people do. Earth Day comes about, however, because of the dipsticks who can't or won't pick up after themselves, and we seem to have plenty of those in this world. For example, I've noticed the highways are getting worse every year with litter amounts.

There's only one excuse for this abomination and laziness on the part of drivers who fling their stuff out the window rather than putting it in a trash bag. Maybe they care more about their car than they do the earth. And, maybe, like me, they don't always have a trash bag in their car. Also, maybe these people have seen the interior of cars like mine, and they've gotten disgusted with what a pig that lady is. Yes, my car is a moving garbage-mobile.

Candy wrappers, chip bags, gum boxes, pop cans and bottles, shopping lists, receipts, clothes for whatever level of winter we happen to be enduring that day, baggies of dog biscuits, 50-pound sacks of grain, boxes of books, sand, mud, a dirty sheet covering the back seat for muddy doggies, doggie leashes, notebooks, flashlights, extra shoes, old newspapers waiting to wrap presents, Sandpoint magazines, dirty towels for drying off dirty doggies or the muddy running boards-------it's all there within the framework of my Jimmy. I'm sure I missed a few items.

Yup, those people who throw their garbage out there along the roadside---they've probably seen the interiors of cars like mine, and their jalopy pride just won't allow them contribute to the poor white trash mobiles like mine. So, they fling it out the window, and the rest of us have to look at it and get disgusted.

Well, at least, most of the windows in my Jimmy are tinted, so you really have to be looking to see my trash. And, every once in a while when I can stand it no more, I take a big green trash bag out there, fill it, vacuum my car and get ready for the next gradual garbage growth. So, the next time you see all that trash along the roadsides, take heart in the fact that those pigs who threw it out there probably have squeaky clean cars, and, in their mind, they're doing something for the Earth.

All kidding aside, it wouldn't take a lot of effort for everyone to spend a second or two to pick up litter in the areas they inhabit and wherever they happen to travel on a daily basis. I didn't see that suggestion on the 50 ways to save the earth, but I'm guessing it should be common sense.

Happy Earth Day. Save the earth. Pick up a gum wrapper. Save those newspapers, and become a conscientious gift wrapper.

Saturday Slightly BIG STORE

Oprah has her "Big Give." Seinfeld had the "Big Salad." Tensed, Idaho, and this sisterhood, plus one sister-in-law with an injured ankle have the "BIG STORE." They opened Wednesday in downtown Tensed along HWY 95, and they're tired but excited. They've got BIG PLANS for the BIG STORE, including a deli starting Monday and possibly biscuits and gravy for the early crowd.

Marilyn Todd, the sister on the right and the self-proclaimed "mouth," says the enterprise is just a bunch of "retired broads" who decided to run a store. Her sisters, Sharon Cummings and Pat Magers, and sister-in-law Lynda Dohrman took over the store recently, spruced it up and opened it this week with a nice array of light groceries---that would include both big and little bags of chips and soft drinks in their vintage coke machine. Their mother's range is in the store, and they want to deal with some antiques, but for now, getting the store in full operation takes up their time.

I met the ladies last night on my way home from Moscow (sorry, Laura, I got a late start or would have stopped in Plummer to say hi). I needed a cup of coffee and a treat for the remainder of my road trip. Hadn't noticed the store before, but something drew my eye to it---not the sign, though.

One sister told me she forked out a hundred dollars to get one of the Tensed locals to erect it for her next week. Then, there will be no way travelers can miss the "Big Store." By the way, it's not visible, but in the lower right-hand corner, I noticed someone added "AKA Clem's." I'm sure there's a story behind that.

I gathered from our visit last night that its name is legendary to Tensed folks. Apparently, there was the "Little Store" and the "BIG STORE," but the little store burned down. Since I just had a napkin for notes, I didn't get all the details, but I did get the impression that anyone who stops at Tensed's "BIG STORE" is in for great service and a story or two from friendly owners doing their darndest to run a thriving enterprise.

I learned a lot more about the sisters who have more sisters and brothers, most living in the Tensed area after transplanting to Idaho in 1956 when their dad came through, driving a hay truck from Central Washington. Eventually, he exchanged his farmer bibs for logging duds and his hay truck for a logging truck. Some members of the family followed suit, and one is even a forester at Riley Creek Lumber Co.

My experience at the BIG STORE last night was definitely worth the stop, and I assured the gals that I'd be checking in on all further trips down HWY 95, if for no other reason than to enjoy their enthusiastic hospitality. Who knows---maybe one of these days, they'll decide to put a "BIG SALAD" on the menu, and maybe even Oprah might come driving by with her friend Gail to enjoy the fun.

Thanks, ladies, for a good time. And, good luck.

***************

I had a great time in Moscow yesterday, handing out Appaloosa cookies at the Appaloosa Journal office, meeting the magazine staff and visiting with my friend, Diane, who's the editor. The university bookstore, along with event organizer, Patty Carscallen and manager Peg Godwin, enjoyed a plate of cookies also.

The book signing didn't have too many lapses cuz familiar faces kept showing up at the table. I met one more member of the Crockett family yesterday. This would be the older brother of the younger brother, whom Willie interviewed for the Idaho Press-Tribune a few weeks ago. The younger brother is state champion wrestler and all-around scholar athlete from Parma, while the older brother, a very patient young man named John is a year out from receiving his electrical engineering degree from the U of I. He, his girl friend, his mom and grandmother were all there to greet me at the signing.

Lots of other nice folks made the time go by quickly, including my longtime friend and classmate Susan Tate from Palouse. The signing was definitely fun and worth the drive. Thanks so much to the university bookstore folks for their work in sponsoring the event.

******************

I'm sitting here this morning, looking out the window toward the front yard. That powdered-sugar layer of brand-new snow that covering the grass is slowly disappearing, but more is falling. They promised us this several days ago, and it seems that when the promise involves rotten weather this year, it's always kept. At least, it's not bad enough to stop outside activities, which this weekend will include removal of more stuff from the storage shed.

Maybe next week the contractor will come and lay out the exact dimensions for the new shed, and maybe in a couple of weeks, one more reminder of a devastating winter will be but a passing memory.

Happy Saturday to all.

Back to campus

I'm off to Moscow today for a book signing at the University of Idaho bookstore. It's Mom's weekend, and registration takes place at the bookstore during the signing, which begins at 3 p.m. So, if I'm lucky maybe I can trip a few people and convince them to buy a book or two.

Actually, I refuse to use those tactics at book signings. Maybe I should. I remember years ago sitting next to another author at the Book and Game in Coeur d'Alene's Silver Lake Mall. He sold a lot more books than I did, but don't even ask me what the book titles were. They were forgettable but not his behavior.

Though he never quite tripped any unsuspecting folks walking by our table, he did accost every unsuspecting sucker he could, luring them toward his pile and spewing forth such an obnoxious hard sell, most of his victims bought a book just to get away from that table. It was embarrassing, and it was a long two hours sitting there next to him.

Book events, from an author's perspective, are worth a book in themselves. One sees a little bit of everything in the realm of human behavior. Lots of people walking past your table do everything in their power to avoid eye contact, while others will come up, pick up the book, look over the cover, grill you with questions getting your hopes up for a sale, put the book back in the pile and walk off, wishing you a nice day.

I know from prior conversations that I'm going to see a couple of familiar faces today. In fact, it's very possible I'll see our next-door neighbors. Stan and Geneva have a lovely granddaughter graduating this spring, so they're planning to finish their fishing trip and show up for the weekend festivities. Like Bill says, it's amazing when your next-door neighbors will drive 128 miles to say hello. Well, they do have a few other plans on their agenda besides a visit to my signing.

It's always fun to go back to Moscow, where I spent four years getting myself educated. Oops, that's a half truth, and I might get a low rating like Hillary on my trust-meter. I should say that I spent part of four years getting educated academically and a great deal of time playing pinochle. I got really good at pinochle while residing in the Wallace Complex, in fact, so good that if we were in mid-game when class time came up, I stayed with the cards. Too many times, in fact.

I also recall a lot of early-afternoon absences during freshman year, thanks to "As the World Turns." I was hardly alone while sitting in the packed Carter Hall TV room from 12:30-1:30 p.m. as we skipped that 1:10 class to watch the ever-tantalizing tales of the Hughes family. Was that couple's name "Bob and Lisa?" That's been a long, long time ago, and I know that I eventually dropped that particular soap in favor of following Tad, Greg and Jenny on "All My Children" in the '80s.

Years spent at Moscow were not always fun for me cuz I didn't have much money and spent a lot of my time trying to earn money through the Work-Study program at the Radio-Television Center. The Federal government program did the trick, though, through my senior year, when its funding abruptly ended, and I had to borrow that last $800 for second semester from my folks. Paid every penny back, too.

I graduated in 1969, hardly at the top of academic lists, but proud that for the first time in my life I had achieved a major goal completely through my own self-discipline. The large cadre of parents, neighbors, teachers, other local mentors no longer watched over me, urging and encouraging me onward. If I was gonna get that college degree, it was going to be through my own diligence----and the realization of that goal made all the difference---even if it wasn't pretty by academic standards.

There is much on the University of Idaho campus which provides me a "homecoming" of sorts every time I visit. It definitely reminds me of a time in life when my self image took a major hit or two, simply because of my own doing or lack thereof. Still, I learned pinochle, learned about the people of the world, and learned a lot about myself. Yes, I did learn from the professors too---many truths about life and many generalities about all there was yet to learn.

We were works-in-progress then, and I believe, almost 40 years later, we continue to be. I'm looking forward to seeing a new generation of soon-to-be graduates stroll through the bookstore with their moms this afternoon.

Whether they walk past and avoid eye contact or actually stop at my table to buy a book, I know I'll come home smiling because the event will serve as my own temporary trip back to a time of life and a place where my small world expanded just a wee bit.

Celebrating Life and the Working Dogs

This is the closest that I could come to going "bling" last night. Kristy O (aka Osmunson) and her new Bomshel partner, Kelley, (http://www.bomshel.com/) came to Sandpoint and put on a benefit concert for the Celebrate Life program.
Celebrate Life was created by Julie Walkington, sister of my dear friend and hero, Jenny Jacobson Meyer, who fights that unforgiving foe called Cancer every day. In fighting, Jenny also celebrates----every single day of life that God will give her.
Her sister started Celebrate Life a few years ago in the form of a walk-run event across the Lake Pend Oreille walking bridge. Since then, the program has changed and expanded. Nowadays, Celebrate Life funds go to any need families dealing with cancer may have----gas money, coffee money, a night at a restaurant. Decisions on how to spend the money are made individually according to each need as it arises.
Well, last night Bomshel put on a heckuva show at the Ponderay Events Center, and the people who love Jenny and others fighting cancer came to listen and to give. I don't know yet how much money was raised in last night's benefit, but I know I had a great time.
I heard more than once that the event was like a Sandpoint High reunion---only in Ponderay.
Thanks to Bomshel for entertaining and for providing a forum where we can remember to celebrate the lives of those who fight those uphill battles every day.
Before going, I told Bill that my jean jacket was about as close to "bling" as I could get. Then, he reminded me of the big belt buckle, given to me by a friend several years ago. I wore it with pride and joined in on the fun with thoughts of love for Jenny and all who came to celebrate her and Life itself.
A good time was had by all, especially during the Bomshel stomp.

~~~~~~~

As for the dog photos, I took them throughout my travels around the place yesterday while raking and beholding the first flowers of spring. Those dogs do work a long day, and I'm not exactly sure if the horses appreciate their diligence to self-imposed horse-watching duty.

~~~~~~

Celebrate Life today and every day.

Workin' 9-5: What a way to make a living!

Selle goldmine

I brought home a sack of gold yesterday. It weighs about 15 pounds, so you can imagine its value in today's precious metals market. It's not exactly metal, but be assured I'm planning to guard it with my life. If I don't, there's a chance that 70 years worth of women's precious investments could go down the tubes, and I wouldn't want to be responsible.

The Coldwater Creek shopping bag has three scrapbooks and a collection of autobiographies written by the "ladies of the Selle Club." I'm not sure who brought them, but when I saw the pile of scrapbooks, it was all I could do to concentrate on the monthly meeting of the Selle Extension Club, but my ears did perk up every time Wilma Erickson said something.

Wilma, who, I believe, is 95, joined the club back in 1946. Occasionally, she would think of items of importance from back in those days, like Rural Electrification Act (REA) of 1936, which brought electricity to rural America. She knew there was a connection with REA and a connection with the county home extension entity. Someone pipe up yesterday that there is no home extension agent in Bonner County anymore, but they weren't sure.

I suggested we have someone from the University of Idaho extension office come to one of our meetings and explain to us what the present set-up involves, since most of us are used to the era of the agricultural and home extension agents providing guidance to farmers and homemakers.

During the meeting Carol Burroughs read the by-laws, adopted back in April, 1938, when the club reorganized (the scrapbook hints of members back in the 1920s), calling itself Selle Extension Workers. A few items among those by-laws are still followed faithfully: the vice president serving as the "sunshine chairman," meetings held the third Tuesday of each month, five members constituting a forum, meetings in June, July and August shall be held at 1 p.m.

The 70-year-old bylaws don't mandate it, but summer meetings involve only a dessert rather than the covered-dish potluck lunch with meeting beginning at 11 a.m. most other months. Since it's April, yesterday's array of goodies was impressive as usual---casseroles, homemade bread with Carol Burrough's chive butter, fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies from Susan Beebe, pickled beets, Carol's prizewinning huckleberry-apple pie, to name a few.

The standard policy for the group is to assign hostesses for each month except Christmas and Mother's Day (when restaurant meetings are scheduled), and each hostess has an assistant to help. The doxology before sitting down to lunch involves a variety of voices doing their best at "Praise God from Whom All Blessings Come." Some of the voices, like yours truly, keep the singing to a mere whisper.

I asked Wilma if she could ever remember any conflict within the organization. She said no. Nothing in the bylaws says anything about handling strife, so it's obvious these ladies have maintained a sense of civility for decades.

A few things have changed over the years. No all-day meetings, no major connection to extension work, and dues have inflated from $3 a year to $5. I also noticed that they let me into the organization, waiving the two-meeting waiting period, where I should first come as a guest. And, I gathered that they've forgotten to read the bylaws a time or two as deemed essential each November.

I think several members of the group were surprised to learn that the colors for Selle Club are rose and bronze. I also heard a few chuckles when Carol read the rule about members 80 years of age or above being no longer required to bring a covered dish to meetings. Isabella Hohlreigal and I agreed that we all have something to look forward to if we just stick with it.

I have just begun to peruse the scrapbooks and have learned that the group was limited to 15 members back in 1938. Only 11 attended that first meeting at Ida Surby's home, where Miss Curtis conducted the first lesson: Lesson 1, Series 1, No. 7: pinking scissors. I'm assuming Miss Curtis must have been the extension agent.

Officers included president Lucinda Hart and secretary Anna Cox. I guess the sunshine chairman came later in December when Lucinda Hart stepped down as president and took over secretarial duties while Charlotte Perry was elected president and Georgia Cox, vice president.

Yesterday Nita Schoonover presided over the meeting. I noticed in the first scrapbook, which covers 1938-1999 that her mom, Ruth Beauchamp, was a member also.

I'm anxious to sit down and look through the rest of the scrapbooks detailing the history of the phenomenal women in this community where I feel so fortunate to live.

There's a wealth here in humanity that supersedes any price traders could ever put on precious metals like gold. I feel honored to be a newbie among this club that has impressively withstood the test of time and clung to simple goals of friendship, good works----and, of course, good cooking.

And, to know that when I turn 80, I'll no longer have to bring a covered dish---now that's a goal worth pursuing.

Fewer halters, no less

I was glad to see Tennessee Mule Artist Bonnie Shields' letter-to-the-editor in this morning's local paper. My funny friend Bonnie wrote in to remind folks who think those halters look pretty on horses out in the field that they could find a not-so-pretty sight some day.

If there's a way to hurt themselves, horses will find it, and leaving a halter on them while unattended will guarantee the odds of tragic circumstances all the more. Horses are worse than kids when it comes to curiosity and to getting into life-threatening fixes. As Bonnie pointed out, parts of halters tend to get caught on things, and a horse's first reaction when caught on something is flight-related. Pull back and get the hell out of Dodge.

I was very fortunate one evening last summer when Miss Lily slid her head between the gate and the gate post and got it stuck really tight underneath the chain keeping the gate shut. I discovered her there and didn't know whether to run to the house for help or try to pry her out myself. This occurred after I'd already lost my two buddies, Rambo and Casey. So, you can imagine my emotional state at the time.

Surprisingly, I was able to remain calm and talk Lily into holding that head perfectly still, while my fingers quickly worked around the chain, eventually ripping one end from the post where it was attached. Lily lived, and I breathed one of the biggest of many big sighs of relief during my long tenure of hanging around with horses. I don't even want to imagine a halter being added to that potentially disastrous mix.

So, my hat goes off to Bonnie for reminding horse owners around the county to take those halters off their horses and mules, except for when they want to lead them or tie them up. She also pointed out that you don't just walk off and leave a horse tied up, cuz again, in their boredom, many can find a way to harm themselves.

I have a feeling Bonnie's letter came from occasional observations while driving by fields or pens and seeing horses headed for trouble with those halters. She probably sighed a few times and finally decided to put her thoughts to words cuz she saw that scene one too many times, figuring if folks don't know better, maybe someone ought to remind them of this important safety measure with their animals.

So, she penned her letter, and hopefully this morning, some halters subtlely disappeared from pastures where Bonnie passes by. My supposition of Bonnie's motivation reminds me of similar moments I experience as a career English teacher whose job is to protect language abuse for the good of all. One situation in particular assaults my ears every morning while I'm scooping poop in the horse stalls, close to where the halters lie while my two buddies find enough trouble out there in the barnyard.

Every morning on the country station, there's an ad where the announcer talks about "less stops," and I cringe just like Bonnie must when she sees a field full of haltered horses. Now, granted, nobody's gonna die because of "less stops," but in English teacher circles, it's possible that if we could get at that announcer or at whoever wrote his words, we'd snatch them bald-headed and then tell them it's supposed to be "fewer miles."

We English teachers are just that kind of beast because we love the language and love hearing it used correctly. The basic rule is that if you can count it---like your fingers or your marbles---you use "fewer." If it's an amount that you can't separate it into individual parts----like flour or water---use "less."

Of course, when you've got flowers, you received fewer flowers for Valentine's Day this year, and you wonder if your love life has gone bad. If you say you received "less" flowers, there may be a reason Loverboy, who knows his grammar, is short-changing you.

Many of these abuses insult my ears, but I'm not the kind who rudely corrects folks in mid-conversation. That's just not nice. When people are functioning in professional circles, however, I'll cringe and shout at the radio or TV, just like I did to Chris Matthews on his MSNBC "Hard Ball" show yesterday when he pulled off one of his ubiquitous infringements of the basic irregular verb principal parts rules.

Someone "sunk" something, according to Chris. Can't remember the exact context, but I heard "sunk" with no helper and yelled out loud at Chris. I must ask Chris, "Did the Titanic really sunk 100 years ago yesterday?" Chris Matthews is a Holy Cross grad and a former columnist for a big newspaper; I'll bet his editor cringed all the time. Chris makes big bucks and gets away with assassinating the language virtually every day.

I really like Chris Matthews' show most of the time. I even can deal with his slobbering all over himself when he gets worked up. Nevertheless, I have no tolerance for his continual abuse of grammatical correctness that should have been taught, learned and practiced from seventh-grade on, especially in Chris' era, cuz he's the same vintage as I am, and I know they taught grammar back in those days.

Well, Bonnie, you ol' Mule Artist, look at what you started. I pray that offending horse owners read your words in this morning's submission, that they slinked out to the barnyard to do their duty and that when you drive by their places from this day forth, you'll see a lot "fewer" halters on those horses' heads.

Otherwise, I'm afraid we're just sunk in our endeavor to write the wrongs of the world. If "only" people would listen and learn. And, speaking of "only," that one gets abused too, but I'll save that rant for another day.

The Alternative Route

It struck me on this dreary rainy Monday that I haven't been to town in a few days. Maybe that's what I'll do for fun sometime today after all the stuff I can do indoors is done. It's kind of a strange feeling to think about how often I DON'T go to town anymore in comparison to the good ol' days when a trip to Yoke's or the Sandpoint post office was a staple at least once a day every single day.

These days, with exhorbitant gas prices and living nine miles out, I plan those trips to town with an eye for efficiency before ever leaving the house. I list all the places I have to go and stack what needs to go to the post office or the bank on the kitchen island so I don't forget. I also plot out the most direct route to the closest places to complete the errands, usually as much on the north side of Sandpoint as possible. Gotta make the gas count and gotta make the time count.

Used to be that I just jumped in the car whenever any errand came up, did it, came home, and never thought twice about making a separate trip to do other errands. Life has certainly changed because of the gas prices and, more importantly, because of not wanting to deal with the traffic snarls and stops that have come to dominate downtown maneuvering.

Friday night we drove to Hope for dinner. It's the second Friday in a row, and we decided we've rather like the option. Hope is 15 miles away, but the extra miles and gas are worth it when you consider the main reason for going out for dinner is relaxation and enjoyment. Within those first few miles, we're crossing the bridge over Lower Pack River and getting the first views of magnificent Lake Pend Oreille.

We also have no stoplights to keep us waiting. The scenery is always breath-taking, even to 60-year-olds who've lived here forever.

On this route, we note the progress on Jack Nicklaus' Idaho Club golf course and high-end housing development. Doesn't make us happy to know parts of that mountain are being blown away to afford space and roads for million-dollar second homes, but fortunately, most of it can't be seen from the highway. Overall, the drive to Hope is carefree and relaxing in comparison to what seems to be the norm in downtown Sandpoint these days.

Two weeks ago we went to Ice House Pizza and had a funky good time while feasting one of Bear's unique pizzas. This past Friday night we chose the Hope Market Cafe and enjoyed another wonderful dining experience in a setting where a full view down the channel of Lake Pend Oreille more than satisfies the esthetic palette while waiting for the market's vast array of dining specials, gourmet pizzas, or hamburgers.

We chose the Hope Market because I learned last week that one of my former students, Skip Harris, prepares the food and presents it beautifully and artistically. Bill ordered the Tony & Oli pizza with marinara, Canadian bacon, Italian sausage, mushrooms, onion and green peppers while I chose the frostburger with a mouth-watering fat patty dressed in Canadian bacon, aged cheddar, stoneground mustard, romaine and homemade bun.

Neither of us was disappointed in this relaxing and tasty experience at what was once Butler's One Stop, turned restaurant and market. One can also do some shopping while dining because the restaurant managers stock several shelves with exquisitely-packaged gourmet items from around the world.

We saw a jar of dried mushrooms go out the door in the hands of some satisfied patrons who ordered Skip's stuffed sole dish that night. While perusing the shelves of pasta, olive oil, cheeses and other assorteds, I couldn't resist an attractive jar of chocolate syrup prepared in Red Lodge, Mont. We've been enjoying delightful chocolate reminders of our Hope Market visit on top of our vanilla ice cream every night since.

Life has definitely changed our ways since we moved out here, and the location offers us a variety of routes to go when we want to escape the hubbub and snarls that seem to dominate the downtown atmosphere these days. There's always Bonners Ferry, and our gradual discovery of the Hope possibilities makes for some fun times in leisurely scenic drives, fine dining and stress-free shopping without dreading the waits at stop signs or railroad crossings.

Nonetheless, it's always good to get into town to see what I'm missing. So, that's probably what I'll do to for a fun distraction on this rainy day. Of course, I'll make up an errand list before I go.

A Lovely day at the Lovestead

My knees told me a couple of times that yesterday was, indeed, the first full breath of spring. The downside to the first full breath of spring comes in the form of an achy body, which is suddenly called upon to perform at a level about 400 percent beyond the norm. That's what mine did yesterday, begrudgingly so at times.

My first clue that the bottle of Advil might get some use came when I saw something blue behind the border trees between us and the Meserve's. Actually, my horses spotted it first. I watched for a while and then shouted out, "I'll bet that's Stan out there fixing fence." It took a couple of shouts, but within seconds Stan emerged from behind those beautiful spruces he and Geneva planted nearly 60 years ago.

As we stood next to my garden surveying damage and talking about the beautiful day, my knees started a conversation of their own, letting me know of their suffering. Standing in one spot for any extended period of time always turns almost excruciating for me. Must be old age; I started noticing the phenomenon a few years ago while running into folks at the county fair.

Of course, every conversation in these friendly settings extends beyond what your knees can take. So, like kids hanging with Mom at the grocery store as she visits with everyone she knows, those impatient joints begin their protest, constantly reminding you that they're miserable and it's time to move on.

It's hard when you're in the midst of a good conversation with an old friend to suddenly cut it off, using the excuse that your knees are aching beyond belief, so you grin and keep on talking, in spite of constant, irritating reminders that the suffering joints have had enough.

I did okay with Stan, cuz it was morning, and I hadn't worked afoot for very long. The knees forgave me, quit their whining, and I went on with the day, working like an ant getting ready for winter. Only, this was an old lady getting ready for spring. The day involved lots of raking, as predicted, several million more dog logs and billions of dead leaves.

The project of cleaning the lawn did remind me a bit of the image I used incorrectly in Lessons with Love of Lucy (the "I Love Lucy Show" of the good ol' days) at the assembly line losing ground with cream pies. Even through a proofreader's correction, I changed it back to pies, when it should have been chocolates. Anyway, it wasn't yummy chocolates or scrumptious cream pies yesterday.

I couldn't keep up with dog log awakenings. Seems every time I hauled off a wheel barrow load of leaves and logs, I'd come back to a new area where the snow had melted and whole new series of log decks emerged. As I look outside this morning, I can see even more from overnight. Some might even be fresh, but they'll be in the path of my rake today.

Yesterday's projects also involved hauling off garbage and hauling off "precious" items boxed up for years that we moved from the old place to the Lovestead and stacked inside the storage shed. My dump run included a whole lot of rolled up goat wire, a dead coffee pot, several water-soaked English workbooks, a heap of metal bands used for cedar shavings bales and Bill's bank statements.

Now, I had to get permission to haul off those boxes of bank statements from banks that no longer exist here in Sandpoint, but finally he relented. Bill was concerned that thieves will break into the Transfer Station, where ya have to show your '08 trash sticker, during the night and dive into those dumpsters full of assorted dead items in garbage bags, kitty litter, rotted food and goat wire, searching for his bank statements from West One bank.

And, then he'll have an identity theft problem. I assured him that since West One (once Idaho First National) has long been replaced by U.S. Bank, he's probably okay. Besides, back in the days when he was keeping those bank statements, I'm sure they revealed a not-so-enticing account balance for a potential thief. Surely other folks' bank statements would look much more alluring than the banty-sized nest-egg we had back in the West One era.

Anyway, the statements went along with all the other garbage collection from the storage shed. The trip to the transfer station allowed me some sitting time and the dogs their customary free hand-out from the friendly station greeter.

I also moved a lot of stuff, like cross country skis and garden tools, to other areas for temporary storage. I made lots of trips to the greenhouse to make sure its 80-degree temperature didn't dry out the plants too much. During the day at least half a dozen cucumbers popped up.

One time I went inside to take a break, and just as I shut the door, the dogs started barking. They were greeting, in their doggie way, my friend Edna and her two granddaughters who had biked over from their place about a mile away. After visiting with Edna and the girls for a minute, I heard those knees once more complaining, with good reason. This time I suggested we go sit on the brick border around the dog kennel.

The knees shut up while Edna and I did some catching up and one granddaughter played "Catch the Coffee Can" with Kiwi and Kea. Yesterday brought out the best of everyone, and it was good to do some visiting in between projects. Amazing what a true spring day will do for people's moods and for their desire to make the most of every lovely moment.

We're blessed to have yet another gorgeous day today. Weather folks are predicting the '70s. It's possible that if we make one more assault on that storage shed, we'll have most of the tedious stuff transferred somewhere else in preparation for its full takedown and the construction of our new building in a couple of weeks.

If anyone has a use for several hundred square feet of vinyl, it's yours for the taking----after we get the shed emptied, of course. We might even throw in some painted, used cedar paneling for lagnappe. I learned that we can sell the metal framing for 3 cents a pound to Pacific Hide and Steel, so we'll probably go that route.

One more thing on that truly lovely day. I had a chance to brush up both horses and give them an opportunity to try some footing somewhere other than their mucky barnyard. Both showed their appreciation by behaving better than usual. I think they were feeling that same sense of rejuvenation and zest for life that was pretty contagious around here yesterday.

Thank you, God, for some much appreciated good weather.

Saturday Slight

On this beautiful Saturday morning, I'll open with a reflection. Today our dad would have been 92 years old. It's hard to believe that Harold has been gone almost five years. Bill and I drove by the cemetery last night to see if his grave is visible after a winter hidden within the snow. Most of the snow is gone, and we can see it from Colburn-Culver Road.

I'm not sure if the setting is quite ready for flowers yet, but I'm sure that day will come soon. For now, we remember you, Harold, and will never forget as we continue through each day, constantly being reminded of what we do because of your influence. So, the day will start honoring your memory and your birthday.

It truly is a good day for all who love to be outside. Bill is going to Spokane to take down a display he put up Thursday for the Idaho Forestry Contest at a convention at the Spokane Interstate Fairgrounds. His itinerary will also include a stop at Costco. Bill buys those giant boxes of Tide and then dates them to see how long they last. Apparently, last September's purchase is nearing the bottom of the box.

So, he'll resupply on soap, dog food, coffee and a giant block of Tillamook medium cheddar cheese. There's no point in putting a date on the cheddar cheese cuz it's usually gobbled up almost before the ink would dry. My standard lunch is two chunks of cheese. And, one of Bill's favorite pre-meal treats is Santia chips tops with melted cheddar. We eat it like candy, so there's never enough cheese in the Love household.

I'll continue with what I did yesterday, raking the grass back to life and redistributing the million or so dog logs dotting all newly melted areas each day. I love the dog-log phenomena. First, there's the metamorphosis from initial moment of dropping of hot plops on cold snow to the early spring stage of encased morsals.

No two dog logs look alike. After snow melt, they appear in clumps of different colors, shapes, sizes and coatings. It may sound a bit gross, but I rather like raking up dog logs. They're the one aspect of winter lawn garbage that actually disintegrate with the first touch of the rake tooth. Within one swipe, three dozen dog logs have turned into history, leaving just a film across the top of the grass---and hopefully providing your lawn with an early-spring nourishment.

Now, if those old, soggy leaves and the chewed up pieces of wood could do the same, I'd be happy with my spring cleaning, but leaves never seem to cooperate. Those that I'd raked from beneath the poplar trees the other day had dried out enough that a gust of wind carried them from the pile to a large stretch of lawn, necessitating more raking.

The rocks deposited by snow plows from the roadside to my lawn make me mad too, and they don't do rakes much good either. My lawn rake and my barn pick are in need of a tooth fairy after some of this week's rock raking.

And, speaking of things broken, I did not enjoy the revelation in the north lawn Thursday night as I walked through areas where snow had melted and found almost all of the young fruit trees broken off at the stem, hundreds of branches destroyed on the lilac bushes and the Japanese cherry trees, and questionable destruction of all blueberry bushes. Mother Nature's wrath was more than severe this year.

It's sad to think that we'll be lacking the beautiful spring show of blossoms that we enjoyed last year. Yesterday I went around pruning all the dead limbs and hauled off two wheel barrows full. And, there's more to do with the row of smashed-in cedars along the north lawn.

Well, I'd better quit thinking about it and get out there. Lots to do. Lots to do. But a gorgeous day in which to perform whatever spring rescue attempts on lawn and landscaping.

Have a great Saturday.