All in a day's work

~~~Beautiful North Idaho -- Selkirk Mountains from a hilltop near Grouse Creek~~~

Busy day yesterday. I rushed in the morning, after blog posting, to head to town for picture-taking.

Two mug shots remained on the list of eight needed for my column. In-and-out trips to Toby's and Jim's offices netted some okay photos.

After driving straight home, I pulled out the laptop and sent the photos to Trish, publisher of The River Journal.

She sent back a draft of the package with copy and photos. It looks pretty neat.

That job completed, I vacuumed up weekend residue from the carpets and in the garage and then got my stuff for another trip to Grouse Creek. This time, the dogs and I would look for my belt buckle at the turnaround spot on Sunday's trail ride.

I stopped off at the Forest Service seed orchard office where the crew was coming in for lunch. They were all very nice and understanding and happily gave me permission to drive to an area where I could access the spot where I got off from Lily and climbed back on during our outing.

The seed orchard area is beautiful, as evidenced by the photo above and the two below.

~~~~~

After returning to the car, empty-handed but covered with a whole lot of needles and sprigs from climbing through some thick brush, I headed home.

I did a little fence fixing where horses have stretched their necks almost to camel length to grab a mouthful of grass on the other side.

A dinner of garden veggies and Wood's German sausage (second night's worth and tastier than the first) was complemented with baked acorn squash accented by a glob of honey, some brown sugar and Imperial Margarine.

That fresh-baked apple cobbler tasted pretty good too.

~~~~~

While checking my favorite bookmarks on the web, for some reason I thought about Richard Benjamin. I'm kinda weird that way. Someone's face will suddenly pop into my mind, and I'll launch a search to see what's up with them.

Well, I figured I might find something current about Rich, and I have been curious to see if he ever finished the book he was researching when he visited us two years ago.

Rich left an indelible impression with Bill and me. I first connected with him when he called one night and told me he was in the area, doing research for a book and that he'd been reading my blog. He wanted to get together sometime.

I told him that would have to wait because something major was going on at the time----when isn't it?

A few weeks later, I was doing a reading for my new book Lessons with Love at Hastings in Coeur d'Alene. The "crowd" grew to about a dozen, which was good for a late July Saturday afternoon. A young Black man walked in, smiled, sat down and listened intently to my performance. I figured he was all of 16.

Afterward, he came up and introduced himself. That voice on the phone a few weeks before suddenly had a face to match it. I was immediately impressed. Dr. Richard Benjamin is kind, thoughtful, funny, smart, very family-oriented, eloquent and well beyond his 20 or 30-something years in his outlook. He's got the credentials to prove it.

During his stay, he had befriended some of my buddies at the Spokesman-Review newspaper. Let's see, do any of them work there anymore? I think not.

Anyway, later, I heard from Rich again. He was coming up to spend some time at the Bonner County Fair and wondered if I'd join him. We spent the day together wandering through exhibits, meeting people and talking, talking, talking.

I remember while driving Rich to our Lovestead, noting that I figured we could be friends for a long time. He agreed. That afternoon after Bill got off work, we walked to the Lodgepole Log, where Rich happily joined our Lodgepole Society. We topped the day off with dinner at Slate's, compliments of Rich.

Bill and I both agreed that we hoped we'd see him again some day. I have kept in touch with him from time to time, and he happily contributed to my blog OhWriteUCanDo, note link address on my list.

Well, yesterday when I googled Rich, I learned that he did finish that book. It's called Whitopia: An Improbable Journey to the Heart of White America. Rich's book is being released Oct. 6, and you can read more about it at www.amazon.com.

I think his premise is going to receive a lot of in-depth discussion once it hits the book stores. I noticed this morning that, even before its release, Whitopia's Amazon ranking is in the top 50,000.

Good luck to our friend, Rich. I'm very anxious to see what he discovered during his travels through this country.

P.S. In the all in his day's work yesterday, Bill met Viggo---Mortensen, that is.

The dogs and I walked along this shoreline yesterday to get to an area for another belt-buckle search.

No luck, but pretty scenery.

~~Pretty Pond~~

Tales of Love's Losses

We had just gotten in the car from a 3-mile walk through the deep, dark woods in the Grouse Creek drainage. I gave Bill my flashlight and climbed inside with my wet shoes and soggy pant legs (walking across boulders on a creek in the dark can do that). The dogs settled down to snooze mode in the back seat.

We pulled out of the camping area near the familiar meadow known by all who travel the Grouse Creek Road. My mind continued focusing on possibilites----even the fact that maybe my belt buckle had slipped off when I unzipped and rummaged through my fanny pack.

Maybe in the wildest stretches of an imagination, bent on finding a lost object, the buckle would be safely packed among the towels and Zip lock bags of nuts and cookies I'd taken along for Sunday's ride. Later, that theory was dispelled.

I must explain why the buckle popped off during my Sunday afternoon ride. Lately, it has popped off the clip that holds it to the belt. Even Sunday before I left home, it did so.

Over the years, the clip has withstood enough pressure from my movements that it had worked loose. Every time the buckle popped off, I'd put it back on and think that sometime I'd have to find a way to pound the clip back to its original length.

Yup, I thought that same thing Sunday before I left but did nothing about it. Too much going on in life, I guess, to take the time.

Well, now we're taking plenty of time trying to find that buckle. We walked 1.6 miles along the trail after Bill got home from work. We walked to the two spots where Lily had chosen to leap rather than walk over temporary bridges over mushy muck. We searched carefully in both spots, and Bill said next time we'd bring the metal detector cuz if the buckle fell off, it could be buried in the mud.

During our brisk hike, I thought of yet another possibility. When we had reached the pond near the Forest Service seed orchard Sunday, I had gotten off from Lily for a potty stop. Maybe when I climbed back on, the buckle rubbed against the saddle and fell off.

Who knows the answer to this mystery? Maybe I will some day; maybe I won't. But we'll keep looking until we reach a point of acceptance that the buckle belongs to the earth in the same area where so many treasures still remain from days of logging history during the early 1900s.

As we drove home, I told Bill that this situation reminded me of a time long ago when I had $12. In those days, $12 was something for a North Idaho financially challenged farm girl to own with pride.

That was about 50 years ago. I earned the $12 as my prize for selling subscriptions to the Sandpoint News Bulletin, then our official weekly paper.

Lauren Pietsch's staff ran that contest every year. I think the guy who coordinated it was named Max. Max came in for about a week each year and kept a chart of potential subscribers. Kids read about the paper's subscription contest and entered. Some did so well, selling annual subscriptions to locals, that they got to go to Disneyland, all expenses paid.

Others won bicycles; others, money. My best efforts for knocking on doors and spouting off my spiel, "Hi, I'm Marianne Brown. I'm selling subscriptions to the Sandpoint News Bulletin. Would you like to buy one?" netted me that $12.

At the time, that wad of greenbacks was the most money I'd ever had in my life. Heck, I was bursting with pride in the first grade when I got to carry a whole dollar to school to pay for the week's hot lunch in March, 1954, when my mother married our new stepfather.

I carried my $12 winnings with me everywhere I went, including down to Delamarters, where they had a horse named Blackie.

She was black, and she loved to rear. Just pull on the reins, and she would stand on her hind legs. Though it would scare the beejeebers out of me now if Lily did such a thing, I loved it back in those days whenever Blackie stood up.

The Delamarters didn't like rearing, so I was the only one at the time who would ride Blackie. One day I went riding in their woods, did the usual fun tricks with Blackie and headed home. On my way home, I discovered that the wallet that had been in my pocket was no longer there. It was getting to be dark, so I pedaled on.

The next day I went back to Delamarters and looked around their woods for the wallet. It was not to be found. I went back a few more times with no luck. Adding to the challenge was the fact that some dozer work was going on in their woods. Earth had been upturned, and only the Lord knew where that wallet was.

At the time, I was most disappointed about losing my wad of money. But the thought of losing Craig Thompson's picture (my current flame then) was almost as bad.

After telling Bill the story, he said that maybe some day if Ralph Sletager decides to go ahead with his golf course, my wallet and all that money will turn up on one of the fairways. I wonder if Ralph would give me the inflated value if it does.

Anyway, that was one time when even St. Anthony couldn't help me out.

He did a year ago, however. That was when the guardian angel medallion given by Jenny Jacobson Meyer to Angela Warren Miller disappeared just weeks after Angela had left it at the Lodgepole Log.

Four days of searching with a metal detector, along with St. Anthony's prayer, worked. I'm still wondering where it went during those four days, but I know how relieved and thrilled I was to find it in the dirt just below the log box.

I don't know how the belt buckle story is going to end, but it's a treasured item that definitely has meaning. So, we'll give it our best shot.

The great part of this story is the adventures we'll have in the quest to find it. Those will never "go missing" as they like to say on the news these days.

In the meantime, St. Anthony, please come around. I could use your help.

Just Lily, Bill, Kiwi, Kea and Me

It was a family outing for some of the Lovestead menagerie on a postcard picture-perfect day yesterday.

I had heard about a trail leading off from Grouse Creek to Western Pleasure.

I did not want to take it alone because it winds through the deep, dark woods, and I'm the world's biggest chicken.

So, I asked Bill to go with me, and, of course, the dogs were invited.

Turns out Bill had walked a good part of that very trail just last Friday while doing some State Dept. of Lands work for Stimson Lumber Co.

He loves the Grouse Creek area as much as I do, so it was a winner all the way around.

And, Miss Lily continues to make me proud. She crossed a significant creek for the first time, twice.

She leaped over a couple of mucky areas, twice after thinking long and hard about each of them.

Otherwise, she plodded along, seemingly enjoying herself as much as Bill, me and the dogs.

Dogs always enjoy themselves, and Bill was happy to tell me about remnants of Humbird Lumber Co. work sites in the area. He carried his GPS and figured we covered about five miles by the time we arrived back at the pickup and trailer, none the worse for wear except for the loss of something I was wearing.

Read on . . . .

Lily, wearily wondering "where she's gonna make me go next."

Looks like catalog material to me. Bill and Kiwi.

A beautiful sight: the pond near the U.S. Forest Service seed orchard off Grouse Creek Road.

We rode through the woods for 2.5 miles and came out into this gorgeous meadow.

Bill and his fishing buddy.

They didn't fish, but they checked out the waters of Grouse Creek as they walked along with Lily and me.

Most of the trip Kea was not to be found because that woods has a LOT of squirrels.

Lily was not happy about this segment of the trail. Those small birch logs provided some firm support over a section of muck.

Nonetheless, a skeptical Lily did not want to cross this temporary bridge, but when Bill walked over it in front of her, she decided it was okay.

On the way back, she still didn't like it, but, as she does with every obstacle the second time, she sniffed it out and then LAUNCHED off across it. I was prepared for the jump but some of my accessories weren't.

My sunglasses fell off the top of my hat.

And, I'm almost positive my belt buckle popped from its somewhat loose clasp and probably fell somewhere near the trail.

It's a buckle I've had for more than 30 years. My sister Laurie won it by placing first at the 1978 Idaho State Horse Judging contest, and since she'd won an identical buckle the year before, she gave me one of them. I coached the judging team at the time, so that buckle has meant a lot to me over the years.

We've made up flyers and have alerted the folks at Western Pleasure who use the trail. Bill said he'd hike back through the area after work tonight.

Losing the buckle was the only blemish on an otherwise phenomenal day.

Bill takes notes on a pool in Grouse Creek. He figured there might be bull trout in that pool.

This is about the spot where I probably lost my belt buckle.

Trail traffic jam. Bill talks to mountain bikers while Lily listens.

Trail shadow

Doggies having a good time at Grouse Creek: Kiwi, Kea.

Just Sunday stuff

I took this photo while on my rounds yesterday. It's from the home of one of the four subjects being featured in my next "Love Notes" column.

Kathy, her hubby Ken and their two golden retrievers have to look at this view every day.

Must be tough.

Some big black draft horses live next door at the barn.

~~~~~

Yup, I spent part of yesterday tracking down senior pictures of the subjects for my October column. The column focuses on people who've grown up in Sandpoint, left after high school, spent many years working and living professionally somewhere else before returning to their beloved hometown.

I can confidently say all are happy to be here, and they have some fun stories to tell.

~~~~~~

Old habits die slowly, especially with old codgers like me.

When Trish asked me to get their senior portraits to be superimposed with their current photos, I immediately went into the mode of doing it the hard way.

When my sister had already left school and her classroom where all the old yearbooks are stored, I figured I was going to have to borrow a yearbook from each of my subjects, give it to Trish, get them back in a few days and take them back to their owners.

That's the way we would have done it maybe twenty years ago.

Fortunately, my mind slowly fast-forwarded into modern ways.

Why not use my digital camera, take the photos and email them to Trish? Yup, that would work for at least one because I had her yearbook here at home.

It dawned on me that I could go to the museum, where they have a yearbook collection and take the rest.

The museum idea turned out fun cuz I got to have a nice visit with Ann who's been really busy for the last year preparing for the David Thompson Bicentennial and all events connected with it.

She was there alone yesterday. After finding two of the three mugs I needed, we just had a good ol' gab session.

I came home with three of the four needed photos and sent 'em to Trish.

Figuring I'd have to wait until Monday to get the fourth, I went about my business. Then, the brain started working again, considering current, very easy methods of getting a job done.

Why not contact one of my Facebook friends who graduated the same year as Toby whose photo was needed, ask her to take a picture of her yearbook, send it to me and I could send it on to Trish!

Duh, why hadn't I thought of that in the first place??? Old habits connected to the hard way to do things die slowly, that's why!

I sent her a message. A few hours later, she did even better. She happened to have Toby's senior photo among her collection.

She scanned it, sent it and I sent it on to Trish.

Job completed----in a heckuva lot less time than my original scenario and a lot less frustration.

I don't know why my mind hasn't come full scale into the present. Sure would make things a lot easier.

I guess I'll have to work on reminding myself that computers have taken a lot of the miles and hours out of old-time drudgery.

~~~~~

It's another gorgeous Sunday. I'm hoping to saddle up again today. Bill took the pickup yesterday to Boulder Creek and came home with a load of pinus contorta aka lodgepole pine. Willie went to Coeur d'Alene to shop for clothes and to meet a friend to watch Boise State beat Bowling Green.

I spent part of the day digging potatoes, collecting flower seed, and clearing out more dead garden. The problem with having so much garden space and such abundant growth is that the clean-up process involves a lot more work.

Is there a computer program available to ease up on that project? I wish!

Have a wonderful Sunday.

Saturday Slight: Draft Horse and Mule Scenes

Another Idaho Draft Horse and Mule show has hit town, and, as usual, it's something special.

Mother and I went yesterday afternoon and loved every minute.

The folks who put on this show have it spit-shined and ready for crowd consumption. And, they do a wonderful job.

Enjoy the photos. Happy Saturday to all.

Getting ready for the big performance.

Everett Raiha, son of Dan and Tina, seemed pretty content at his first horse show.

He's 3 1/2 weeks old.

Gary Daubersmith, in the red shirt on the right, drove in competition for the first time in this large class.

He came out of the arena with a fifth-place ribbon and a big smile.

His wife Mary was sitting with us, so we saw another big smile as she proudly watched her hubby.

My dear friend Diane Rice told me to look these folks up at yesterday's show.

I complied.

They did okay, winning in this class with their Percherons.

A Draft Horse show highlight

I nearly cried watching these Friesens from Canada perform in an exhibition during yesterday's show.

To say they took my breath away with their beauty and their spell-binding performance is an understatement.

A special treat at yesterday's show was seeing Mac McClean for the first time in several years.

At nearly 80, Mac told me he's quit shoeing horses. Still does auctioneering, and yesterday he even drove a team in one of the classes.

Mac worked for Washington Water Power (now Avista) for years, and he was a familiar face at fat stock sales and horse activities.

It was great seeing him.

Nagels have been part of the Draft Horse Show forever, it seems.

Puttin' up the dust.

Cramer Classics from Northwestern Washington always do well at the show.

Back-yard visitors. Mom had just run around the corner.

The trio was grazing in our yard late yesterday afternoon.

Just Lily and me, chapter 2

I punctuated my last blog posting about Lily and my first solo trail ride with "I love my horse . . . I love my horse . . . "

It would be easy to be repetitive this morning after our second adventure yesterday in the hills northeast of Sandpoint.

Some friends of mine were very gracious and generous to allow us to ride their land, and I thank them from the bottom of my heart. Don't want to sound too syrupy, but that's exactly the way I feel after yesterday's two-hour ride on another exquisite fall day.

Lily was born to be a trail horse. I feel confident about that now. She probably never dreamed that, nor did her first owner Royce Crosby when she was a young 'un grazing the grasslands of southern Oklahoma.

Lily came north, in the winter, as a two-year-old, and she made just as impressive an adjustment to the northland as my husband Bill did when he moved up here from Louisiana in 1974. Both were Southerners meant to be in the mountains of North Idaho.

Both feel at home on trails where logging railroads once hauled giant timber from the woods for Humbird Lumber Co.

I came to that conclusion yesterday as we plodded up and down trails and through meadows accented by decaying wood remnants of those days past when logging camps were prevalent throughout North Idaho.

Lily seems fully at home on the trails. She has a natural sense for how to put one foot in front of the other, when to go slowly and when to put on the power from that big hind end.

She also simply brushed off the sight of three whitetail jumping through the brush to escape our presence. And, she seemed to have cared less when we came upon two batches of turkeys.

The only perceived nemeses for Lily on these rides are big white or gray boulders situated alongside the trail. I wondered yesterday if in Lily's past life a boulder came rolling down a hill and scared her. But with a little gentle coaxing and assurance that "it's okay," she walks gingerly past them and settles down until we meet another.

I loved my ride yesterday, and now that I know what to expect from Lily, I'd love to drop the busyness of life by the side of the road and take to the mountain trails every day of this lovely autumn.

Today, however, we'll take time out from riding so that Mother and I can enjoy a Friday afternoon at the Idaho Draft and Mule Show at the fairgrounds. We've been doing that for the past few years and have always enjoyed every minute of watching Belgians, Percherons, Shires, Clydesdales, etc. and a whole lot of classy mules do their thing.

So, to all, have a great Friday and enjoy your day!

Stump growth

Pardon me, but I can't resist stumps.

I can't explain it, but I love them. I think it's because they take me back to my childhood memories when we had stumps on our 40-acre farm on North Boyer. And, when we drove the countryside, stumps abounded.

Since those days, many have disappeared from pastures, but a few remain to remind us of days gone by when this area was settled by stump ranchers. And, there was big timber, and there were fires, and stumps tell part of the story.

Great North Idaho history in that thar stump

View at the end of the ride

~~~Always a welcome sight for Lily after a few miles on the trail.~~~

Filling the fall bucket

~~A scene along Elmira Road about 20 miles north of Sandpoint.~~

Elmira Road could also be known as Christmas Tree Lane with its hundreds of acres of manicured ornamental trees of all sizes.

~~~~~

Our weather has been exquisite. Yesterday we had near record temperatures for this time of the year, in the 90s.

It was too hot to ride my horse and to continue digging spuds from the garden, so I took the dogs and went for a drive.

I've decided to not waste a minute of this wonderful early autumn weather. My goals are simple: try to do something each day which involves new experiences of any kind.

Last week I took my Lily for her first solo trail ride. I survived; so did she.

Yesterday I took a slight detour off Elmira Road after seeing the sign pointing to Bloom Lake. Elmira Road goes through to Grouse Creek, so my trip would be a loop, bringing me right back to Selle.

I'd never been to Bloom Lake, though, so this would fulfill my rules and add a little bit of substance to my fall bucket list of "things to do that create good memories."

The Bloom Lake Road is in pretty good shape. Fortunately, it has a turnout or two cuz I heard a noise and reacted in time to pull into the wide spot before the logging truck barreling down the hill met head-on with me. He waved approval as I pulled over.

Nice to have that Forest Service experience from years past where we always kept a window open to hear that distinct roar of a loaded truck coming down the mountain.

Later I met a guy in a pickup and asked if any more rigs were coming. He said no.

So, I kept driving until I found Bloom Lake.

Turns out it's owned by the Cook family---same ones that own the Elmira Store.

Bloom Lake is private but public. After later meeting up with the guy in the pickup on my way home, I learned that the place had been logged about ten years ago and parked out for a campground.

There's a caretaker who lives up there---Mike Chisholm. He has a nice display of petunias in big pots at the end of his short driveway.

I drove on in to the campground and fell in love with its charm. Everything is neat and tidy and ready for folks who want to camp out, go boating, hike or go catch some fish.

The rules are posted, and the rules are simple. Take care of the place and donate what you can to the caretaker for its upkeep.

I think the simplicity of this beautiful spot could serve as an example for all the complexities we seem to encounter in the world far from lovely shores of Bloom Lake.

Anyway, another wonderful experience to add to my bucket. See photos below.

I'm planning one today too. Another trail ride with Lily and this time she may meet some cows as we plod through the woods.

Hopefully, we'll both survive once more, and the bucket of good life memories will continue to fill.

Endless Christmas trees, endless mountains--the Selkirks

~~Archway along Elmira Road~~

~~~The Bloom Lake Rules~~~

Boats are there for the using. Just take care of them.

Canoe-in-Waiting

Sun glistening on Bloom Lake

Passing on . . .

One day this week I went to town for numerous errands, which included a stop at Yoke's grocery store. By the time, I was walking out of the store with my purchases, I felt a tinge of loneliness.

Except for a few checkers, I had not seen a familiar face in the whole store, which was bustling at the time with shoppers. It dawned on me that this seems to be happening with more frequency, and when I do see folks I know, it's almost reason for celebration.

I got to thinking that part of the reason this phenomenon is affecting me more frequently these days is that people are dying.

Yes, that happens every day, but when the demographics include folks you've known your entire life---one or two this week, three or four another week, it all adds up. Of course, that could explain why the familiar-face-at-the-grocery store numbers are dwindling for me.

I've mentioned in past postings that this realization is the downside of living in your hometown forever. I'm reminded of it all too often, it seems. This morning I read in the paper that another major figure of Sandpoint's colorful history has passed on.

It wasn't so much Edith Jennestad that created the legend, but she was a vital part of the longtime clothing store at 317 North First Avenue called Jennestad's which so epitomized the good ol' days in downtown Sandpoint. Edith was just shy of 95 when she died in Kirkland, Wash.

As I had done with Hazel Hall, who died at 96 years old just a few weeks ago, I once interviewed Edith for a Sandpoint Magazine story about Farragut Naval Training Station. Hard to believe that was 14 years ago.

After teaching both elementary and high school students, Edith went to work for her father Ole in the family store. That was 1945. The store had been going for 37 years by that time. Edith worked there for another 38 years before selling the store in the early 1980s. It featured men's and women's clothing and accessories.

"Farragut really boosted business," she told me in that interview. "We were on the corner and had three doors. Father wouldn’t get home 'til one in the morning. He always kept a good supply of stock and was always reordering.

"People came from all over to buy suits at the end of the war," she added. "We had a good supply. Somebody from Portland had been in the store, bought a suit and told friends. They came to Sandpoint to buy suits."

Edith shared one specific memory of the wartime boon for their business.

"During the war Commodore Frank H. Kelley, commander of Farragut, called Father and asked if would he come out to Farragut and measure the commodore for uniforms and order them," she recalled.

"Our job was half done. We were running around getting boots and socks for German prisoners of war [Many were 'incarcerated' at Farragut]. We even waited on them," she added. "We rang them up separately and turned it in and got one check for everything. We didn’t always get paid by other people."

"My father never complained; he always said 'yes.' When the commodore's uniform eventually arrived from Chicago," he was so pleased that other officers wanted Dad to do the same. They [Farragut] had 20 of their own tailors and a huge area to work in, but he heard that my dad fit people well. He never had any problems except one time when a guy put on weight."

Edith's dad also did a good business with the loggers who made up most of the work force in the area in those days.

"He would go to the logging camps; he would measure them. He took no money down sent the orders into Ed. D. Price and every man would come and pick up his suit and pay for it," she told me. "They wore suits; they didn’t wear sport coats. He didn’t have a dollar from any of them; all of it was on trust. Most of them paid the $38 dollar suit . . . fairly expensive."

"[To do the measuring], he had to travel on the [logging] trains, sometimes walk and sometimes rode a horse," Edith said. "He would even stay over at the camps."

After her retirement, as a firm believer in education, Edith eventually set up a Jennestad scholarship at Sandpoint High School, which provides funds to help a business-oriented student to go on to college. I read in the obituary that she had moved a few years ago over to Western Washington to be with her sister.

She may have left town and has most recently left for a better place, but Edith and her family left a permanent and colorful mark on Sandpoint's early history.

Another vital part of our past has passed on. One more familiar face gone, but there's a happy side of this story. The great aspect of living in one's hometown forever is the permanent and lasting connections with the past.

News of Edith's passing was complemented this morning by a wonderful note from former student Francie Rogers. She had heard that Willie was now teaching at the high school where Bulldog gym is named after her father Les, one of Sandpoint's most generous citizens. Many wonderful connections exist with Francie's story.

I taught her for three years as an English student, drill team member and yearbook staff member. Francie has never forgotten the day when she, Diane Bush and Jacque Meneely held a private meeting with me in the school darkroom. I was not feeling up to snuff, and I wanted the girls to know why.

Outside my family, they were the first to know that in a few months I would become a mother for the first time. And when that few months passed, young William Love III would become the surrogate baby for 30-plus adoring drill team girls. At five weeks old, he accompanied us all on the bus to the Wenatchee Apple Blossom Festival where the Ponderettes marched in the parade.

Francie, in her note, could not believe that so much time had passed since that day of disclosure in the darkroom. Well, it has, and that young man is now contributing to the history that continues to march on both at the high school and in this community.

And, one more note. That Yoke's grocery store where I was feeling sad about the lack of familiar faces the other day----it was originally started by Francie's dad, Les Rogers. So, even without visible familiarity, the past lives on in wonderful ways.

Good bye . . . hello

Funny how routines can change so quickly. Just a few weeks ago, I was going out in the mornings, dumping grain in barnyard containers and dragging a hose around to water the flowers and veggies while the three horses nibbled away at their morning treats.

I wore no coat.

This morning, for the second consecutive day, I gave the horses their grain and began picking green tomatoes from frozen vines. We had a major freeze Sunday night, and I didn't hear about the predicted low temperatures until late Sunday afternoon. I knew there was no way I would have time or materials to cover all the stuff that might freeze.

So, I just let it happen, and when I went outside in the morning, it was obvious the cold had taken its toll. I didn't even get mad cuz I was ready for gardening to end. So, I started the tomato picking routine while the horses ate their grain.

I wore a flannel shirt, a fleece and my barn coat. Still, my hands were nearly numb after plucking a couple of dozen tomatoes from ice-cold vines.

I wore the same ensemble this morning and pretty much cleared the vines near the barn of their fruit. Tomorrow I'll move to another garden to pick more green tomatoes.

Instead of watering the gardens, I'm now pulling up dead plants and putting them in the wheel barrow to haul off to the same piles where, just weeks ago, cantaloupe and watermelon vines spread far and wide, producing several melons over the summer. Those vines are virtually invisible now. Once the fruit's gone, they have a way of disappearing, almost before one's very eyes.

While walking back from the paperbox, I looked at the lawn this morning, strewn with leaves. I thought about how a couple of weeks ago, I had those lawnmowers on the go twice weekly to keep the place looking neat and tidy.

Once those leaves start falling, though, I've found an excuse to cut down on my mowing program. Lots of leaves can hide lots of scraggly grass.

I've hit my point this year of where lawn mowing and garden watering have both lost their luster. It's time to change the whole routine and get ready for the fall mode----cleaning gardens, raking leaves, and general winterizing.

All too soon, my morning routine will involve going to the barn, dumping out the grain in individual box stall buckets, putting hay out into the barnyard or a nearby pasture, turning blanketed horses out and mucking out those stalls.

I'm actually looking forward to that routine because I've kinda missed listening to the morning gang on the K102 country station, and I haven't heard the "Secret Sound" for several weeks.

All that morning drama will return to my day just as "Dancing with the Stars" came back last night. My nightly routine now finds me on the couch ready for the 8 p.m. prime time TV shows, knowing I'll be nodding off by 9 p.m. and off to bed just a few minutes later. While watching "Dancing with the Stars" last night, I was thinking that this same routine sure seemed like it was just yesterday.

The seasons change as do the daily routines. Somehow, though, the routines of these seasons of life always remain pretty constant. Once we settle in through each transition, it seems almost as if we've reconnected with some good ol' friends.

Good bye hose. Hello barn rake.
Good bye lawnmower. Hello lawn broom.
Good bye hoe. Hello rototiller.
Good bye Big Blue Pool. Hello fleece blankets.
So long Crocs and shorts. Hello lined jeans and warm jackets.
Good by birdie tweets and twitters. Hello Breakfast Boys and country ditties.
Good bye open windows. Hello wood stove.
Good bye barbecue. Hello casserole.

The beat of life ticks on.

Scenes at the season's last horse show

Rusty got to go to the show.

I love Rusty's pretty head and lovely eye.

He's a Half Arabian and Half Quarter Horse with a handsome look of elegance all his own.

We had a fun weekend visiting, waiting and riding at the Thank Goodness, It's the Last Horse Show of the Season.

Enjoy the photos.

Laurie and Rusty took second in their class Saturday.

Rusty usually goes to dressage shows rather than horse shows, so this was a change of pace for him.

~~Friends~~

Karlen McBirney and Mother

The brains and the worker bees behind a couple of very successful Sandpoint horse shows, mother and daughter Moreen Leen and Moriha Yetter.

By the way, Moriha is also a beekeeper.

Their dedication to putting on a good, fun show is hard to match.

Things can get boring at a horse show.

So, a guy's gotta find a few distractions.

Could this be winning form?

I think young Mr. Russell is 4 1/2 years old.

He won his walk-trot class yesterday.

Saturday night he rode 29-year-old Clancy, an Appaloosa gelding owned by Doug and Carri Stockdale, to the high point award for games.

I'm betting that young Mr. Russell has a future in the horse circles.

I just liked this picture of Barbara and me in the warm-up ring.

~~Sisters~~

Barbara and I rode Dusty and Lily, respectively in the Red Hat, Pink Shirt class.

Little Sis Laurie was nice enough to be our slave and take our picture before the class.

Lots of red hats showed up for the special class honoring the memory of longtime horse-show supporter Elizabeth O'Brien.

Entry fees for this class go toward cancer research.