Test Rides: A-OK

The time was right. Nice afternoon in the 70s. Yard work done. Leisure time and how to spend it.

I guess I'd have to borrow from the much-mimicked Mastercard ad:

Appaloosa Mare from Oklahoma: $1,500

Transporting one mare from Oklahoma: $1,000

Basic Training at Boot Camp: $500

Further training from Laurie: In-kind, Thank you, Laurie

Feed, Shoes, Tack over two years time: $2,000

Test Drives on Saturday, Aug. 30, 2008: Priceless



Here's the scoop:

Annie saw me leading Lily to the barnyard and tying her to the fence.

"How about a test drive?" she yelled to me out the door.

"I gotta get her saddled," I yelled back.

So, I brushed Lily and tacked her up while Annie threw on some jeans and tenny runners and later put the other two horses in their box stalls.

Listening to quick advice not to over-use the bit but to direct Lily with leg aids and to talk to her a lot, Annie climbed on and took off toward the woods.

I grabbed my camera and snapped a few photos as she rode the trails, urging Lily along. Lily's still young, and she takes a little time to get into full gear----which is good. Cuz if Lily ever got into full gear when the rider wasn't quite ready, the 8-second rule might come into effect. Lily knows how to buck, and there's a heap o' power in those bulging muscles.

Annie was headed to town, so she got off and turned Lily over to Mom. First, we rode the pastures and the woods. Then, I directed her north on Center Valley Road. The nerves that kept me kinda tense a couple of weeks ago when I took her out there for the first time had subsided a bit.

But caution ruled the ride.

After all, when Gary Finney's big Percheron baby runs along side the fence and keeps whinnying, Lily listens and prances a bit.
When the horse in the next pasture to the north comes racing toward the fence whinnying, Lily has a hard time paying attention to the constant direction from Mom, urging her to ignore the noise and just keep going down the road.

I made up my mind that we would keep going until anything made me feel uncomfortable about going forward. After all, Lily is a 3-year-old baby, and I'm a 61-year-old mama who has no yearning to be Humpty Dumpty on Horseback.

We made it past all the distractions at the horse-boarding facility and Jack Filipowski's sheds and turned on to Forest Siding Road. A few steps later, a big, black growling, teeth-bearing dog came racing to the road, startling both Lily and me. Its owner came yelling after it to get back to the yard. I told him this was a maiden trip for Lily, and he told me he was experiencing the fun of a new dog. I then told him we all passed the test because Lily just kept on walking and the dog returned to its house.

On down the road, a fawn just out of its spots stood looking at us. I figured that could present a real challenge for my young mare whenever it decided to bolt. Well, it didn't bolt, it simply watched us some more, walked to the middle of the road and then gracefully bounded into the woods as Lily watched, basically shrugged her shoulders and moved on.

No cracked head yet, not even when my old logger buddy, Leonard Plaster, who's gotten back into riding horses, came rolling down the road with his big pickup, stopped, and asked, "Whaddya doin' with that old nag?"

I said, "Trying to keep my head from being cracked open."

"She's a nice looking mare," he said and drove off.

We continued to the Conrads where Roxanne has moved back from a career in the Marines and is fixing up the place. A beautiful newly constructed wood barn sits on the hillside, but I didn't see anyone outside so I decided to turn around. Along came Billie Jean and Mark Plaster, who live one driveway west of Conrad's.

Billie invited me to ride Lily down to their house, which I'd never seen. It sits quietly in the woods at the end of a long driveway. By the time we reached the house, Billie was getting a horse ready to ride. She and her Arabian Aladdin joined Lily and me for our return trip. Mouths were yakking and horses made their way down the roads just fine.

Yesterday marked a beginning and a very satisfying one in realizing my long-awaited goal of having a horse to just go plodding down the roads and the trails. The whole experience and how well it went for my big, green-broke spotted filly, Lily, has me exhilarated.

The experience and my horse are, indeed, priceless.

Saturday Slight

Frank Noble, I'm jealous. By now or soon, you'll be lying on the beaches of Cancun. I hope you're having a good time.

I just had to write that note to my former student, Frank (SHS Class of 1973), this morning because he may take out some time from his busy vacation schedule to read "Slight Detour" for the first time.

I had a delightful time last night visiting with Frank, his wife, his third son and his lovely daughter-in-law. Young Mr. Noble wrote down Internet site addresses, so maybe a laptop went along, and Frank will check in.

The family was enroute to Cancun, with the first leg of their flight being on the same plane that was taking so long to get from Seattle to Spokane. Annie thought she was getting in earlier than anticipated so I wasted no time driving to the airport after leaving an SHS "old geezer" faculty party at Ron and Linda Hunt's.

As I got into the car, Annie called and said she'd managed an earlier flight than the one scheduled to arrive at 9 p.m. That meant about 90 minutes for me to meet her at the airport. I was on right on schedule, zipping past downtown Spokane when the phone rang.

"I'm on a second plane, and we're supposed to leave at 7:15 p.m.," she told me.

Suddenly the Jimmy slowed down to 55 mph and took a right exit on Maple. I had time to gas up and then drive a leisurely pace to Spokane International. Once there, while inadvertently driving past the opening to the metered parking in front of the Alaska terminal, I saw a video camera and a man being interviewed on the sidewalk.

When I came back around to park, the interview had apparently ended, and the gray-haired man walked into the terminal. I followed him inside and then spotted my dear student Frank. It had been years since we'd seen each other.

A minute or so later, the man being interviewed walked over and said he'd overheard me say that my daughter was on that flight from Seattle and that it had just taken off. He was waiting for someone else on the flight. Then, he went on his way, and I visited with the Noble family for almost an hour.

Later, the man walked back over my way and said the flight should be here any minute. About ten seconds later, my cell phone rang. The flight was on the ground. Annie would be coming in momentarily. This nice man continued to visit and told me he'd been interviewed all day about Gov. Sarah Palin because she was one of his students at NIC.

I told him about the morning hours when my journalistic juices had been flowing and how I'd posted some information about her on my blog. I also had the opportunity to point Spokesman and KHQ reporters to sources who could give them more info on John McCain's newly selected vice presidential candidate. Then, I introduced myself, and the nice gentleman happily introduced himself as Tony Stewart.

Tony Stewart is a much beloved, well-known professor at NIC and a leader in the Coeur d'Alene human rights movement. I met him for the first time last night and felt humbled, especially when he told me he had just wrapped up 39 years of teaching (one at WSU). That stint included 12,000 students.

I was honored to meet this man whom I'd heard so much about over the years. He definitely lives up to his reputation. In our short visit, I was struck by his kindness, passionate love for the craft of teaching and genuine friendliness.

The Nobles went on their way, leaving me with a Fed-Ex envelope to deliver to their friend and another of my former students, Xann Smith. Seems they forgot to drop it off on their way to Spokane, so if they're reading, I must report: mission accomplished. We left the envelope at the Bonner Mall Cinema last night, and I called Xann at 11 p.m. to let her know where it was. Fortunately, she was still up watching the news.

It turned out that Annie was one of the last to get off the plane. She got to meet Tony Stewart also, and we went on our way, enjoying a bite to eat at our family perennial favorite O'Doherty's in downtown Spokane.

Spokane Airport can be a drag at times, especially when you get stuck sitting there, waiting for hours on end, but last night's hour-plus visit was nothing but inspiring, thanks to the Nobles and Tony Stewart.

And, I still want to go to Cancun some day.

In the meantime, this Saturday in Sandpoint promises to be a great day, sunny and the low 70s. Annie has just come downstairs. Bill has just asked her if she brought him anything.

Annie's response: I brought you your daughter; what more do you want?

Good point, Annie.

And, it's looking to be a good day. Happy Saturday to all, even those lying on the beach in Cancun.

Born in the USA --- And SANDPOINT, IDAHO

Republican Vice Presidential candidate and Alaskan Gov. Sarah Palin was born in Sandpoint, Idaho. She attended NIC in Coeur d'Alene and graduated from the University of Idaho with a degree in journalism (great credential, by the way).

Our dear friend, Susie Puckett, was her babysitter. Her father, Chuck Heath, is a retired teacher who grew up in Hope.

All politics aside, (and it was a phenomenal speech by Sen. Obama last night) choice, we are very proud to claim Gov. Palin as one of our own. From all reports, she is a phenomenal governor and tremendous human being.

There's also a Sandpoint connection with Barack Obama. During his youth in Hawaii, he hung around with the brother of our Festival at Sandpoint Director Dyno Wahl.

Rita ~~~ RIP

It was a happy day in Sandpoint seven years ago on Aug. 11 when William E. Love III married Deborah Williams at St. Joseph's Catholic Church in Sandpoint. Irish eyes were smiling all over the place at that wedding, and oodles of pictures were snapped.

This is a photo of two great ladies who posed with me because I brought them together at the reception and said they looked a lot alike in my eyes. Marilyn Chambers (left) is my long-time friend who watched after William III aka "Willie" the week Annie, our "Precious" was born.

Rita (right) is my aunt on my real father's side---and my godmother. Like all aspects of my lineage, Rita's Irish roots trace back to Chicago, where a couple of generations before her, our ancestors of the Dooley clan owned a saloon.

Rita was the youngest and last of her generation of the Brown family: Michael, Mary Jane and Rita. She died last Friday in Ephrata. Her funeral is today. Circumstances here made it difficult for us to go the funeral, so I want to honor Rita's memory on my blog today.

If there were a Ward and June Cleaver couple in Ephrata, I'd say my wonderful Uncle George and Aunt Rita could fill the bill. They lived quiet, good lives there, raised a phenomenal Catholic family of all girls and one boy. Rita worked at the Western Auto store for many years.

On one of my trips to Ephrata (I often surprised her with my presence while traveling across Washington), I found her at work. On another occasion, I went to her door, knocked and asked if she had a restroom I could use. It took her a minute to digest this sudden and strange intrusion into her life, but then she recognized me and laughed about the event that day and for many years afterward.

I wrote in a sympathy note to the Waltho family that I wish I had known Rita better. Again, circumstances and distance made that difficult. The families had some fairly good visits at the wedding weekend in 2001 and a couple of years ago when the Brown family held a reunion in the Ephrata area.

Always our regret was that we didn't get to see each other enough. This will be a sad day in Ephrata as Rita goes off to her Heavenly home. She lived a life that certainly ensured her quick entrance.

Though the tears will be shed here on earth as she is laid to rest, I feel confident that once she walks through that gate, Irish eyes will be smiling and welcoming her with open arms.

RIP, Rita

Wet walk

~~Three-dog morning~~


I was surprised to see the rain this morning. Hadn't expected it because I must've looked at the weather graphics wrong.

The wetness led me to take the horses to a different pasture. It was time for the front pasture to have a break. Plus, I did some tractor and loader work there yesterday, removing a huge pile of sod left there when the constractor prepared the building site for the new and almost complete storage shed. Just electrical now, and we're ready to go.

Yesterday's project made me feel proud that I'm beginning to master the art of using the loader to scoop up piles and take them to a different place. It took lots of practice, but I finally figured out the right strategies---low gear, put loader down on the level, inch forward into the pile, start scooping by bringing the bucket upward.

The spot is now level and seeded for a patch of new grass---another reason to move the horses to the next pasture down the lane where lush green grass has had a chance to grow over the past three weeks.

After leaving Lily, Coquie and Lefty in their happy eating grounds, I grabbed my camera and started snapping photos of the wet world outside our house. My plum photos were plum bad, so I'll try that again sometime. The news there is that we have seven plums, the first-ever for the tree.

It's going to be fun over the next few years watching several of our young fruit trees start producing their bounty. For the time being, however, we know we'll have apples aplenty in a few weeks. We also know from the coolness this morning that fall is coming quickly.

Mother Nature's rain, however, is providing a much-needed boost and life extension for grass and other plants. That is good, and we are thankful.

Escape art

Love apples

Circles of fluidity

Flower-patch pals

Garden antiquities

Hopper crop

Kea cage and carrot flowers

Gloom lifters

Asparagus bath

Brendan's book covers and Ross Hall postcards

It's not Ground Hog day. Yes, you did read about this upcoming release by my cousin Brendan yesterday, and I'll simply leave a link to its Amazon.com page today http://www.amazon.com/Dream-City-Brendan-Short/dp/1596923180/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1219672786&sr=8-1

Back in 1993-94 while my first book Pocket Girdles was being produced, Falcon Press, the publisher, sent me some possible cover designs. One included a white background covered with an assortment of line-art girdles suspended in air.

Creative, yes, but effective, I didn't think so. Others agreed.

Finally, my mother and I sat down and designed an alternative idea, which involved barnwood background accented by an illustration she had done from a photo of the three of us original kids with Bossy, the milk cow. The designers loved it, and so did we. Over the years, others have commented positively also.

It's not uncommon for book covers to change dramatically during the production process. After all, a book is often selected from dozens of others in the piles or among the shelves because of that first impression---the cover.

Brendan wrote me a note yesterday and told me his publication date had been moved back from what was originally projected, all because of a change in the cover. I noticed that Amazon.com changed the image yesterday also. So, here ya go. If you're interested in checking out Brendan's novel, this is what it should look like---unless it changes, of course.

~~~Another announcement~~~

A few weeks ago while visiting Dr. Forrest Bird's aviation museum, I met Marlene "Marlaina" Buckner, now of Portland, formerly of Sandpoint. She told me about her collection of Ross Hall postcards, which is impressive.

Ross Hall was a phenomenal photographer who carried the big format cameras to the highest mountains and the deepest canyons of the North Idaho area, all for capturing great scenic photos. For decades, he also used his cameras to chronicle local events, including the era of Farragut Naval Training Station during World War II.

These days, his son and my classmate, Dann Hall produces beautifully framed samples of his dad's photos at the Hallans Gallery in downtown Sandpoint http://www.rosshallcollection.com/.

Marlaina, an accomplished interior designer, mentioned to me during our visit at the museum that she would soon have her postcard collection online. It is now available for viewing, and it will definitely take anyone familiar with this area down memory lane---before the developers found the area.

Marlaina has assembled a beautifully displayed collection of the postcards, which, in every case, truly support the notion that "a picture is worth a thousand words."

So, check it out at www.rosshallpostcards.com

Book plugs and huck stops

Coming soon to a bookstore near you.

Brendan Short lives in Chicago, where his first novel is set. Brendan is a part of my family roots. His father Bill is my mother's first cousin. So, I guess that makes Brendan my second cousin---not even an outlaw!

First, the Short family are all very nice people. We've had the pleasure of meeting them in a whirlwind visit to Chicago and a few of them when they came out West to see us.

There's a wonderful family story associated with my mother's discovery of her Irish family roots back when she was 79. We have another Short family member, Karen, who's an avid genealogist to thank for that.

Now, back to Brendan. He's finished his first novel, and you can read all about it at http://www.amazon.com/Dream-City-Brendan-Short/dp/1596923180/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1219672786&sr=8-1

You can also read a lot more about Brendan and even see his photo on his website at http://www.brendanshort.net/ .

I've read some of his writings; in fact, I used one of his short stories in my English class when I was still teaching at Sandpoint High. If the writing style displayed in that short story mirrors what we'll see in the novel, we're in for a good read.

So, as a writing cousin who's thrilled for another much more talented writing cousin, I'm equally thrilled to give Brendan and his book a plug.

He's not only a wonderful and accomplished writer, but we know from meeting him in Austin a few years ago, that he's a tremendous human being also.

Good luck to you, Brendan. We're all very proud of you and your literary accomplishments.

I'll let some sharp reader figure out where we went yesterday. We picked almost a gallon of huckleberries, hardly even had to move from a patch right next to the road.

Then, we drove on. This is a spot near Bill's old stomping grounds from the mid-'70s. We may have been illegal aliens here. We weren't quite sure when we passed by the sign that said something about conveyance.

It was pretty---enough to take pictures, that is. Nobody arrested us, so I guess we're okay.

Huck pickin' was fun, and the sundaes last evening tasted good too. With our picking luck so far this year, it looks like a good winter of purple-coated ice cream, dotted hotcakes and berry-filled muffins and pies ahead.

Getting there.

The freezer is beginning to fill up with the pickin's. Plenty of hucks and beans for winter.

Scene at the Fair

Yesterday afternoon Mother and I went to the Bonner County Fair. After checking out a variety of items in the main exhibit hall and visiting with old friends, we made our way to the "Brat Shack." We feel we've done our duty this year in patronizing the Penskovers with their new enterprise. I've enjoyed a couple of their brats as have Bill and Mother.

After sitting in the shade enjoying our sandwiches, we moved on to the Panhandle Antique Tractor Club's stationary baler demonstration. The guys and the baler put on quite a show of how the packaging stage of hay harvesting occurred in the good ol' days before new-fangled technology took over.

Admittedly, hay production goes a little faster these days, but it may not be quite as creative. The old baler was a charming piece of the past.

Before leaving, we hung around the Wishing Star booth in great hopes of winning the big screen plasma TV. Well, the Sony 32-incher is going to have to suffice. Max Rafferty won the big prize.

The Fair was oodles of fun this year. I went almost every day and enjoyed seeing lots of old friends and plenty of samples of Bonner County talent. Plus, the food was good. And, last night my sisters brought me my ribbons and $7 monetary rewards for the entries.

Overall, a great Bonner County tradition has seen its 80th year, and now we begin planning for next year.

Early 20th Century Case stationary baler

Power source: part of it anyway. Thanks, Allis.

Ready to load

Pitching the hay

.

Mother and other spectators at the demonstration

How many tractor men does it take to make a bale?

Finished product goes to the stack

A few of the stars of Wishing Star before the drawing: Sue, June, Marge, Maggie, and Betty.

Saturday Slight

My toes are still slightly numb from cold dew. The morning routine is changing. Normally, I let the dogs and cats out from their overnight resting places in the garage and shop. Then, I walk to the barn and get a lead rope for the horses.

I abandoned individual halters a few weeks ago when it occurred to me that I was leading rather civilized horses to and from their pasture. A simple rope over the neck is sufficient and takes a lot less time.

This morning Coquie was a bit rowdy and overly anxious while waiting in third place to get her first bite of grass, but I managed to calm her down. She galloped off across the field and wasted no time putting her head to the ground and grabbing a mouthful of cold, wet grass.

The past few mornings have been fairly brisk. In fact, the thought of spending the next few minutes watering down the garden makes me shiver. So, I've bypassed that activity for later in the day and have spent my morning rounds searching for tomatoes.

Red tomatoes are elusive creatures. They make you earn them this time of year, hiding deep within the abyss of their dark tomato jungles. At the Lovestead this year, tomato jungles abound. I know. I know. We're supposed to remove the extra growth, thus allowing the fruit a better chance to grow.

I'm not the master gardener by any means, so my tomato plants enjoy holistic happiness throughout the season. Everybody gets to thrive, including the stems and leaves. My tomato plants, like my apple trees, are so heavy with fruit, it would take a metal pole or two to support them.

With this scenario, I've had to dig deep into the darkness to find those bright red fruits. I've walked past the plants, searching many times, only to turn around and suddenly spot a hint of red peeking back at me between the vines.

These discoveries the past few mornings have led to cold fingers as I've carefully reached among wet leaves and stems to snap off the red fruit nestled amidst half a dozen of its tightly-clumped green siblings. This morning I found half a dozen of the bell-shaped variety, and, by the time I carried them to the house, my hands were nearly numb.

So, it's almost September, and the garden harvest comes on full bore over the next few weeks, if Mother Nature cooperates, that is. I'm sure there will be many cold-finger mornings ahead.

It's also Saturday and time for slight thoughts about the past day or two, which involved trips to the fair and the typical Friday night out for Bill and me.

I downed two Polish sausages yesterday, one with Rose Marie at the brat shack and another with Bill at the Loading Dock Restaurant where, as night fell, so did the temperature. We felt it as we sat at a picnic table next to Bridge Street. Once again, though, the meal was sprinkled with some good visiting.

I saw Stephanie and Peter Berghan twice in a week after not seeing either of them for at least three years. On Sunday they were serving samples of wine, more than likely aged by their son Michael in Walla Walla. Last night they were enjoying dinner with friends.

The dinner crowd also included Abby Van Horn Leisy and her husband Ryan, an American Falls, ID., native, who has opened his chiropractic practice in Sandpoint www.northernlakeschiropractic.com on Michigan Street. They have two cute little boys, including one named Wil. Abby also has her own photography business www.PrecisionPhotographyonline.com.

Before leaving, we visited with Josh Moon and his wife Rebecca, who are reviving www.batwaves.com, which specializes in the Sanborn brothers' original batwaves logo. It appears on snowboarding mitts, sweatshirts, tee shirts, etc. Apparently, Josh and Rebecca have the operation up and running and will have mitts available for the winter season.

I had sauerkraut on my polish sausage last night but told the brat shack folks to hold it for the afternoon sandwich, which, as usual, met all expectations for Rose Marie and my annual rendezvous at the fair. Considering the fact that I'd be sitting in a book-selling booth for three hours, I wanted my stomach to behave, especially sitting next to Boots. Sauerkraut had to wait until evening.

Boots and I had a great time feeding off from each other's insults and stories. We signed a few books and talked to all kinds of folks, including a few of the Turnbull clan from Sagle. I understand another of that family will be over here next week, so I'm expecting a call, Judy. I promise not to host a slumber party if you come to the Lovestead.

Can't do that until I coordinate with Janet, Joanne, Laura, Susan, Karen, Sherry D., Berg and a few others of our group from those wonderful junior high days. Speaking of which, this week has brought forth another who walked in our midst for a while when her dad was working on construction of the PGT pipeline.

Out of the blue came an email from a Patsy Huddleston in Tennessee who shared wonderful memories of her short stay here in 1961 when she was 13 (and we were 14). Her family lived at Sleep's Cabins near the Long Bridge, and she attended the old junior high briefly. Funny that she would remember that store across from the school where we all went during noonhours to purchase our nickel and dime corn nuts and Good and Plenty's.

Anyway, Patsy's nostalgic letters about her life's experiences certainly took me for another wonderful trip down memory lane.

Meanshile, I also visited with another politician at the fair yesterday. He did not come to our booth; instead, he joined us at the brat shack, initiating the visit with some really ugly algae, including some that looked like the ugly green snot I've seen a time or two dripping from an adolescent nose. Only this was in big quantities.

Rep. Eric Anderson of Priest Lake apparently wanted to get the skinny from the experts on what to do about his algae. Rose Marie and I just looked at the samples, relieved that we'd already finished our brats.

I asked Eric where his cookies were, since George had handed out tasty chocolate chip samples the day before. Eric had a more lasting token of gratitude for our votes. He gave me a couple of his business cards (with his core beliefs about being a politician on the back) and a nice Idaho pin. I wore the pin for the rest of the day, and I did enjoy visiting with Eric, algae and all.

I guess I've rambled too long on this Saturday morning, but there's a lot going on this time of the year. I may go to the fair again today with my mother. If not, the beautiful weather will allow some more time for sprucing up the place and just enjoying a late August weekend.

Happy Saturday to all.

Fair reports

Advertisement: Bootsie and I will be on display at the Keokee booth in the main exhibit building today from 3-6 p.m. We'll happily sell books and even more happily autograph them.

So, that announcement made, on to more fair stuff. I did see Bootsie there yesterday afternoon while taking my solo venture through the fair. I went alone so that I could see the exhibits. My mission failed sadly because I didn't see nearly as much as I wanted.

In my wandering, however, I did observe that a lot fewer cows came to the fair this year. Most of those in the beef barn will be sold for beef steaks and hamburger at tonight's fat stock sale.

I can remember when that beef barn was always filled to the brim with open class and 4-H stock and a few mini critters. This year there are entire aisles empty. Times have changed, I guess.

I didn't make it to the sheep and pig barns because it was raining, and I got pretty wet waiting for my lukewarm cup of coffee at one of the outdoor food booths. Seems the lightning strikes shut down the electricity for a while. Then, the lady was running low on propane to run her stove. So, I stood there in the rain waiting for her to try to warm it up somehow.

While I waited, she asked me if I'd ever made a funnel cake. I said no. She wanted to know because her booth advertised funnel cakes for $4. She was seeking advice because she'd never made a funnel cake either, and she was having a hard time getting the right consistency of dough to plop in the deep fry which wasn't frying at the moment.

Turns out she just bought the concession trailer and was enduring baptism by deep fry. I guess she figured I might be able to give her some funnel cake pointers. She figured wrong.

I moved on to the brat shack where all those delectable forms of brats in buns are sold. I asked the new proprietors if they were doing as good a job as their predecessor. They assured me that all that had changed was the faces. Their predecessor must have done a better job orienting them into cooking brats than whoever sold that booth to the funnel cake lady.

When Jason of Brat Booth mentioned that he worked for Waste Management while not cooking brats, I noted the irony of having mentioned another Waste Management employee in my blog yesterday, all the time observing him and thinking he sure did look a lot like Jeff Penskover.

Turns out Jason is Jeff's older brother, and he lured him away from Schwan's to Waste Management several years ago. Since that time, Jeff has been lured away to Micron Computers in Boise. That familiarity is going to seal Bill's confidence in the fact that the brats are as good as ever.

The rain continued so I went back into the main exhibit building to look at exhibits. Instead, I just kept running into people and talking too much. During one visit, Bootsie informed me that his driving habits have changed since he entered his 70s.

He says he used to drive down the road and spend more time looking at all the stuff in the fields alongside the road rather than looking straight ahead. He said he managed to keep his rigs between the lines, but lately he's noticed that whenever his eyes go a-straying, his vehicles follow suit. So, he no longer looks left or right---just straight down that roadway.

That revelation got me to figuring out the mystery of why all the old people I've known for a hundred years don't wave at me out on the roadways anymore. Something must happen when they pass into a new decade because I have noticed that most elderly drivers are so busy hugging that steering wheel and looking straight ahead that they can't be bothered with returning a wave to a younger old friend.

I guess that's why it's getting so lonely out on the roads anymore. Used to be everybody waved. For a long time, I was blaming the tinted windows and all those strangers who had moved to town. Now, after talking to Bootsie, I have to add a whole new demographic to the mix of seemingly unfriendly folks.

At the fair, however, I noticed that old people like the visiting as much as everyone else. I won't say who was old and who was young on my visiting list yesterday cuz I don't want to get in trouble with anyone, least of all, George Eskridge, who was looking left, right and straight ahead for all potential voters.

George even gave me a political chocolate chip cookie with a catchy message attached.

Eat this now,
Or eat this later.
Keep Eskridge
As your legislator.

Let George do it

His wife Janice did the baking and the poetry. Now, I don't know about that last line. It lacks the lovely iambic rhythm of the first four. Plus, it's a little vague to me. Nonetheless, I've got the cookie, and I assured George that I would do my job.

Speaking of cookies, I did learn a little about the exhibits in the midst of all my chatting. My cantaloupe and my cookies both earned blue ribbons. I will come clean and announce that mine was the only cantaloupe in the Bonner County Fair, so the competition was pretty easy. My three stems of oregano earned a white ribbon.

The zucchini had the most competition. Does that come as any surprise? Disappointingly, I noticed that all the zucchini is still there. I was hoping someone would pilfer mine and take it home for those medicinal powers I mentioned the other day. Guess I haven't gotten the word out enough.

One of the more exciting revelations of my trip to the fair was to learn that Grace also won a blue ribbon on her cookies. So, we're even for 2008. She was happy about that but expecially thrilled that her pillow won a blue ribbon and grand champion in the youth sewing category. Way to go, Grace!

Well, I'm going back to the fair today to sell some books and learn more from Bootsie about habits of the elderly. So, I'd better get moving, go pick some beans and get some other work done. Rose Marie and I are meeting at 2 at the brat stand.

So, if you're there, join us, buy a brat, and we'll talk. Then, follow me to the Keokee booth, and buy some books!

Note: Annie has some new photos posted on her (http://www.nnlove.blogspot.com/) site, and Jim at (http://www.footlaunchedfreeflyinfool.blogspot.com/) got to fly yesterday. Check 'em out.

More than just Schwan's . . .

Today is Schwan's day. Bill has written out the order, but we don't know if it will be filled on the usual Thursday schedule.

Schwan's days have changed over the years, as have our drivers. Whenever we have a driver stick with his route for more than a few months, he becomes one of the much-appreciated staples of our everyday life.

The Schwan's men and their big yellow trucks over the years have kept our freezer well-stocked with ice cream, other desserts, fish and meat products, etc. They've also added their own special brand of service during those few minutes every other week of checking over the order and seeing that everything is available on the truck.

Back when Mike Bowman was our Schwan's deliveryman, he'd come on Fridays. One Friday I'll never forget. It involved the late Margeaux Hemingway.

It was a Friday morning in the 1980s when one of my students, a Deshon twin, asked me in senior English class if I'd like to ride the float with Margeaux in the Winter Carnival parade. His mom was the Chamber of Commerce coordinator of the Winter Carnival, and they were apparently looking for a friendly local to keep the famous model company while she rode on the flatbed truck as that year's carnival grand marshal.

Of course, I jumped at the chance. So, young Mr. Deshon told me he'd call me that afternoon after school with the details. My kids were young at the time, and Bill was working in Coeur d'Alene.

Once I learned that I was expected to be down at the beach by 5 p.m., and it was already after 4:40 p.m., a dilemma presented itself: what to do with the kids until Bill arrived home.

At that very moment, an angel in a big yellow truck came down the driveway. It was Mike, the Schwan's deliveryman, ready to take the order that Bill had filled out earlier in the day. When I explained my situation, Mike said to get in the car and get on down there. He would watch the kids until Bill got home, and he'd tell Bill the plan so that my husband could join Margeaux and me in the parade.

Talk about going beyond the job description! Mike watched the kids. Bill arrived home and picked up the kids. Mike went on with his Schwan's route, and Bill and I had the time of our lives laughing and joking with a very friendly and nice Margeaux on the parade flatbed. The kids watched and waved at Mom and Dad as they passed by flanking the famous celebrity.

We've always appreciated Mike for that gesture. He went above and beyond on a few more occasions during his stint with Schwan's. We also got to know Jeff, a nice young man from St. Maries who served out our Schwan's orders for a number of years before going to work for Waste Management.

And, Tom Renfrow, who had formerly run a music shop in the Bonner Mall, became a Schwan's driver. I could not even begin to chalk up the range of topics we discussed over his years as our driver on Great Northern Road---weather, building houses, speculating on what new developments were going to occur, trips to the South---you name it---we talked about it.

Then, we left Tom behind and moved out here to Selle. That meant a new Schwan's man and a new day for deliveries--Thursdays. Little did we know that it would also mean several Schwan's men. Seems there's been a big turnover on this route, and it seems like we talked to a lot of managers who were orienting the new guys to the route.

Finally, along came Steve. Steve has been our Schwan's man for a number of months now, and we were just getting to know him. Bill forgot to fill out the Schwan's order two weeks ago today. It seems his mind was more tuned in to the hike he was taking that day in the Selkirks.

It's uncharacteristic for Bill to forget Schwan's day, but when I realized he had that day, I tried to call him on his cell phone. No luck. Then, I hoped he'd arrive home in time to figure out the order. No dice again. The Schwan's truck came rolling down South Center Valley Road, and I had to think on my feet about what Bill would like to add to the freezer.

That was okay with Steve because he enjoyed chatting while I thumbed through the catalog and picked out items. During our visit, Steve told me about helping out with a community event in St. Maries the week before. It was obvious from his enthusiasm that the event was one of the nice perks of his job. It gave him a chance to get to know more people in the community.

We had just begun to learn about Steve and his life---grew up in Deer Park on a farm, knew and appreciated Border Collies like those here at the Lovestead who happily accepted his doggie biscuits the minute he stepped out of the truck. Steve was happy to be back up north after spending several years in Arizona.

Bill and I both knew we were going like Steve, just as much as our other Schwan's men of the past. Today is Schwan's day, and Steve will not come.

I read yesterday about a terrible accident near St. Maries where a Schwan's truck had collided with a dump truck. One person had died. The other was unconscious when the report was issued and posted on "Huckleberries Online." I sent the news item via email to Bill and we both waited nervously for the full report, which came later in the afternoon and confirmed our worst suspicions.

Steve died yesterday at age 48.

He, like other Schwan's men, delivered edible goodies to the folks along his route, but, like other Schwan's men, he delivered friendliness, professionalism, and wonderful service. We appreciate him for the short moments he spent parked in our driveway, pulling out boxes of drumsticks, ice cream bars and unbreaded chicken breasts.

More than anything, however, we appreciated his warmth and humanity and the fact that, like others who came before him, he did more than hand out bags of frozen food. We'll miss Steve, and we send out our deepest condolences to his family.

Hooking a whopper in Wyoming

Above: Vice President of the United States Dick Cheney. Below: Brad Judy, Terry Iverson, Vice President Dick Cheney, John Nitcy and Crosby Tajan beside Wyoming's Bighorn River. Photos, courtesy of John Nitcy

For ten years my teaching colleagues, Terry Iverson and John Nitcy, have spent the last few days of July and the first few days of August on their annual fly-fishing trip to Wyoming. Over the years, other friends and colleagues have joined them, and some pretty good tales of fishing, other adventures and a calamity or two have grown with the tellings.

Well, this year, the guys hooked on to a whopper while standing alongside the Bighorn River where one 13-mile stretch teems with 9,000 big fish (ranging from 16-26 inches) per mile, and it's a sure thing they'll be recounting the experience to anyone who cares to listen. In this case, the whopper measured about 70 inches and weighed in at approximately 200 pounds.

Not your typical native cutthroat, but then again, this year's was not the guys' typical trip to the Bighorn.

This summer, Terry, who's a retired U.S. government teacher, and John, who teaches business/computer classes at SHS, took along big Brad Judy, a former SHS DECA instructor who now teaches in the Tri-Cities, and even bigger and lovable Coach Crosby Tajan. Most of us taught Crosby who later played football at the University of Idaho and then joined our ranks as a teacher himself.

Instead of simply fishing for the lunkers, the guys also took along some 4-wheelers and enjoyed scaling upward over boulders the size of chairs to bask in the beauty of magnificent vistas on Bighorn Mountain between Greybull and Sheridan, Wyo.

"It's gorgeous," Terry told me over the phone last night. "Rolling grassland, lot of round boulders, big mountains, all kinds of wildflowers . . . you could sit there all day and get lost in it all. It's a Federal forest with lots of trees and lots of history. We saw old logging flumes for the railroad coming West where they cut railroad ties.

"You can stand on top and see 40 miles in all directions," he said, "It's a 4-wheeler's Heaven. We also visited an old look-out tower at 10,000 feet. I called Edna, and she was at Ground Zero in New York City."

Beauty and all, there were fish to be caught, so the guys also fished the Tongue River, and after three or four days went to Bighorn, where every year about the same time another angler shows up and fills up the Orvis Lodge with his entourage of buff 30-somethings, packing 9 mm. pistols and other intimidating gear.

The Idaho boys first got a hint of this well-known angler's arrival when they started spotting Blackhawk helicopters hovering overhead. Then came the Chinooks, out of which rolled the black SUV's aka "hard bodies." That means "bulletproof."

"We've gotten wind of him going to be at Three Mile Landing at about 9 a.m., so the four of us drive down there," Terry recalls. "Most of the fishermen have already left. We see a lot of young non-fishermen with pistols, sunglasses and baseball caps . . . Up comes the motorcade. It's headed by a state patrolman, a Crow Agency Native police car, followed by a county sheriff.

"Then come the black Chevy SUV's, followed by an ambulance and more police cars. They pull up and, as I call them, 'the kids' form a perimeter and look outward.

"Then, Vice President Dick Cheney gets out of the car and goes to the boats.

"The fishing guides are all wearing white shirts for the Secret Service to easily identify them. I'm standing and talking to a Secret Serviceman about his job. Pretty soon, John yells down to Cheney, 'Would you let us take a picture of you and us Idaho fishermen teachers?'"

"Sure, come on down," the vice president says.

"So we go down," Terry says, "John's going to take the picture. Cheney motions for the Secret Service to take the picture. We talked about the river and fishing. He was cordial, light-hearted, not abrasive, a bit soft-spoken . . . he just acted like another fisherman on the river."


According to my colleague John Nitcy, who supplied me the photos for this posting, the guys and Vice President Cheney did touch on one other topic.

"After I shook his hand, I asked if there was beer in that cooler, or does the doctor not allow it," John told me.

"There's something in it," Vice President Cheney told John, leaving the rest up to supposition.

John also shared with me last night that our characteristically outspoken friend Terry kept uncharacteristically mum around the Vice President.

"Iverson is Mr. Talk . . . anti Bush," John explained. "He was right there with a big ol' smile [for the Vice President]."

Unlike a past excursion involving the Vice President, this chance rendezvous made no big headlines, except maybe among the family and friends of the Idaho teaching anglers.

"I think for the most part you're meeting a U.S. dignitary, and you're kinda awestruck by the whole scene of security, which we're not used to seeing," Terry told me. "We put all politics aside; that's not what the river is all about."

Fair days and expected highs

I had lots of goodies in my garden to take to the Bonner County Fair, but yesterday's 100-plus degree heat sapped me of the desire to keep picking more stuff to clean and prepare for display. Besides, once there, I knew there would be too many exhibit cards to fill out with the same information three times. And, besides, it would be beastly hot in that main exhibit hall.

I also had Barbara and Laurie's photographs to enter, so I settled for the four items above.

Oregano from our abundant patch, which doesn't get harvested but looks mighty pretty, was a last-minute choice. After all, three stems plucked from thousands wasn't gonna make a dent in the colorful display which runs along most of one garden patch amidst the rhubarb, strawberries, asparagus and other flowers.

My friend Carrie had the same mindset as I: take what's in abundance. Carrie wanted to enter jam, but she had just so many jars at home, so she wasn't gonna give up one to be sampled at the fair. That's how I felt about my cantaloupe. When I saw in the fairbook rules for "fruits and nuts" that only one melon was needed, I figured it would be okay because we'll have 11 more coming on about the same time. One melon missing from the lot wasn't going to make a lot of difference.

And, when you have two zucchini plants just getting started with their squash-bearing marathon, you don't mind one bit, cutting one off and hoping some kid, looking for a weekend zucchini high (ya know it's a little-known and well-kept secret that just a few raw chunks of these squash will provide a long-lasting cerebral euphoria rivaling that of any marijuana plant known to seasoned druggies), will steal it from the display case----after it's been judged, of course.

The cookies, as I said yesterday, are a bit on the strong side with that Mexican vanilla flavoring. Plus, they're kinda chewy. It's going to depend on the judge's tastebuds to determine the outcome of my competition with Grace. She brought six cookies on her plate. One superintendent thought we needed six; another thought we needed five. I brought four.

Turns out the fairbook saved me on that one: a plate of four cookies, it said. That meant Grace and Grandma Carrie each had a cookie to eat on their way home.

Today is the main exhibit hall judging. They'll lock off the place from the public and treat all us judges with plenty of water, coffee and donuts. I'm judging creative writing, while my sister Barbara is judging 4-H photography.

Maybe when we're finished, we can sneak around to the other exhibit areas and see how we did with our entries. No matter the results, there's just something fun about having things entered in the fair. It's a sense of ownership in what's going on, and it's just plain fun to see your stuff on display.

So, the fair days begin, and I'm sure there will be several highs between now and Saturday. Fortunately, the temperatures will decline from what they've been the past four days.

A fair melon

Manure-pile melon patch

As far as I'm concerned, the future in melon production at the Lovestead is well ensured. As long as we have horses, we can grow melons. I put my little plants, started from seed in February, on the manure pile in June.

I watered them fewer than ten times, and that's the extent of the maintenance. The rich stuff within the pile has done the rest. Last year, we had four small cantaloupe, grown in the north garden. This year, we have more than a dozen healthy, growing melons.

If I can get my watermelon plants to make it next year, we could have a pretty good melon growing operation going, cuz, for sure, the horses have another winter to produce another pile of fertilizer.

This has been a fun discovery, and we're looking forward to it being a tasty one too.