Saturday MOOsings and Musings

“The two most important days in your life are the day you are born and the day you find out why.”

Never argue with stupid people, they will drag you down to their level and then beat you with experience.”

“The more I learn about people, the more I like my dog.”

“Kindness is the language which the deaf can hear and the blind can see.”

“If you tell the truth, you don’t have to remember anything.”

~~~~~~~

It's American author, humorist and philosopher Mark Twain's birthday today, so I thought it would be fun to start off this last day of November with some of his thoughts. 

Even though he coined them, mostly in the century before last, I think every single thought rings true today.

I wonder how many readers out there have experienced the second most important day of their lives.  Twould be an interesting collection of epiphanies, I'm sure. 

Anyway, it's Saturday after Black Friday, a day where I refuse to participate.

I'll buy my gifts when and how I want to, thank you.  Can't imagine all the body bumping that goes on in the stores on Black Friday. 

That's not to say that I'm guilt free of doing Black Fridays.  I used to like those days.  Sometimes we'd go to Spokane, and sometimes, after trying on hats at the Burlington Coat Factory, we'd even have lunch at the Davenport. 

Some good memories, but we are all works in progress, and I've slowly progressed to staying away from the crowds. 

Yesterday was pretty laid-back and disappointing when we watched the ZAGS lose.  

What was nice about the game was that they did a really good job of losing. 

No doubts whatsoever.  

No FAKE loss.  

A truly substantial loss with all the trappings. 

We fans know they'll bounce back, though, and we all agreed that they lost to a great team with a neat coach. 

So, we lived through that and basically just enjoyed a relatively relaxing day. 

The wind blew most of the day, and it was cold and pretty much gray all day, but the sunset which emerged from all that gray was magnificent, to say the least.  

---

In the "Who's been sleeping in my bed" category, I can say that Foster had himself a laid-back day too. 

I did make the bed in the morning.  When I came back from the game, Foster had done a magnificent job of unmaking it. 

Hard to believe a little guy like our mini-Aussie could make such a mess, but he did, and he does so quite often, each time with a little more messy finesse. 

So, I make the bed more than once a day. 

I drove past these weanlings yesterday on the way home from my sisters'.  

Later in the day, I decided it had been kinda serendipitous that I would take photos of cows with a "McNall connection."

Let me explain with the help of a short snippet from "Great Horned Cows" in my first book Pocket Girdles.  

From Pocket Girdles:  The first year I took Millie and Gilbert to the fair I learned some things about protective instinct of mother cows and about the Cow Belles' disgusting sense of humor.  

As a solo act, Millie had always performed beautifully.  In fact, she was such a shining example of what a cow should do when circling the show ring for inspection, that we always let the younger 4-H'ers practice with her before the fair.

Millie was one of those rare cows that had the patience and instinct to know exactly how to act when little ten-year-olds  took hold of the lead rope and show stick for the first time.

Almost dwarfing the little kid beside her, she walked quietly, patiently and carefully.  She knew when to stop, where to put her feet, how to hold her head up, and exactly how to pose however long it took to properly show off for the practice judge in the barnyard show ring. 

She was a gem or a cow, or so I believed.

The gem was revealed to be fool's gold when Millie, now mother of Gilbert, entered the real show ring for my fitting and showing class.  

That year the 4-H beef show had moved to the outdoor arena, just a few feed from the Pend Oreille River, where one of McNall's shorthorns had decided to take an unauthorized swim during a livestock event a few years earlier. 

Validation of the legendary day when one of McNall's shorthorns left the old fairgrounds and went swimming in the Pend Oreille River.

Tracie Roos sent me this last night.

That's law officer Phil Bradetich steering the steer(?) and it looks like it might be Vernon Ruen steering the boat in the famous river round-up, many, many moons ago.

I'm told that Doug Bradetich found the photo in his family collection. 

The McNalls and all others who tried to retrieve the errant critter were not happy about the animal's propensity for a new water sport. 

Everyone who witnessed the event knew the potential for cows out of control. 

I wasn't worried, though, because I had Millie, and she was my pal.  I had nurtured our relationship during hours of scratching and combing her, beneath cottonwood trees on lazy summer afternoons.

I trusted my cow implicitly.  As we walked side by side into the ring, I was confident we would leave the ring with another blue ribbon and maybe a chance to compete for champion showman. 

It didn't happen . . . .you can read the book for the "rest of the story." 

Finally, from Iceland where Annie has been sight seeing this weekend and finding some rather stunning scenes, including the Northern Lights.  

She'll be returning to Seattle today, but it's been fun, as usual, to go along with her vicariously. 

Enjoy the photos.

Happy Saturday. 

And, to Tracie, the McNalls and all others who've had similar experience, better go check and make sure the cows are home. 

Turkey-Day Snapshots/ Mutterings

My sister Barbara came up with this whimsical assortment.

MRE's aka Meals Ready to Eat came up in dinner-table discussion at the Young Love's home last night.

There was definitely no need for MRE's at the feast prepared by Debbie, Willie, Debbie's mom Irene and other contributors.  

Twelve pies for ten people. 

  

I'm guessing that multiple pie varieties ruled at a lot of Thanksgiving gatherings yesterday, as one of this morning's Facebook posts posed the question:  which pie for breakfast?

I told my sisters before dinner that Irene knew how to put out the food.  

No need to take that back as she also brought along several varieties of salads, jellos, veggies, etc. 

Thank you, Irene, for spearheading a wonderful meal and a delightful gathering of your family and ours. 

A good time and, I'm sure, six figures worth of calories were had by all. 

We had justification for some of those calories after a Gonzaga contest against Oregon turned into the ultimate nail biter.  

No calories in fingernails (thus justifying the dinner afterward).

 I'm guessing that breathless intensity reigned in venues across the nation and around the world as ZAGS fans held their breath and maybe even a few eased their tension on a turkey drumstick as the game clock wound down to point 2 seconds before we could breathe easily once again, knowing that the ZAGS had won. 

In a matter of hours, we'll be in front of food and the TV again as they take on Michigan at the Atlantus Tourney championship in the Bahamas.  

GO, ZAGS!   

Irene and her son Chad

Shanta and her dad Don.  

Debbie and her brother Chad.

Willie, Laurie and Barbara

Meanwhile, off in Iceland . . . .

While we were feasting on all those delicious dishes in Colburn, Annie was feasting on the extensive beauty of Iceland where she is spending her Thanksgiving weekend.

Her holiday dinner consisted of a couple of pieces of leftover pizza, but she didn't mind because she was still digesting all the wonderful scenes from a day of geocaching and sight seeing across the country which has become a popular destination for travelers. 

Happily, she shared a nice assortment of photos, some of which you'll see below. 

We missed Annie, but we knew she was doing something she loves and sharing it with all her fans.  

This photo was taken this morning shortly before I posted. 

Giving Thanks, Et. Al.

 Enjoy the beautiful song and video below, and especially enjoy making your own priceless memories today. 

Happenings in MY TOWN

It's been a long time since I used to drive my Ford pickup along side this Sandpoint icon, then park near the loading dock, walk to the window and ask for a sack or two of oats and maybe a couple of blocks of salt.

I remember looking at the fliers on the wall while waiting for one of the Co-Op granary workers---often covered with grain dust---to go to the stacks of grain sacks, bring out my order and load it in the back of my pickup. 

At the time, most advertising on that bulletin board involved horses, cows or pigs, dogs for sale, trade or breeding, trainers, upcoming horse events or maybe even hay for sale.

It's been even longer since my mother used to pull in to a building across the parking lot, park and take her weekly supply of fresh Guernsey cream to the creamery. 

After the transaction of her handing over the cream and the clerk handing her some money and returning her cream bucket, she might head just around the block to IGA to spend her creamery cash and then some on groceries.

Even longer ago and for decades, that church (now an events center) across the street from the Co-Op parking lot served as the setting for my Baptism, First Communion AND partial Confession, Confirmation and marriage, along with a whole lot of Sunday Masses. 

Times have changed.  

Yesterday afternoon I went to Evans Bros. Coffee to for a visit with a former student who's here for the holidays from his present home in Toulouse, France.  

While waiting for him, I spent some time perusing the outdoor bulletin board across the lot from the old granary loading dock. 

Amazement is not quite the word for my reaction to seeing ALL the entertainment, instructional or recreational possibilities or employment opportunities available for locals. 

From the assortment, I surmised that, these days, locals and their unique interests comprise a substantially different mix from most Sandpoint residents of yesteryear.     

Yesteryear coffee meetings usually happened at Connie's or the Pastime where full meals of breakfast, lunch and dinner were also available.  

How many coffee shops do we now have in Sandpoint where mentioning the word "Folgers" might sound foreign in the mix of all the South American and African varieties and even local blends available?

Along with coffee, come a few light treats or desserts. Plan to go to one of the numerous watering holes or restaurants to get your meal. 

When I walked inside Evans Bros. to order a cup of coffee, I was pleased to see Meghan behind the counter and Daniel off to the side----both former students. So, along with contemporary Sandpoint comes intermittent moments with familiar faces. 

"Just Americano black, medium," I said to Meghan who then quizzed me on some options.  I can't remember them all, but I do remember her generosity in offering some tastings, one from Ethiopia. 

Still not sure what specific blend they gave me, but it tasted good to me (the old school teacher who figures coffee's coffee), especially in that big round porcelain cup.  

Garrett soon came through the door, which, during our extensive visit, constantly opened and closed with small groups of customers walking to the counter for their favorite brew.  

Did I know any of them?  

No.

Our visit turned out twofold.  We had a purpose.  Garrett, who's an engineer with Airbus in France, has a lovely project on the horizon, dealing with his hometown. I've been helping him with some ideas and the wording.

Garrett enjoys conversation, as do I.  So, I'd say three quarters of our time dealt with a lot of back-and-forth about Sandpoint, stories in one of my books, people we know in common, family, etc. 

One topic receiving significant discussion involved exactly what we were doing:  conversation.  

Somewhere in the mix of our back-and-forth commentary, I noted that conversation seems to be fast becoming a dying art. 

Also, Garrett suggested that the slow death of conversation, thanks in a large part to various sizes of computer screens, could be a reason that society in general can't see eye to eye on much of anything. 

That's cuz they don't often see eye to eye, literally. 

I think he's hit on something there, especially as I notice these days when I actually walk away from what has been wonderful discourse with friends. 

Part involves the actual desire to talk to other people.  Part involves putting the phones away in social situations.  Much of it involves actually talking to and "LISTENING" to people where we actually do see eye to eye, again literally. 

We don't have to always agree, but if we demonstrate a degree of respect for those who have opposing views and actually LISTEN while they contribute, we're likely to make some progress in casting aside the divisions that have so crippled our nations, regions, communities, sometimes our families and our world. 

We also might even learn something.  

Those fliers on the wall outside Evans Bros. coffee indicated to me that if I were to take advantage of every opportunity tacked on the board, first, it would take some time and secondly, I could acquire a smorgasboard of new skills, ideas and outlooks to add to my lifelong learning. 

I'm not sure everything on the wall would be my choice, but I respect the fact that there IS a little bit something for everyone besides pigs for sale or pasture to rent. 

One other highlight of Garrett and my conversation focused on his experience at Sandpoint High School in the early 1990s.  

He suggested that unlike many other small communities, Sandpoint offers a rich diversity in lifestyle, socioeconomic levels, talents, challenges and perspectives that, for high school-aged students, arms them with a firm foundation for heading out into the world. 

For a guy who's experienced his share of the world through his career and while living abroad for 17 years, I think Garrett nailed it with that observation, and I totally agreed, tacking on just one addition:  resilience. 

I think if a survey were taken, focusing on notable personal traits among community members, among our Sandpoint area population---both old and new---resilience would rank right up there with the longtime and consistent Sandpoint staple:  caring about others.

Twas great conversation, every bit as good as that cup of coffee. 

As for the fliers tacked on the outside wall at Evans Bros., betcha can't guess which one I'll pick.  

Happy Wednesday.  Have yourself a good give and take, eye-to-eye conversation, especially while gobbling down that turkey. 

Then, go learn the ukelele!

Just Another Day Like This

I'm sitting here this morning on the verge of panic.

Just one new photo from yesterday to share.

A relatively empty brain. 

What to do?  What to do?

Will the blog world accept that Marianne has nothing to say?

Heck, some may even go visit Snopes.com to see if that's really true.

Still, others will be glad.  

"About time she shut up," they'll muse before moving on to another surfing site which does have something to say. 

Mama said there'd be days like this.  

Well, someone's mama said that. 

My mother never warned me about days like this.  

She was always too busy.  

Well, on these days, when vacuum brain takes over, thanks to the Internet, help on the way. 

This morning the help comes from my one of my favorite Irish artists, Billy Austin and from my friend Connie from Hope, who's had several "days like this" while recovering from surgery.

Billy Austin, who hails from Northern Ireland, often posts on Facebook and encourages his Facebook friends to share. 

You can learn a bit about Billy and see more of his artwork by clicking the link below.  

And, if you do like his work, search for him on Facebook where you can arrange to have his art show up in your feed. 

It's always a pleasant surprise when one of Billy's paintings suddenly appears in the feed.

 https://trekni.com/2019/02/20/billy-austin-an-artist-shaped-by-the-mournes/

Meanwhile, in Connie's latest post, she has provided some observations of what it's like at Retired Mountain Lady and Retired Mountain Man's home on the mountain above Lake Pend Oreille when the home team is not running, more specifically "walking" on all cylinders. 

Enjoy!  Happy Tuesday. 

https://retiredmtnlady.blogspot.com/

 Old Mill at Annalong in Northern Ireland

from Wikipedia

Annalong Cornmill was built in the 19th century and operated until the 1960s and was one of the last working watermills in Northern Ireland. It contains a grain drying kiln and three pairs of millstones.

 It is powered by a 15 ft water wheel and a 1920s Marshall "hot-bulb" 20hp engine. Restoration began in 1983 after it was acquired by Newry and Mourne District Council, and it reopened in 1985.^[7]

Mount Errigal, tallest mountain in County Donegal

from Wikipedia . . .Errigal is the most southern, steepest and highest of the mountain chain, called the "Seven Sisters."

 The Seven Sisters includes Muckish, Crocknalaragagh, Aghla Beg, Ardloughnabrackbaddy, Aghla More, Mackoght and Errigal. The nearest peak is Mackoght (from Irish: Mac Uchta,^[5] meaning "son of the mountain-breast") which is also known as Little Errigal or Wee Errigal (Irish: an Earagail Bheag).

Errigal is known for the pinkish glow of its quartzite in the setting sun.^[1] 
 Another noted quality is the ever-changing shape of the mountain depending on what direction you view it from. 

Errigal was voted 'Ireland's Most Iconic Mountain' by Walking & Hiking Ireland in 2009.^[6]

Weekend Album

It's a Monday morning when I'm really glad to have a camera.  

After all, when you meet yourself coming and going for three straight days because of people to see, places to go and things to do, the mind gets a little muddled in trying to remember the highlights.

That's where the cameras come in handy.  This weekend was jam-packed full of all the above. 

We drove to Spokane and attended a ZAGS game.  Afterward, we had a bite to eat at a restaurant in the Spokane Valley Mall:  first burger of the weekend. 

Second burger (pictured below) at Burger Dock topped off the weekend. 

In between burgers, we attended a company party/retirement dinner where I met Clyde.  

For me, Clyde has always been a mysterious figure who gets talked about at company parties but never seen.  

Well, he decided to show up Saturday night, and I even got to sit by him.  There is no real way to explain Clyde.  One has to meet him.  

He's definitely a one-of-a-kind, fun, smart, quick-witted kind of a guy who came on with the company in its infant stages three decades ago. 

During the party, Dick and Karen Bradetich, partners in the company, were roasted as retirees.  When my and everyone else's friend and  local logger/trucker Cliff Irish, "the Wild Irishman,"  is in the crowd, anyone gets a proper roast.

Twas a fun gathering Saturday night, with lots of good visiting.

Some of the ongoing banter led to another project at the Lovestead yesterday afternoon. 

When Fred and Patty Omodt at the table next to us were recognized by emcee Mike Wolcott---like my friend Cliff---I had to add a factoid. 

It dealt with my blueberry bushes.

"About a year and a half ago," I began, "Fred came into our driveway, pursuing the Schwan's man [who was at our place at the time].  Fred wanted some ice cream bars.

"While waiting for his order, he looked over at my blueberry bushes and suggested that I needed some guidance on pruning them. 

"Fred has yet to show up," I announced to the dinner crowd.  

Fred, a retired forester, and his wife have spent the past several years developing a popular blueberry farm on Shingle Mill Road in the Selle Valley. 

As the party ended, Fred came up to me and asked, "Will you be home tomorrow afternoon? I'll come and take care of your blueberries"

"Yes," I responded, "but I've gotta watch the Seahawks game."

The Seahawks won (9-2, YAY), and Fred called ten minutes later, telling Bill he'd be swinging by with his pruning tools. 

Turns out Fred was fresh off a blueberry pruning clinic in Prosser, Wash.   

So, in addition to taking care of our dozen blueberry bushes, we received a tutorial, which also included a reminder of what NOT to do, as Fred zeroed in on the one bush I had attacked with the shears a week or so ago. 

Ya don't prune blueberry bushes like you do apple trees.  The straight up canes are vital to a blueberry bush and the "twiggies" and old branches with no new growth have to go.

I'd say this morning that my bushes now look a bit like hot pink skeletons in comparison to their usual appearance, but that's the way they're supposed to look. 

We thoroughly enjoyed Fred's visit, as he has kids the same age as our kids, so while enjoying the beautiful late fall afternoon, we got caught up on our respective families. 

Thank you, Fred, for taking the time to come over.  We learned a lot, and we appreciate your willingness to help our bushes along. 

Besides all the scheduled activities, I was able to button up the last of the winterizing projects and just plain enjoy my animals.  

It's a good time here at the Lovestead, with the barrage of fall stuff to be done finally done AND we have nice, crisp, mostly dry days ahead. 

After a weekend like this past one, again we are once again reminded by the people we encounter, the picturesque neighborhood scenes and the overall opportunity to live the simple, busy and good life on our lovely little farm---that we are so blessed. 

Happy Monday.  Enjoy the photos.     

New tractor in the neighborhood.  I believe that's Peter Taylor, retired Navy, at the wheel. 

Clyde told me several stories about Bill and pickles, among other topics.