Signs of Seniordum

I'm starting to feel old, and Maggie Sherwood isn't helping my situation. Lately, she's been jabbing me with shots of elderdum, almost daily. Maggie's the one who compiles the Bonner County 50 years ago and 100 years ago columns for the Daily Bee.

There's something about reading those columns almost every day and actually remembering when some of that stuff happened----in the 50-years-ago segments, that is. I remember the new superintendents coming to Bonner County School District 82, some of the severe lightning-storm stories, Floyd Perks becoming mayor, and, of course, I remember when Basil and his boys started the meat plant on Great Northern Road.

Basil Gooby had three sons and one daughter: Bob, Dick, Pat and Mary. The Gooby's played an integral part in our lives during our childhood spent on the North Boyer farm and during my kids' childhood spent on the Great Northern Road farm.

My first remembrance of a Gooby had to do with a pony named Tony and Basil's youngest son Pat, who even appeared in the column a while back because of something he'd done at Sandpoint High School where he served as student body president and played football for Cotton Barlow.

I was a little squirt one day in June when Pat brought Tony over to our farm. A bright red ribbon with a bow was tied around his belly. Tony was my older brother's birthday present, if I recall correctly. It may have been Tony, without a bridle or saddle, who later ran off in the field with Mike aboard and later without Mike aboard.

Mike's tumble from the horse led to a trip to the doctor's office with his broken arm. It also probably contributed to his less-than-enthusiastic love for horses.

Still, he liked the Gooby's, as did we all. I also remember when Basil came over one day and talked my dad into buying the Harney dairy, which adjoined our 40-acre farm. The folks paid $15,000 cash for the 55-acre parcel, and let's just say that Basil's suggestion turned out to be a good idea.

Mother sold the remaining portion of that property to Litehouse, Inc. a few years ago for a tad more than $15,000. We have Basil to thank for planting that idea in our dad's mind. We got a lot of use out of that place,including we Love's (Bill and I) who lived in the little house on its hillside above the railroad tracks for the first three years of our marriage.

Later, we moved down the road when we bought our 10-acre farm west of the airport across the road from the Gooby's hayfield. A great memory in my kids' childhood was walking down the dirt road, with money in hand, headed for Gooby's Meat Co. to buy some beef sticks. Carol Shook, who worked the front counter for years, used to always give them a little extra for their nickels and dimes.

I also remember the day a steer bound for butcher decided to prolong its life, escaping the meat plant and racing down our driveway. Shortly thereafter, an employee with a white meat jacket and rifle came running after it. We all stayed in the house and avoided the details that followed.

That's how we were about the butchering process. We wanted none of it. I think that dread stems from the times in our early, early childhood when Clarence Best, our neighbor, used to come down to our Boyer farm and butcher Oscar and some of the other steers we raised. I recall hiding under covers while the lone shot rang out and later cringing while rounding the wood shed and almost walking over a pile of intestines that Clarence had left behind.

I've never been one for embracing this reality of farm life. In fact, as adults, Bill and I raised one steer---from a baby calf, from a big cow we bought from Willard Piehl. Of course, we thought we were really creative when we named the little bull calf Sirloin.

It wasn't so cool when Sirloin reached butchering status. Gooby's came over and got him, and I was horrified. I could hardly stand to drive by Gooby's for several days on my way to school, knowing that Sirloin had met his demise inside that plant, and that he was hanging there aging, waiting to be cut and ground up into steaks, roasts, and hamburger.

I think I probably made Bill go pick up the boxes of white-wrapped meat for our freezer and the locker box down at Jack's. I do recall the first night, cooking Sirloin and how difficult it was to sample that first bite. Survival works wonders with your brain, though, and we eventually survived on Sirloin for several months.

Fifty years ago today, Basil and his sons opened that meat plant, and it prospered for years. It was a sad day when times changed and the plant eventually shut down. Now, I believe the Huguenins and their progeny own the place, and it's turned into apartments and possibly storage.

I still can't imagine living in a spot where so many farm animals met their maker.

These days, Goobyville is still surviving as farm land and home sites for extended family. Basil is long gone, but the kids are still hanging in there. We always considered them as good friends and almost extended family.

Fifty years later, we drive over to Wood's Meat Packing Co. just 4 miles away via road (about a mile by crow). We keep steady supplies of their German sausages and 1/3 pound hamburger patties. And, we don't know any of the cows involved.

Hard to believe so much water under the bridge, so many hamburgers eaten and so many more reminders that I'm getting older than dirt. Thanks a lot, Maggie!