A New Road Traveled and a Reflection

I'm gonna have to take another trip back to Bonners Ferry. 

Darn!

My shopping list from a Bonners Ferry grocery store shows four packets of flower seeds and that is good because my head thought I had, indeed, purchased four.

Only two showed up in the same bag as the potato chips.

Could be they fell out in transit from the store to the car.  

Could be they're sitting on the counter, waiting for me to come back and pick them up.

I've had that problem twice this past week. One of the three rolls of Scott tissue, purchased last week at Wal-Mart, is waiting for me to come in with my cashier's slip. 

Nice to know I have a cache of things ready, waiting and paid for.  And, I really don't mind "having" to drive back to Bonners Ferry sometime this week to pick up the two flower-seed packets. 

With blustery, wet weather yesterday, I decided to kill two birds with one stone:  take a drive and pick up some groceries.  The bags also included two boxes of Meadow Gold French vanilla, so I kinda needed to hurry home.

Since the bagger put each box into an double ice cream bag, I figured my timing on the trip home could be somewhat flexible.

So, I turned off the highway by the Forest Service offices and drove down a road not taken in my lifetime.  It goes west across the valley to who knows where.  

I turned around before finding "who knows where" because it eventually appeared that if I went any further, people would be wondering who knows where Marianne is.

The dead dog lying by a bush (probably dumped) didn't add any sense of welcome either. Nonetheless, the roadside scenes across the valley made this slight detour worth the trip.

I love the Kootenai Valley any time of year, but springtime is especially inspiring.  Blue skies filled with threatening clouds and a brisk wind made for a nice feeling of solitude and insignificance as I stepped out of the car for each photo. 

I missed a good one when the road wound along the west edge of the valley near a wetlands area.  Three turtles were sunning themselves on a log.  

From now on, I'll know turtles are about as savvy as my horses when anything unusual invades their area.  I had no sooner stepped out of the car when all three plunged into the water, not to be seen again. 

On my way home, the neighborhood and photo-friendly deer were grazing in Russell's woods alongside the road.  They don't mind posing one bit. 

In the evening, the rain had left and a late sun was still casting some neat shadows on the Cabinet Mountains, highlighting Lunch Peak.

Finally, I hate those poplars all through the late fall and early winter because their dead leaves take forever falling and keep me busy with a rake.

In the spring, however, they can create some heavenly scenes, as one clumb was doing last night.

And, speaking of Heaven, I want to end with another reminder that Life is so Precious and not to be wasted.

Of course, there's a story involved and even a few tears for someone I barely knew. 

Last spring during Lost in the '50s, Willie, Debbie, Bill, my sisters Barbara and Laurie and I chose to avoid the crowds and go to Hope for our Friday-night dinner at Icehouse Pizza.

We chose a table on the deck where another party of two couples visiting here from California sat. As usual, I struck up a conversation, and once it started, it seemed as if everyone at our table didn't mind one bit.

These couples, all in one family, included an aunt and uncle and their niece and her husband. During our visit, we took pictures and talked of many things we shared in common---including Midwest roots and that Karen, the niece, was a forester like Bill. 

The two couples were staying the week in the Sandpoint area, and we suggested some places to see, including the Ross Creek Cedars along Bull River.   

We even connected with each other on Facebook.  A few months later, I received a note from Karen, the niece, telling me that they were considering moving to Sandpoint.  

When would be a good time to come during the winter, she asked.  I said February, noting that the elements can be challenging and that most people schedule their winter escapes in February.

She took my advice.  They returned in February and spent a week during some of the most beautiful, springlike weather any of us long timers can ever remember in February. 

Well, that did a lot of good, I thought.  I cautioned Karen that the weather they encountered was hardly the norm.  

They had a wonderful time during that visit, staying in a rental house in the neighborhood where I spent my first three years (Lake-Euclid Streets).  They even went looking for our family home at 214 Euclid. 

They also stopped by, met with Debbie and toured the Pend Oreille Arts Council Gallery. We tried to arrange a get-together for coffee, but it never worked out. They went on their way, quite happy with their visit and the people of Sandpoint, whom they found to be very friendly and welcoming.

This morning while scrolling through Facebook, I came to a post that stunned me beyond belief.  Karen's family was announcing that she passed away unexpectedly yesterday.  

One post this morning included a photo of the four of them, whom we met, standing in front of the Statue of Liberty at the end of  the City Beach dock on a beautiful day---probably in February. 

 Dennis and Karen with Karen's aunt and uncle Karen and Phil---all from California, on their visit to Sandpoint in February. 

I hardly knew Karen, but her notes sent to me through Facebook along with that short but upbeat visit with her and her family last May told me she was a pretty special lady.  

Plus, someone characterized her as a "Mary Poppins." 

Thinking about her sudden passing is raw at best; I can only imagine the grief her family is suffering at this time. 

I do know that she and her family made a positive impression on me.  I'll cherish that chance meeting at the pizza place where we all were enjoying the magnificent view down the main channel of Lake Pend Oreille, the good food and each other. 

RIP, Karen.  Thanks for coming into my life, our family's and all the others you touched.