After returning home from the doctor's appointment yesterday, which went well, by the way, I walked into the kitchen and saw the light flashing on the answering machine. One call came from a Dianna Moore, who wasted no time adding in the message that her last name used to be Harney.
When I returned the call, and she answered, I said, "Well, I think the last time we may have talked to each other was 56 years ago." Dianna was amazed. Of course, to both of us it seems like a long time ago but not THAT long.
Well, a lifetime has moved along well into senior-citizen status for Dianna and me. She lives in Idaho Falls but spent most of her adult life in Montana.
Last time I remember seeing her, and I don't know if, as a fourth grader, she had a lot to say to this pipsqueak first-grader---that was on a late May day in 1954. It was the end of school and the Harneys held a picnic at their dairy farm on the hill for their kids and the neighborhood kids. Yup, back in those days we didn't go to school until June, and we started in September.
I'm pretty sure that was the same day I rode my bike down their sloping driveway which had railroad tracks passing over it. That was the first hill I'd ever cruised as a novice bike rider, and I was not yet experienced enough to know that it's a good idea to put on your brakes before bouncing over the crossing.
Handlebars went skyward, stopping only when my chin got in the way. Teeth gnashed. Soon blood came pouring from my mouth where my front teeth, with the force of those handlebars, pierced a hole in my tongue. One front tooth even chipped in the process.
I left the gathering and went to the doctor's office with an awfully sore tongue. Dr. Hayden took good care of me.
The Harneys eventually moved, and I don't think they came back to Lincoln School when David Harney and I would have spend our second year together as classmates.
During that first-grade year, he had earned the distinction (could be questionable to everyone but me) of being my first boyfriend. Laura Delamarter and I fought over him, each grabbing a spot in his classroom seat with him scrunched in the middle.
I liked David even when I got a spanking from Mrs. Kinney one night after school while the two of us waited for the bus and played with the chalk and eraser. David got chalk dust all over his nose. I laughed really loud. Mrs. Kinney came in and spanked me, telling me not to laugh at other kids.
Well, at least that's the way I remember it from my 6-year-old mind. Mrs. Kinney wasn't my favorite after that, but David remained my friend, chalky nose and all.
We never heard much from the Harney's after that. We knew they moved to Great Falls, Montana, and I secretly wished for years that they would come back. Except for that bike mishap, I thought it was pretty neat to get to go up to their place on the hill overlooking Great Northern Road.
They had the big milking barn, a small milk house and their house, which I believe burned down. It was a great place for little kids to enjoy.
Little did I know at the time that I would eventually live on that place for the first three years of our marriage. By that time, my folks owned the Harney Dairy after purchasing it and the big piece of flat land, adjoining our North Boyer farm, in the mid'60s.
There was a little ice house on the place, which had been used as a rental residence. I loved living there, even though those railroad tracks still caused us fits when a train would pull up, stop and block our exit. I even thought it would be nice to buy what we then called "The Upper Place."
Instead, we purchased the old Ed Senft place down the road and lived there for the next 30 years.
I've reconnected with the Harneys in the past several years, especially with Mary, the youngest who lives in Oregon near her mother who's now 92. For a short while, I even connected with my first boyfriend via cyberspace.
He was working in potato research in the Tri-Cities. Lois Hall told me last night that his work influenced the use of sweet potatoes for French fries. On the side, David also dabbled in literary pursuits. Once he sent me a parody he'd penned of a famous poem. I think it was "The Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner."
That piece convinced me that my first boyfriend was pretty brilliant. I think we exchanged three or four emails. Then, I never heard from him again.
Yesterday's call from Dianna was a bad-news call. David died last week at work from what they believe was heart failure. She told me David was a very private person but oh so talented. Never married, kept to himself, even though very personable at work.
So now, I know from our conversation that, besides being funny with chalk dust on his nose, David held on to his sense of humor throughout his life, creating cartoons and funny pieces of writing. I don't know much more about his life. Still, though, his passing is significant to me because of his significance in my life so early on.
Reconnecting with the Harneys once more is meaningful too because of their mere presence next door to our farm and because of our later love for their farm where my dad's Hereford cattle replaced their Holsteins, and that milk house transformed into a shop.
My dad spent hundreds of hours, tinkering, snoozing or visiting with people in that little building while puffing on a roll-yer-own.
Funny how circumstances, places and times unite us and how we unwittingly remain "joined at the hip" throughout life, as they often say. It was nice to talk to Dianna yesterday, and we'll continue to stay connected via Facebook as the days roll on.
For now, I've been reminded of the glorious past once more and of a person who played a small but special role in my own personal journey. RIP, David.
