Finger-lickin' Good . . . Yuck!

Keith Kinnaird is gonna get some miles off from his story in today's Daily Bee.  In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if it becomes "finger food" for the Late Night talk-show guys.

I'll tell ya one thing. It was a bit gross for morning news digestion.  

In fact, I suggested to Bill a lot of readers might get a little nauseated while reading Keith's story this morning.

Basic Facts:  Guy loses fingers in Priest Lake in July from wakeboarding accident. 

Angler catches big trout in Priest Lake in September.  

Cleans fish.  

Finds finger.

The rest of the story is that the finger has been officially matched to wakeboarder's hand. 

Wakeboarder says "No thanks" when asked if he wants his finger back.

I think that was a wise choice for the wakeboarder.

After all, this is the finger that will go round the world (wide web) after riding around in a fish's tummy for less than two days.

Experts say if it had stayed in the tummy longer, it may have decomposed.  

Experts say it probably fell to the bottom of the lake where cold water kept it in fairly good condition.

Yes, Keith, this is one of those stories that writes itself----one where the fingers do the walking.   Reporters love such opportunities.

As for readers, I'd say late night is surely a more digestible time to learn the facts---just the facts--about fishy finger food from Priest Lake.

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On another more palatable subject, I'd like to feature a story written by "Slight Detour" reader Ken Best.  

He sent it to me the day I posted a  photo of mules at the wash rack during last week's Idaho Draft and Mule International Show.

Ken was our neighbor----part of the Best clan who owned a dairy down the road from us when we were growing up on our North Idaho farm.

The Best clan itself provided us much support during those years, alongwith a few good stories for my first book.  

Now retired and living in Paradise---Montana, that is---I must say that Ken is a great  storyteller. 

So, here's his wonderful tale on the first mules he ever saw. 

by Ken Best

I have this vivid memory all together but don't remember the year it took place, so here goes . . . 1933 till early summer 1940 . . . at my age I can't remember the precise year an event took place.

I use 1933 as a starting date--the year of my birth--and 1940, the year our family moved from Clark Fork, as the end date of my memories of my childhood there.

Who can remember the precise date memory begins?

THE MULES WILL BE HERE!!!

“When?” I asked my mother.

 “In the morning,” she replied.

I remember the excitement that evening long ago. Everyone, my seven brothers and sisters included, awaited this exciting event. 

Early the next morning, even before breakfast, four Kaniksu National Forest trucks stopped in front of our house located on what is now North Stevens Street.

Each forest green, shiny truck was transporting four mules!! They had stopped at the loading dock near the N.P. Railroad depot for my father (an employee of Kaniksu since 1923) to shoe them. 

Soon all sixteen mules, led by the drivers, were entering our alley. Tied on either side of the alley, they extended to the next block, for they were spaced so as to have room for my father and a helper, to re-shoe them!!

My father (Clarence), a blacksmith had shod horses since learning the trade at age 14 years,  and he had shod the mules at Kaniksu Ranger Station, Clark Fork.

He also traveled to Nine-Mile Remount Station near Missoula to shoe the mules there.

I don't remember where these mules were stationed or why they were trucked to Clark Fork to be re-shod, but I expect it may have been a training exercise for man and mule.

My father had a small blacksmith shop at our home where he  had done small jobs in his spare time, so all was ready for the chore ahead.

Clinging to my mother's hand, near the shop, I saw the first mule of my young life!

They were all sorrel or light brown in color, manes roached, tails trimmed, and ears erect and watchful--really beautiful animals. 

All were well-behaved,  and,  by nightfall,  all had received new shoes without incident. 

One of the men led a mule past me,  and I was allowed to pet it and sit upon its back!

What a thrill for a young man! I will never forget THE DAY THE MULES CAME TO CLARKFORK!!