Weekend Memories and Remembrance

Another rainy day in North Idaho but it was dry enough to hang the flag, for at least a while on this Memorial Day.

I'll probably visit some cemeteries today and I won't let the rain dampen the memories of those whose graves where I leave flowers.

And, of course, I'll remember those who sacrificed for all of our good lives.

I've posted a few photos of the relatively dry day we experienced yesterday (note a heavy emphasis on relatively).

Bill and I and the Border Collies enjoyed a few hours of driving the Lightning Creek Road, which washed out a few years ago during a severe storm.

The road was reopened a few months ago, and this was my first trip along one of the routes I used to work for the Forest Service Engineers in the late 1960s and early '70s.

We spent many an hour at its beginning, conducting traffic surveys and lots more driving the road and its side roads, putting out traffic counters on Mondays and reading them on Fridays.

It was nice to get back to Lightning Creek, which I think I'm safe in saying is Clark Fork's back-woods playground.

Glad to see it open again.

Heavenly beauty along the road.

Of course, geocaching: at an old mine shaft along Lightning Creek.

From the new Lightning Creek Bridge near Clark Fork.

Looking north from the new Lightning Creek Bridge

We drove part way up the Lake Darling Road, but snow forced us to turn around.  

Chris Moon and I used to take this road twice weekly.  It's probably been at least five years since I've been to this spot, so it was nice reconnecting with the Lightning Creek drainage yesterday.  

There went the sun . . . . all my children

I looked at the Yahoo ten-day weather forecast yesterday afternoon.  It showed ten graphic squares with clouds, rain droplets and temperatures,  ranging from 45-60.  That would mean 11 straight days of rain.

I looked at the ten-day weather forecast only after growing weary of the gloom and nonstop rain that had fallen all night and all day.  My attitude had hit the wall after several attempts of willing myself to get out there and do stuff in spite of getting drenched within minutes.  Finally, enough was enough.

So, out of curiosity, I came upstairs and peeked at that ten-day prediction, compliments of the Weather Channel.  Something inside my head kept warning me it would be ten days straight.  And, when the graphics for each day through June 7 opened, sure enough, my head was right.  

To call this weather outlook depressing just doesn't come close.

Visions of what to do inside through ten days of rain were cloudy, at best.

Later the KREM news came on, and the weekend weather forecaster told us she was wearing her bright yellow shirt in an effort to brighten up our day.  I have to hand it to her for, at least, making the effort.  

She did tell us, however, that today would be the nice day of the next week.  Then, she kinda got mixed up and said it would be a good week ahead, warmer but lots of rain.  I disagree with her assessment that it's gonna be a good week.

This morning the Spokesman provided some glimmers of hope.  The graphic showed a week of clouds, a couple of days in the high 60s and "some" chance of rain each day. 

The last time we had ongoing, gloomy, wet weather like we've seen so much of this spring, Willie pulled Annie's bottom tooth out.  Her tooth wasn't quite ready to come out.  She was barely  5 at the time. 

That was the same year that I got addicted to the soap opera  "All My Children."  It rained every day in June that year.  So, there was lots of time spent in the house with "both of my children."  To say we all got tired of each other in such close quarters would be sorely understated.

Sometime during that month, out of desperation, I brought in the rubber raft we'd bought for the kids.  Yeah, sure, we could use it outside in the fields, but we didn't want to go outside into the wet fields with tall, cold grass when it kept raining all the time.  So, the kids pretended they were floating through a lake in the living room.

The raft provided a nice diversion, but after a while, even it turned into a weapon of tooth destruction when one afternoon,  out of my sight, its thin, nylon rope got stuck somehow in Annie's mouth.  Someone pulled one direction while someone else pulled the other.  

Things were pretty quiet in the living room when suddenly, I turned around in the kitchen to see Annie with tears in her eyes,  holding her hands over her mouth. Blood was dripping from her hands.  

I quickly pulled them away from her face and noticed a tooth gone, root and all.  Can't remember where it was, but we found it amidst the blood and the blubbering.  

Of course, amidst the blubbering, she told me Willie did it.  I went looking for Willie and couldn't find him.  He was hiding in one of the bedrooms cuz he knew something major had happened.  

I don't remember the exact words of my lecture, but it was delivered quickly cuz we had a premature tooth extraction on our hands.  I started calling dentists' offices and learned very quickly what time it was.  It was time for dentists to go home.  Somebody told me that if you stuffed it back in its original cavity, it might reconnect with Annie's gum.

If memory serves me correctly, I don't think that worked.  Annie had a gap on her bottom row of teeth until she aged enough for the permanent tooth to come in.

The rain continued for several more days.  The kids were more careful with that nylon rope, and I continued to get more and more addicted to "All My Children" while trying to find an indoors diversion from my own children who were climbing the walls by then.

I have no children to drive me bananas if this 2010 rain should continue for several days; I just have grandpuppies, and they will stay outside rather than pretending to be sailors aboard inside rubber rafts. 

I could always clean the house some more or read a book, but I'm an outside person and will probably resort to some really crazy tactics to keep myself from going stir crazy or,  even worse than that,  turning on the boob tube to see if Greg still likes Jenny.  Who knows?  Maybe they've each had a dozen spouses by now.

Saturday Slight

The Memorial Weekend has begun, and we helped it off to a good start yesterday when the sun came out and allowed us some leisure time outside.

Kevin and Joyce are here to stay with Mother while Barbara and Laurie are at their Eastern Washington Arabian Show in Spokane.

We were supposed to have lots of rain yesterday, but it appears to have saved up for today.

Bill left long before I awakened. It's opening day at Cocolalla Creek, and he's probably been casting his flies since about 4:30 a.m.

Our afternoon yesterday was filled with rollicking fun.

First, the gathering began with just Kevin, Joyce, Mother, myself and the five doggies.

We kept moving chairs to catch the afternoon sun in the front yard.

When a slight breeze put a chill in the air, I grabbed a couple of blankets for Mother and Joyce.

Who would know that blankets could be so much fun for a couple of women while a big blue ball kept the doggies focused.

A few raindrops fell during this time, and Mother, always sensitive to wind and rain and what it's gonna do to her hair, hid herself from the raindrops.

Of course, she didn't clue in the several times we mentioned that the blanket probably did more damage to her hairdo than a few raindrops.

Bill eventually came home from work and then came Willie and Debbie.

We had a great visit and lots of laughs while doggies were in their glory.

I also picked a few of my columbine, started from seed last year, and gave Mother a bouquet. We all agreed that those are some of the prettiest columbine we've ever seen. And, I'm thrilled that they're thriving and will add a special touch of beauty to the Lovestead for a long time.

This morning Bill is probably the only one out enjoying Mother Nature, but maybe the rain will cease. Willie and Debbie plan to go ride the Trail of the Coeur d'Alenes beginning at Cataldo.

Barbara and Laurie will continue to show horses in what I've heard is a "lake" environment in Spokane.

Kevin will take care of their other horses, and we're planning a barbecue late this afternoon or early evening at the Lovestead, outside if the rain quits, inside if it doesn't.

Mike reported in from Ellensberg where he, Mary and their doggie Holly are camping this weekend. I haven't heard yet whether Annie has floated away in Forks or if the vampires have invaded her campsite.

So far, oodles of fun and a half-and-half weekend:  half rain, half sun.

Happy Saturday to all.

Raindrops!

There's a mother under that thar blanket!

And, there she is!

Team Border Collie tries attempts a rebound.

Beautiful Columbines

A relaxing visit

This morning's wet aftermath, or would that be "afterbath"?

Streaming detours

Lots on my mind today, so I'm just gonna stream it this morning and dribble out bits of my conscious self.  Self is pretty conscious right now cuz the latte is kicking in, so look out.  

Streaming seems appropriate today too cuz we're gonna get wet again.  And, some local anglers are excited cuz a bunch more streams are opening first thing in the morning.

Bill's ready to beat the sun-up tomorrow morning and drive down to Cocolalla Creek for his annual opening day of fly fishing.  I hope he remembers his rod this time.  

I saw on Facebook that some family members are camping this weekend over in Washington.  I heard that Annie's going to Forks, WA.  

Now, if you're looking for a weekend of rain and vampires, that's the place to be.  We were in Forks back in the early '80s when President Reagan got shot.  In fact, we were driving down the main drag, not looking for vampires back in those days,  when we first heard the news on the radio.

Since it was spring vacation, and I was grouchy because all we had encountered was rain in the rain forest, we pulled into a motel early that day and watched the news flashes about the attempted assassination.  The rain continued, as it did throughout that entire vacation.

Seems that rain likes to come along for Memorial Day weekend.  My sisters are at their annual Eastern Washington Arabian Show in Spokane.  I'm guessing this will be the ultimate test for their travel trailer in providing them a dry place to get out of the elements.  

When it's raining and cold, that arena at Interstate Fairgrounds is about the coldest place around, so I'm sure the folks at the horse show will be well bundled.  

I've told rototiller tales this week.  The story has an ending or at least an anti-climax.  Yesterday I stopped by Co-Op to get some nylon rope for a starter cord.  That's when this small-engine repair novitiate learned that stores actually SELL starter cords.  

So, I asked for some free advice on what might be going wrong with my assembly process.  The clerk finally said, "Just bring in the part and we'll install it for you."  That made me feel good.

Later, after a rollicking good time at the museum where I learned that movie theaters will stiff you if you bring in your own dark chocolate to nibble on while your husband munches on his $10 popcorn and $5 beverage, I came home to work some more on my starter cord.

There were some actual directions on the package, so I picked up a few tips on things I may have done wrong with the other three attempts to fix the damn thing.  

Still, when I got it installed as best a person can while holding on to a metal spring just faunching at the bit to take off into the air and slap you in the face, I could get only about eight inches of the cord to recoil back into the housing.

I tried a couple of other tactics,  but the spring kept getting the best of my klutzy hands and tempting my tongue to say bad things.  So, I calmly put it on the work bench and left the premises to come back at a better time.  

As I walked out of the shop, my brother Kevin pulled into the driveway.  He wondered where I'd been.  I showed him my black hands, indicating I'd been hard at work as a failing fix-it lady.  We talked inside for a while.  Then, I got the nerve to ask him if he'd look at my cord.

He did, and within five minutes, his vast knowledge of fixing chainsaw starter cords kicked in.  I now have a rototiller starter cord that recoils and that pesky adversarial spring is stuffed back where it belongs, ready to do its job.  

Now, if the rain would stop, I could take that rototiller back to the big garden and do a final touch-up before planting the rest of the rows.  Tomatoes, more potatoes, more corn,  cukes and some more beans need to go into the ground in the next few days.  

While at the museum yesterday, Gary Pietsch, who faithfully reads my column but doesn't do Facebook where he would know that his son Chris won a prestigious Northwest photojournalism award,  asked me if I ever figured out  what or who stole the corn cob from my fenced-in garden.

I reported to Gary, after telling him that if he'd join Facebook, he'd know was his son is up to, that another faithful reader, Judy in Seattle, told me that she's seen crows bring things like chicken parts to her birth bath to wash before dining on them.

So, it could be my corn cob is floating around in someone's bird bath somewhere in this Selle Valley or maybe even in Seattle.  

If they happen to find the cob and don't want to return it, I'll happily give them my blessing to flip off a few of those seeds, stick 'em in the ground and watch the corn grow. 

I liked last year's corn so much that I saved those two cobs so we could enjoy the flavor again this year.  So, I can guarantee to the new corn-cob recipient, be it crow or human,  some tasty eating this summer.

Again, the clouds are not dropping any rain as yet today, so I'm gonna head on out and see what or who has played havoc with my gardening efforts overnight.  Surely something has gone wrong. 

Happy Friday.

A Museum Thursday

We had rain overnight.  We're supposed to have heavy rain this afternoon and tomorrow afternoon.  For once, I'm not complaining----just yet, anyway.  

The garden is somewhat under control.  The rest of the planting can be leisurely instead of urgent.  It's urgent when it rains too much and the soil hasn't been tilled and I start wondering if it's ever gonna dry out enough to allow a rototiller to do anything besides getting caked up with three tons of mud.

Well, regular readers know the rototiller story.  The last garden plot is in good enough shape that I can do a little hand tilling and drop the seeds.  Have been doing that for the past few days.  Yesterday I concentrated on transplanting stuff from the greenhouse.  Petunias went where the zinnias died.  More pansey pots moved to the front deck.  

I'm hoping for pansey brilliance in that area this summer.  Petunias will be showing up all over the place, including a few in the veggie gardens.  The big marigolds went out yesterday too.

I still haven't decided where to put my half dozen lovely lavender plants.  From my past experience, I've learned they need room to grow, so I'm still thinking on that one.  

They may just show up in one of the new front-yard planters where I pulled at least three gazillion weeds yesterday. Anybody have an idea for sterilizing barnyard dirt to get rid of weeds???  For now, I know I've got a lot of pulling to do.

Anyway, today's rain will be welcome along with the warmth.  Maybe all those little garden seeds will feel a bit more like sprouting and enjoying the rest of the summer here.  

With the rain, I'm planning a visit to the museum.  Ann called me the other day and told me they needed a few books.  Good enough reason to set aside some time to go down there for a visit.  I miss spending time at the museum,  visiting with the staff and volunteers.  

Plus, it would be fun to just do some research.  I might look up more information about Gold Creek School for my speech in June. The speech is just about finished so I can turn it over to Willie to take it from there.  We're doing a Mother-Son appearance with the Delta Kappa Gamma folks for their state convention next month in Post Falls.  

I've really enjoyed writing the speech because it encompasses so many cherished memories associated with the teaching experiences of our family.  I'm also anxious to see what Willie has to tell the women about his first year in the classroom. 

I do know from our discussion last night that it doesn't take long for any teacher, young or old,  to recognize the "May Mode," when several factors arise on a daily basis,  indicating "it's time"  for the school year to end.

Only problem is they have to go halfway through June.

Well, it's dry outside for a while, so I'll cut the babble, wish you all a great day, and head outside to plop some more stuff in the ground.

Happy Thursday.

Corny theft

Who or what would steal a dried-up cob of last year's corn?  I'm dealing with the mysterious dilemma similar the one that frustrated the neighborhood during the three weeks I stole all their mail every day after Bill Brockus delivered it----that when I was five.  I'm sure back in those days, mail thievery was not all that common.  

So, for several neighbors to have no mail for three weeks straight must have kept them scratching their heads until dear ol' Mrs. Moore spotted me coming out of the woods, emptying the boxes and taking the armful of bills, letters, boxes, etc. back into our woods.  Rather than coming over, screaming at me and scaring the beejeebers out of me, she told on me---to the Federal postal authorities.

Well, now so many years later and having escaped the "prison record" my mother said I was sure to have after the Feds made their visit, I'm in a quandary over some daytime theft here at my place.

Unlike the mail pilfering, this situation is about as trivial as the case in our childhood when someone carved on the pencil and we were sent to our room for days with no TV until the guilty party fessed up.

In this case, I'm don't have the luxury of making threats or sending this thief to its room.  I'm just wondering if it flies, races up trees, jumps fences or sneaks through the bushes.

Here's what happened.  Night before last I started preparing some rows out in the north garden for seeds.  I took along a cob of last year's corn, which I've been saving all winter for planting purposes.  I've even checked it out earlier by pulling off a few kernals and planting them in pots inside my greenhouse.  

Most of them germinated, so at least a dozen stalks are growing nicely and waiting to be transplanted to the outdoor garden. I did plant one outside as a test model several days ago, but those several days of cold nights took care of its mortality.  Like my zinnias, it turned brown and went limp.  

After that freeze, it's now looking safe to at least plant some corn seeds, so I took the proven cob, loaded with hardened kernals to the garden.  On that first night, I had time to work up two rows and plant about 18 kernals per row.  I left both the garden tool and the cob on site,  within the fenced-in garden.

Yesterday morning I returned and worked up another couple of rows, figuring I'd come back later in the day and finish the seeding project.  Again, I left the cob and the garden tool.

Last night after completing my day of lawn mowing, I walked to the garden to plant some more corn rows from seed.  

The cob had disappeared.  I looked all over the garden.  No sign of it.  I looked all around the area outside the garden.  Still, no luck.  It's not that the cob is THAT important.  After all, I did save two of them over the winter.  What's puzzling me is what kind of critter would come and steal it---in broad daylight, no less.  

We do have people who bike and walk down the road.  I really doubt that any of them have looked over into my garden, only to covet the golden cob minus a few kernals and make off with it.  

Jim Taylor has been working on fences across the road for the past several days.  I know the Taylors well enough to know, that as longtime farmers, they have more than enough of their own kernals for this year's garden.

So, I don't think the culprit is human.  I also doubt that the squirrels hanging out and chattering in Stan Meserve's big trees could lift something that big and bury it for further use.

I'm thinking crows.  They hang around here all the time,  squawking, singing, cackling and sometimes even talking.  Ever had a crow hang around and think you had some company?  They can do that, ya know.

I'm guessing some astute crow saw that cob lying there in the dirt and thought "Whiskey!"   I'm also guessing that if they were to use it for some of their own home brew, we could hear some really good sounds coming out of the sky as they sit on tree tops or swoop overhead, making noise and looking for things.

It's, indeed, a corny mystery, in more ways than one.  I'm thinking that, like Mrs. Moore, I'd really like to catch my corn-cob thief, so I think I'll plant the rest of my corn and then leave the second cob out there for bait. 

If I'm so lucky to spot this thief in action, maybe there's a Federal agency I can call to take care of the legal aspects associated with stealing gardening seeds.  

In the meantime, if anyone has ideas as to what creature would do such a thing, I'll be happy to hear from you. 

Tuesday Twitterdeevotetoday

Yup, it's Idaho Primary Election day.  Bill and I will be going to the Northside Community Church sometime today to exercise our cherished right to mark "X'es" next to our preferred candidates---or to write in some names. 

It looks like a "no brainer" in choosing ballots in this primary.  In Idaho we don't have to declare a party.  Instead, we select the party ballot inside the polling booth and discard the other in a secure place.  I'm not sure exactly what that procedure will be, but I do know that we don't have to give away our preferences except by secret ballot.

I'll be taking the Republican ballot in this primary because that's where all the key primary races are.  In fact, locally and statewide, this primary will determine if some incumbents stay in office.  Some of my choices are automatic every time they run for office because they're proven candidates. 

I really like and fully support all of our Idaho legislators---George, Eric, Joyce and Shawn.  They'll all get my vote. The other races are between me and my ballot---and a few members of my family.  

The mud slinging has gone back and forth in several instances, and I must say that turns me off.  I still believe, even though it's old-fashioned and apparently ineffective among the masses, that it's better for candidates to stand on their own merits than to rip someone else apart.  Generally, the people who have something positive and some possible solutions to problems get my vote. 

Politics is turning somewhat strange and nasty these days.  Sometimes it's hard to sift out whom to choose while going down the ballot, but I'll figure it out, and best of all, I'll be proud once more to have done my civic duty.  

The best part comes when the telephone quits ringing and the political eyesores scattered along roadsides all over the countryside disappear until the next election.  Those robo calls, or whatever they're called, drive me nuts, especially when the same candidate calls several times.  

They played a part in a somewhat negative experience last week.  I walked into the house to hear the phone ringing.  When I picked it up and answered, the real live person at the other end asked if I was William Love.

Well, you can imagine how that question set the tone.  The person sounded like a bored telemarketer, when, indeed, he was representing a bona fide, credible entity.  

Having already grown weary of calls from politicians and more than enough calls for causes (what happened to that 1-800-do-not-call?), I cut the poor soul off and told him William Love would not be available for his survey.

I felt bad but also thought this individual could have sounded more like an engaging human being than a robot reading a script,  and then I wondered how many other victims he had turned off during his day on the phone.  

Turns out I received a call from his supervisor, and it turns out he may have miffed a few other folks.  She apologized profusely AND she did sound like a real human being that cared.  I was impressed, to say the least. 

Anyway, today is reason for celebration---for the winners on the ballot (maybe not for the voters in some cases; we'll see).  And, to have the phone go silent for another few months will be especially nice.

Happy Election Day.  And, if you're in Idaho, go vote for the candidates of your choice. 

Seasons and stuff

I LOVE this photo of Debbie and our grandpuppy Todd.

I thought it was going to be kinda neat, but never dreamed it would capture my heart so much.

Todd is every bit as sweet as he looks in the photo, and so is Debbie.

After the rain storms blew over Saturday afternoon, we went for a hike along the Pack River near its delta.

The earth had received a good washing, and colors were brilliant.

I've ridden my horse and my bike along the trail, but this was my first hike from the Trout Creek Fish and Game entrance.

It was Willie and Debbie's first time to see the old cabin sitting at the edge of a meadow with Pack River flowing along across the meadow.

So, of course, the camera did some clicking.

On this morning of another week of "season finales TV-style," I must sadly say that we've probably had several season finales in our yard.

A fourth night of freezing temperatures has turned those glorious and abundant apple blossoms brown. I noticed clumps of peonies sagging as I walked to the paperbox.

I gave up on my futile attempts to save zinnias two nights ago.

Looks like fruit may be a rarity this year after thinking a week ago we'd enjoy an overabundance.

I'll have to wait to see how much of the vegetable garden survived the brutal cold, but the seeds will go in the ground once again.

As they say, we may not have abundance in good luck around here, but we've cornered the market on RESILIENCE.

Happy Monday.

Willie, Debbie and doggies enjoying the scene at the old cabin.

Wildflowers are out where southern exposure and the sun make life inviting for them.

Call it the Ginter Fish and Game or the Trout Creek Fish and Game.

Either way, it's a great place to hike, bike or ride horses and to see the Pack River meander toward Lake Pend Oreille.

Sexy Tractors Do It in the Dirt

Sorry about the heading this morning.

The imp in me couldn't resist being a bit racy.

More sexy tractor pictures coming in the next few minutes.

For now, here's a politician working up some farmland at yesterday's annual Plow Day on Selle Road.

Idaho State Rep. George Eskridge joined several other classic tractor operators, plowing up one of Gary Finney's farm fields.

Gary says he'll just plant grass in the newly tilled field.
. . . .

Farmer Finney, whose field got the furrows.

There were plenty of supervisors and helping hands as the tractor operators worked their craft.

Team Tractors!

This beauty brightened an already bright day.

This John Deere man came prepared for the occasional showers that blew over.

The scene was lovely and most of the day was nice for the plowing operation.

Some tractors came to plow day on their own down the rural roads, while others from further away, like Wrencoe, came on fancy trucks.

Lee Burnett aboard his beauty.

This fancy old truck hauls Percherons and tractors. 

Call Gary, and tell him you like his truck. 

I might not be a tractor, but I'm a cute old classic.

Saturday Slightly Discouraged

I think the straw hit the camel's back, or more correctly, the blinds hit the floor this morning.  When they came crashing down, holders and all, rather than just the blinds, I grimaced and said to myself, "Well, that's par for the course."

What a way to start another day after a Friday of discovering frozen potatoes all through my garden spots and a few zinnias I'd forgotten to cover the night before.  When you put stuff in half a dozen different areas, you tend to forget the garden plot inventory.  I'd forgotten the four zinnias in the west-lawn garden and the two I'd transplanted into the antique manure spreader.

They had the sags yesterday morning as did every single potato plant that had come up in the past week or two.  I found a few more potato eyes and stuck 'em in the ground next to the sad-sack plants.  I know I'll be going to a garden store and purchasing another supply of seed potatoes.

Oh yeah, did I mention that it froze here again last night?

Potatoes, freezing weather and I haven't been a good mix for the past year.  We suffered an overnight but intimidating frost last August or September.  Although it didn't kill my many plots of potatoes, it set them back significantly. 

When I harvested them in October, most were more like mini spuds rather than true Idaho gems.  Still, I collected a couple of boxes of them and put them in the new old motor home inside the shop for storage. Even all that protection could not save them from the December 10-day freeze.  

I was in Maui, not thinking about potatoes, and Bill was home, thinking about all the other chores.  He forgot to put a heater inside the motorhome to save the "Depression potatoes," as he likes to call them.  I discovered the mushy carnage a week or so later.  

So, last year's potato crop went down the tubes (no pun). And, this year's is getting off to a bad start.

Frozen plants were not my only problem yesterday.  Since we were spared of rain, I decided to rototil the two remaining garden plots, both pretty good size in comparison to my others.  The rototiller had been dying on me, so when Tony, the fix-it man, came the other day I asked him to look at it.

He finally deduced that it had a tank of bad gas.  That conclusion came after he'd taken a section of it apart and put it back together. 

"Just run it with the choke half open and use up that gas," he told me as he left, not charging me for the visit.  

So, I rolled it out to the plot behind the barn, tinkered with all the necessary plugs and levers, and pulled on the rope.

The entire rope came out of its housing----broke off completely.  

I sighed.

Then, I went to the shed and got some tools.  For the next three hours, I attempted every measure to get that rope back in its turnstyle the way it belonged.  It was where it belonged but not inserted correctly because every time I pulled on it, I had to manually rewind it back into the turnstyle.

Now, there's a process that require patience.  

For some reason, I had more than usual yesterday and the air was not nearly as blue as it usually is.  

One time I successfully started the machine,  directed it three or four hundred feet down the driveway, across the yard to the north garden and then prayed constantly as it tilled up the dirt.  By the time I arrived at the garden, however, the rope and its handle FELL OFF the rototiller.  I was in full speed ahead tilling when that happened so I just threw it over the fence and revved up the "Hail Mary's."  

Well, God wasn't completely pleased with me and my uncustomary patience.  

About two thirds of the way through the tilling process, the tiller died. 

So, I grabbed the rope and pushed it back to the shop.  First, I tried a new piece of nylon rope.  Too big. Then, I got some twine, about the same size as the original starter rope.

The tiller actually started on the first pull, but the rope fell off again.  Back to the garden and back to praying.

God was nice.  He let me finish the tilling, but on the very last patch of untilled garden, the machine shut down again.  At least, I'd finished the job.

I'll keep working at that starter rope, or better yet, call Tony again-----when enough time has passed in between his visits for him to wonder what the hell I do with my lawn and garden equipment to have it break down so often.

In the meantime, I'll go get more potatoes and stick 'em in the ground.  I have little zinnias to replace the fatalities, and I think I can get that set of blinds back up where it belongs.

These things do get discouraging at times, but we forge on.  That's what a lifetime has taught us to do in North Idaho where the people are basically good, the weather will get you every time,  and if things want to go wrong, they will.

Happy Saturday.  I'll be off to Plow Day, which is just a mile down Selle Road again this year.  Maybe I should get one of those tractor men to come and fix my starter rope. 

Frost-free flowers: Costco saves the day.

That Tom Sherry makes me mad.

A couple of weeks ago he urged his TV weather listeners to "go ahead and put in your garden . . . probably no more frosts."

Well, I've lived long enough to believe the weatherman as much as I do the current crop of politicians, but I was feeling pretty confident that we were past the danger season.

Last night Tom couldn't urge us often enough to cover those delicate plants or bring them indoors.

In most cases, I had only one choice for my delicate outdoor plants. They've been in the ground for about ten days so I wasn't gonna uproot them and plant 'em again.

I've learned which plants are hardy and which ones are wusses with cold weather.

Zinnias are wusses bigtime.

So, I was trying to figure out how I was gonna cover my two dozen zinnias, planted in various outdoor beds.

Somehow the plastic garbage bags didn't seem to be a good idea. Zinnias are wusses with the cold, but they also have long, skinny stems, very susceptible to breaking off.

First, I found a big Costco box, but that covered only four flowers.

Then it dawned on me that all those jars and vases inside the house could do something other than take up space in the cupboards and fall out onto the floor every so often.

For once, I was glad to have an overflowing cupboard of empty containers.

Every last zinnia had some covering last night, and this morning it looks like they may have survived.

Some flowers still have jars over them cuz Tom Sherry told us this frost would last until 9 a.m.

And, if we had frost last night, it's likely we'll see it again for a couple of days with the cooler weather. So, I'll keep the containers handy.

My biggest concern this morning is not zinnias. It's those apple trees, which up to last night, were ALIVE with more blossoms than I've ever had on an apple tree. I'm sure the trees are still alive, but I'm worried about the blossoms.

It seems like it might not have been cold enough, long enough to destroy them, but it's difficult to have a positive outlook with a lifetime of experience with North Idaho's fickle weather and its highly uncertain growing seasons.

We'll see. For now, I'm ever grateful to Costco.

All Costco containers: that big Folgers can, always on special, almonds and Classico spaghetti sauce (tomato and basil).

Costco saved my zinnias last night.

Love is in the lawn.

At least there wasn't ice on the puddle where Annie Dog had just taken a drink.

Her arthritis was getting to her a bit on this cold morning.

Memory Lane in the Cabinets

Before I tell about the painting, I must attend to a little history.

W.C. "Fats" Racicot served as Sandpoint's superintendent of public works after returning from service with the Navy during World War II.

He and his wife Ardis raised horses on North Boyer Road near the Sandpoint airport and just half a mile from where I grew up.  Their farm served as setting to some of Sandpoint's first horse shows.

Before my stepfather Harold Tibbs married my mother, he lived at Racicot's, where he kept his horses.

My mother and Ardis Racicot were friends, off and on, over the years. Ardis lived to be either 101 or 102.

Fats, sadly, died at least 20 years ago after being trampled by one of their horses.

Fats was a photographer. He sold me his large-frame 4 by 5 camera, which he bought from Ross Hall in the early 1950s.

He also sold me most of his black-and-white darkroom equipment.

I dabbled with darkroom work at home over the years but never really had a good set-up to get serious about it.

Later, I sold the 4 by 5 camera to my former student Rocky Kenworthy who now lives in New York and who runs among the greats of New York photographers. I speak with confidence when I suggest that he still has the camera Fats sold me so many years ago.

Now, let's fast forward.

I received a call the other evening from Brian Kramer. His dad Don, a pilot, managed the original Sandpoint Airport, even when the runway ran east and west.

Don and Fats were friends, and some time along the years, someone from the Racicot family gave Don the painting pictured above.

Brian found it among his late father's possessions and wondered if I'd be interested in it.

He was going to advertise it on EBay but figured our family might appreciate having it because of our long association and friendship with the Racicots.

When Brian called, things were pretty hectic, so I put him off and told him to call me Monday.

He did.

Again, things were hectic, so I said to call me later in the week or to take it in to my sister Laurie, who teaches his daughter.

Yesterday while my mother and I went for a drive in Gold Creek and far enough up Rapid Lightning Creek Road to snap a few photos of the Selkirks from our Cabinet Mountain viewpoint, my cell phone rang.

It was Laurie. Brian was standing with her in her classroom with the painting.

When I told her where I was, she told Brian. He just so happened to be coming up Rapid Lightning Creek Road for an errand.

We agreed to meet at the Pack River General Store.

On our drive to the store, Mother remembered an artist from Spokane who used to visit the Racicots. And, she remembered he was a cartoonist. But, she could not remember a name.

Well, we have the painting now, and I thank Brian for his persistence in tracking me down.

This painting definitely captures Fats Racicot, maybe in his 40s or 50s. The Racicots had a horse named Thunder Cloud, and I'm guessing that's the horse in the painting.

Fats also loved to hunt, so the artist chose this setting to do the caricature.

Bottom line on this story, one never knows where a drive down a country road is gonna end up. In this case, it took both Mother and me back to a time long ago in the past.

I just wish I knew the real name of  the artist who called himself "Master Bumbrandt."

Yet another view of Schweitzer Mountain Resort, from Rapid Lightning Creek Road.

The Selkirk Mountains, north of Sandpoint, taken from a viewpoint on the Rapid Lightning Creek Road.

Watering break

I don't have to drag hoses around the yard this morning.

We got a good dousing yesterday afternoon and overnight.

And, no matter how often I cleaned them off, the water droplets hit my camera lens last night while I snapped several photos of Western Pleasure horses grazing in their pasture.


It was too wet to do much of anything outside around the place, so I let Kiwi and Kea into the car, and we went for an after-dinner drive.

Our route took us through Pack River Cemetery where I checked on my dad's flower pot. The pansies needed watering, and I'd planned to take some water over there today. After last night's storm, however, I think their thirst has been quenched.

Then, we moved on to Rapid Lightning Creek Road. I almost pulled into the Ginter Game Preserve, but I had the Upper Gold Creek crossover on my mind.

The rain seemed to be following me as I proceeded east and then north along the road leading over into Gold Creek.

Lots of pretty sights along the way but too gloomy and dark for photos until we came over a hill near Western Pleasure.

There seemed to be enough light and more than enough rain to capture this peaceful shot.

This is a prime time for prime time drives anywhere here in North Idaho, even with the rain.

Contrasts of newly sprouted lilac blooms, bright tulips, and other shrubbery against the greenest of green make for unforgettable images, even if the camera and its limitations don't quite capture the entire mood.

I've thought a lot about Upper Gold Creek lately because I'm writing a speech for the Delta Kappa Gamma teaching sorority's state convention.

The speech begins in Gold Creek where a young lady walked or skied a mile to her one-room school house every day.

For four years, her one-room school-house teacher was my dad's mother Iva Tibbs.

The speech ends a few miles away in West Sandpoint where another teacher has a room of his own among many.

Most of his students don't walk or ski to school.

It should be fun, and I think it would have been fun to be among those who did walk or ski to school way back when.


Now, the sun is shining, all my newly planted veggies and flowers have already had their morning beverage, and a beautiful day looms ahead.

I might go for another drive tonight and take a few more photos cuz we all know the beauty of this time of year comes and goes all too quickly.

Finally, I must express my sadness at the loss of another classmate, one who grew up in this beautiful Selle Valley on a farm just a few miles away.

I can still see Duane Battien walking through the halls of Sandpoint High School in his FFA jacket, with his Elvis-style hairdo and always a smile on his face.

He was a good person, and it was always nice to see him at the class reunions. Just a few weeks ago when Willie and Debbie were looking for a new rental home, we visited Duane's childhood home.

Another classmate, Lee Burnett, had purchased the property and remodeled the old farm home. When we went upstairs where Duane's bedroom was, Lee told us that it got so hot up there in the summer, he moved to the barn and slept there every night.

We of the SHS Class of 1965 will definitely miss Duane and his warm, friendly smile.

On the Road to Hickeyville

There are the farms, and there is the mountain.

This mountain will not blow its stack like that one in Washington did 30 years ago today.

This mountain ranks along with Scotsman Peak, Baldy and Roman Nose as a  favorite for both locals and tourists to visit here in North Idaho.

With four Border Collies aboard, I took the Hickey Road route home from town yesterday.

I also took my camera and snapped a few photos from the car.

Enjoy.

The mountain among our mountains.

Schweitzer has claimed its fame since the early 1960s when a visonary named Jack Fowler saw it as a possible ski area.

Possibilities soon turned into reality, and the rest is nearly 50 years of skiing history and a big change for the Sandpoint area.

The ski area has closed down for another season, but the area will remain hopping with year-round recreational opportunites.

I don't know who owns this barn or the three aged horses in the field to the south.

It's one of the farms along Hickey Road, where Schweitzer Ski Area is always watching.

The imposing barn sits on a hill far across an expansive field as folks drive HWY 200.

It's a sight that's drawn many the eye over the past several decades.

It's the Hickey farm in Selle/Oden---whatever folks want to call the area east of Sandpoint.

Jim Hickey runs the place now. Cows and logs seem to be his focus on the farm, which was once a Grade A dairy, owned by his folks Jack and Lois.

Besides its crops, its cattle and its other projects, the farm maintains a consistent common denominator: pastoral beauty.

Cows grazing at Hickey farm. Schweitzer in background.

Spring things

Pardon me if I'm a bit reflective this morning.

As of this past weekend, we have a new perspective on the walk out our driveway.

The birch trees near the mailbox were dead.

Limbs kept falling off, either in the field or on the road over the past couple of years.

Our neighbor, Jim Taylor, decided it was time to take the trees down and make way for some young 'uns.

He's planning to plant a row of black walnuts on the west edge of his pasture/hay field.

In the meantime, we have a new, unobstructed view of the Cabinet Mountains and of that beautiful scene across Jim's field.

It strikes me that there's clarity now in the landscape.

Seems like that's the way it is when we have to adopt new perspectives in our own life's landscape.

For the longest time, obstructions blocking overall views tend to skew our thinking.

We march on aimlessly trying to work through situations where answers are never quite clear to us. 

Once the situation becomes clear and uncluttered, though, our thoughts can show us the way, so to speak.

There's a certain comfort in such times, just as there is with the above scene.

The old apple tree in all its spring glory.

That apple jelly from all this year's apples will be glorious too.

An up close and personal view of the old apple tree's 2010 blossoms.

From afar, they're a mass of pastel.

Up close, they show off their individual beauty.

Sorta like what happens when we spend time getting to know people.

How many of us have known some people by sight for years and conjured up our own version of what they must be like.

Then, a day comes when we actually hear them speak, see them in action and form a completely different opinion.

Life is kinda fun that way, and, at times,  surprising.

Bottom line: always take a closer look before judging.

I love the stuff that makes me think of people I know.

My sisters gave me the pretty pot earlier this year, so I'll always think of them each day while watering the pansies.

My friend Mow from Palm Springs gave us the house sign several years ago when she and her husband spent a week in Sandpoint while we were living at the old farm on Great Northern Road.

They treated us to a guided fishing excursion on Lake Pend Oreille. I think one fish was caught the whole day.

We loved the experience, though, cuz it was something we could never have done ourselves.

The horse shoe has the hands of John Fuller written all over it, even a nail left in a shoe he removed from one of the horses a few years ago. I had a collection of old horse shoes, so I got the spray paint out and added some color.

The broken stepping stone in the lower right was left here by the previous owners, Jeff and Jolene Stewart.

It's shaped like a foot, and last year I decided it needed to get back to work as a real stepping stone to our deck.

Fun stuff, reminding me of good people.

Memories . . . .

On this weekend last year, we were in Chicago.  We went there for an extended family gathering to celebrate my mother's cousin Bud Aspell's 90th birthday.  

On Sunday during our brief stay in the Windy City,  we went on an architectural boat tour on the Chicago River.  It was a beautiful day, and it was fun for the five of us---Bill, Jim, Mother, Annie and me---to share the experience.

Today Mike, Mary and Mother are traveling to Desmet Mission in Tensed to watch the triplets receive their First Communion.  Mother has St. Joseph's Missalettes and cards for each of her three great-grandchildren as they celebrate this milestone in their religious life.  It's sure to be a memorable day for all involved. 

And, speaking of memorable days, it seems as if everyone is conjuring up the vivid volcanic recollections of this weekend in 1980 (cuz Mt. St. Helens did erupt on a Sunday morning, even if it was May 18).

It was a beautiful Sunday.  The annual air show drew huge crowds to the airport just east of our home.  The air show also drew a rather large crowd to our home.  Some folks just pulled in and asked if they could park at our place and watch.  

We were happy to have them and directed them to the barnyard where they could set up their lawnchairs and have the best seats in the area to watch the vintage planes fly in and perform their aerial maneuvers.

That particular Sunday had also been scheduled as the Monticola yearbook's staff  year-end picnic.  So, my staff came to the house, and we enjoyed an afternoon barbecue as well as the air show.

We had heard of the volcano's explosion earlier in the day but remained unconcerned.  After all, there was enough activity going on in our little neck of the woods several hundred miles away.  Later in the afternoon, the sky to the south started turning dark purple.  

Bill thought it was a storm coming.  I suggested the volcano.  He pooh-poohed my suggestion.  His attitude changed within minutes as something started irritating his contacts that he wore at the time.  The picnic was wrapping up with the idea that if it was a storm, kids had better get home.

A few minutes later, folks were moving a lot faster.  It was official.  The ash was falling from the sky, and everyone wanted to get home.  As conditions grew worse,  my teaching friend Pam Eimers wanted to go home but did not want to be alone.  

Her boyfriend was due in sometime later, so she stayed with us until hearing from Jim. She was sure to call us and let us know that she had arrived home (about two miles away) safely.

Soon, it became apparent that we would all be isolated in our homes for an undetermined period of time.  At least, we had lots of leftovers from the picnic to munch on.  The kids were 3 and 2 at the time.

Humidity came along with the ash.  Visibility extended maybe ten feet in any direction. Silence ruled the outside air waves.  There was no sign of the sky or any other natural features beyond our farm. The world around us turned strangely still.

The television and the telephone dominated our hours and the next few days.  Not much else to do cuz nobody drove their cars and most everyone wanted to stay close to home.   We went outside only to feed the animals with hope that they would survive this mysterious phenomenon in our lives. 

It was eerie, to say the least. 

Ultimately, that year, Mt. St. Helens proved to be a friend to many, especially those involved in education.  With more ash explosions over the next few weeks, the usual routine went nonexistent.  The school year ended earlier than planned.  Students and teachers rejoiced.

That year continued to be strange weatherwise.  We all survived the unknown, and if a volcano were to blow and send us a little ash these days, our attitudes would be much different from 1980.  With a volcanic eruption and its aftermath under our belts, the event now would be a nuisance, not a spooky, mysterious phenomenon.  

Memories I'll take from Mt. St. Helens:  a dirty house.  After all, why clean it if nobody's coming to visit?  A resident who tried to claim disaster funds cuz her cows were pooping gray manure.  The welcome sound and sight of an airplane flying over approximately four days into the ash.  

I saw the plane fly over through a tiny opening in the ash cloud that had kept us housebound for so long.  It was a sign that maybe this weird time was drawing to a close.

My cousin Doug, a photographer,  did well, thanks to Mt. St. Helens erupting.  When the cloud came over his house in Ephrata,  he snapped several shots, including one of the contrast between his blooming crepe myrtle tree and the dark sky overhead.  

The photo graced the cover of National Geographic a few months later. 

I'm sure our kids' memories of  the time were pretty limited, but Bill collected two viles of ash for them to keep as reminders.  

And, last summer Bill and Annie climbed Mt. St. Helens and stood on top to look into the crater left by that initial explosion and several that have occurred since.  

Yup, this is a big weekend for memories.  And, with many, we don't need a camera because the events are so etched in our minds.  Still, the pictures are kinda nice.

And, Annie, 29 years after Mt. St. Helens erupted,  produced her first book, a photographic collection of the trip up the mountain with her dad.  To say the least, Bill cherishes that gift.  

Wherever you are, may your Sunday be filled with pleasant, unforgettable memories.   And, no volcanos!

Saturday Slight

Dressage instructor/competitor Gail Redinger answers questions after putting on a special exhibition for Farmin School fifth graders yesterday.

Her exhibition was part of the students' day at the farm with their teacher Laurie Tibbs.

Thank you, Gail. You were so generous and gracious to take time out of your busy schedule.

~~~~~

I took tons of photos yesterday, and they were generally nice shots. I learned, however, that my eyes that use Wal-Mart reading glasses need to have a set of those glasses while using the camera. My elder eyes did not see the smears all over the camera lens until about photo no. 65 of 70.

So, the choices were limited this morning.

Gail put on a wonderful exhibition for the kids and answered oodles of questions. I think everyone there was blown away by the talents of both Gail and her horse.

We has a fun day, as always. The kids listened to information about horse colors, breeds, grooming and training, along with lots of anecdotes about the horses at Tibbs Arabians. They also groomed several of the horses, all of which enjoyed every minute of the attention.

~~~~~

We went to the Keokee party last night and enjoyed the Lost in the '50s parade. Of course, I enjoyed enough gabbing to come home with a raw throat and the beginnings of a hoarse voice.

~~~~~

Today we'll probably go hiking/geocaching in the Katka area near Bonners Ferry. Debbie is up in Bonners this morning with a Girl Scout booth at the health fair. So, we'll probably join her at noon and head out on the hike.

Bill will be spending more time than usual up that way, beginning next week. The Bonners Ferry IDL woodland forester has retired, and the State has no plans to replace him because of budget challenges. So, Bill will be doubling between the Sandpoint office and the Bonners Ferry office, driving to Bonners Ferry two days a week.

It's like a return home because Bill began his Idaho Dept. of Lands career at the Bonners Ferry office back in 1978.

~~~~~~~

Guess that's all for this beautiful Saturday. The lawn and garden are calling.

Happy Saturday.