Green Bay Visit

Except for some wood cutters, I had Green Bay all to myself yesterday afternoon.

That would be Green Bay, home to a Forest Service campground on Lake Pend Oreille around the bend from Garfield Bay.

During spring, summer and fall months, the place is crawling with campers, many of them teens.  

To say Green Bay has served as a setting for many a teen memory (some not exactly legal) would be an understatement.

There's a swimming area and a place or two for cliff diving.

When committing to head on down the road to the campground, drivers usually know parking spaces are limited.  

I did not worry about that problem yesterday.  After all, who drives down that road in the winter time.   How many times is the ground bare on Dec. 4.

Not many, and so once I started the final descent to the campground, I did so with no worries of road rage or shortage of parking opportunities. 

Well, it turns out that about three hairpins down, the road was blocked.  A couple of wood cutters stood outside their vehicle, then one jumped in and drove my way, pulling off at the wide spot. 

He assured me the way would be open when I decided to come back up the hill to the county road.   As I approached the parking area, I met another wood cutter, who asked, "Didn't you teach at the high school?"

Yup, I said.  We exchanged a few tidbits of familiarity, he told me to have a good time on my hike and I parked. 

I love these times in North Idaho, which are truly frequent in the off season for normal recreation.  More often than not, they're void of the usual throng of "turists," and almost always, I'm the only human invader. 

I walked around, feeling pretty safe and secure, knowing those wood cutters weren't too far away if I needed to scream out that a bear was chasing me. 

The animals, like the tourists, had gone elsewhere, allowing me to stroll around in total concentration on the raw and pure beauty of this popular hangout, which has even served as a scenic wedding venue.

I noticed a few items left from the summer crowd and deduced by the amount of yellow repellent containers around picnic tables that the bees had been pretty hungry this year. 

While walking around the jagged rock outcrop on the beach, I spotted a beautiful fishing plug hanging from a limb.  It's still there, just in case someone recognizes it. 

Also, the black bra still hangs precariously on a skinny limb.  I'm sure it could share a good story. 

On my way back to the car, the wood cutters had all gathered in the lower lot.  We again enjoyed some visiting and one even pulled out a tape measure to show me just how wide that chunk of red fir happened to be. 

The sawyer had guessed 40 inches.  He wasn't far off. 

Soon, I headed on my way back up the steep road and eventually past the Bourbon family farm.  

This all started because I drove to Sagle to see the offerings in the German deli and bakery.  Turned out she wasn't open yesterday afternoon, so Green Bay had to satisfy my afternoon appetite for something different. 

It did, and, happily the experience was calorie free.  The German bakery will have to wait until another day.

Today Bill and I will watch the funeral of President George Herbert Walker Bush and later this evening, a ZAGS game. 

When I told my husband this morning about one of my Facebook friends lamenting the stock market extreme slide yesterday, he told me there was more bad news.

"What's that?" I asked. 

"Bill Walton is one of the TV sportscasters for tonight's ZAGS game," he said. 

Yup, that is bad news, especially when you consider that Walton, the nauseating, loquacious king of arrogance, once referred to the ZAGS and other WCC's teams as the "Truck Stop" League. 

I don't know how good the fried chicken and hotdogs are at Spokane's truck stops, but I do know Mr. Walton might do well to eat his words before droning on tonight.  

GO, ZAGS! Our Truck Stop heroes AND the nation's No. 1.