I dug out an opening to my greenhouse yesterday afternoon.
It was amazingly warm about 3 p.m., low 30s.
Bill told me that snow had fallen off the house roof while I was in town for a hair trim and a visit with my friend Helen.
So, it seemed like a good idea to move some snow before we dip to single digits once again.
Once enough snow had been removed from in front of the door, I carefully worked it open.
After all, much of it is duct-taped together.
The view inside was intimidating, at best: a large mass of snow covered the workplace where I tend to my young plants. Plus, half the ground below it was covered.
In the midst of the snow lay a roof panel from the west side which has blown off so many times over the past few weeks, I finally just stuffed it inside the hole where the panel usually shields the elements.
So, there was more shoveling to be done inside the greenhouse along with some thinking about re-installing that plastic panel to its normal position.
That plan was tabled once I stepped back outside and surveyed the four-foot deep path I would still need to shovel just to get at the roof, let along stick that panel back where it belonged.
So, the panel stayed inside, and I shut the door, figuring that at least I had accomplished one little task of the hundreds that await once the snow is gone.
Every little bit counts . . . .
Every little bit counts . . . .
Spring work projects will be abundant once we can get at them: replace the broken board in the first pasture, which I hit with the tractor loader while clearing snow; walk all fencelines and do necessary repairs, organize that greenhouse and get it set up for baby plants, and, as always, fence painting and more fence painting.
The list will go on, and once again we'll be into the seasons where there just aren't enough hours in the day.
For now, we have plenty of time to ponder and plot.
I mentioned visiting my friend Helen.
I think it's safe to announce now that I'm very closely associated with TWO rehabbers.
After a few days of reporting to Helen all the nuances of Bill's early recovery from his foot surgery, I received a text early one morning this week.
"Don't share. Don't call," it said. I'm at Bonner General Hospital.
The night before, Helen had been leaving her accountant's office with her hubby with great news. They would be getting a tax refund!
Well, that news almost instantly led to more news, and it wasn't good.
Helen missed a step and landed on the floor. She learned later that she had broken two bones in her ankle.
Since then, she's had surgery and has learned that she cannot sign up for the first annual Lovestead knee roller derby.
Apparently, the doctor has advised her to use other means of transporting herself from one room to the next during her two months of recuperation.
So, even though there may be no knee roller races between Helen and Bill and anyone else who has the bad fortune to be eligible, we can all still commiserate.
I can commiserate with Skip. Bill can commiserate with Helen, and we'll all get through this.
Yesterday, I took Helen a rose, and, in the process, met the new owner of Nieman's Floral and Garden.
Twas instant familiarity, even though I don't think I've ever met Amelia (Amy) Mathias before.
Of course, she earned points right away by saying, "Aren't you an author . . . didn't you write Housekeeping?
"I wish," I said as she was suggesting that I might be Marilynne Robinson.
This is the second time someone has suggested that I could be the phenomenal, Pulitzer Prize-winning author from Sandpoint.
In each case, for one brief shining nano second, I could fantasize the possibilities before sadly responding, "No, I'm not Marilynne Robinson."
Happily, in both cases, though, the name guessers have moved on with their speculation, "You ARE an author, aren't you?"
I'll take it. After all, there are authors at different levels.
Anyway, turns out as we talked while Amy prepared the rose in a vase, she is the same age as Willie, and the year all the sixth graders went to the old junior high, she had Laurie Tibbs for a teacher.
"Oh, what was she like?" I asked with no hint of familiarity.
Lucky for Amy, she answered correctly.
"She was nice and she was young," Amy recalled.
"She's my sister," I said.
Amy also remembered the day when Laurie brought her Arabian gelding Richie to school and demonstrated what she would be doing while competing in a show hack class at the Arabian Nationals in Albuquerque that fall.
During my interlude at Nieman's, I also met Amy's husband who grew up in Snohomish, Wash.
"By any chance do you know Mark Perry?" I asked. Mark is a Sandpoint High grad, same class as sister Laurie.
"He was my football coach," John responded, adding an impressive litany of superlatives about Mark and his high school campus and all his wonderful achievements as a coach and athletic director.
When Amy handed me the rose in the vase, I assured her I'd be back to Nieman's.
Nice to have another owner who appreciates the history of a store which has been in Sandpoint for a century or so.
And, a very nice owner, at that!
Later, at the hospital---that's where you see the locals either working or recuperating---I was not disappointed, enjoying lots of little chats with several familiar faces.
In one case, I was sitting in a chair in Helen's room when Patty Hagadone McDonnell walked in with flowers for our mutual friend and Patty's classmate.
In the midst of her visit, my brother Mike called.
Patty said that she remembered Mike but surely he wouldn't remember her cuz he was a little kid at the time.
Well, the time was the late '40s when Patty lived with her family over on St. Clair in south Sandpoint, and the Brown family lived near the old junior high on Euclid where Mother had a young horse.
Patty, a horse lover, would come over to our house to see Mother's filly named Largo.
As these recollections were floating through the air around Helen's bed, Patty announced that Mother kept her horse in the garage at 214 Euclid.
With the speaker phone on, Mike heard that factoid and refuted Patty's assertion.
"No, the horse did not stay in the garage," he said. "It was in a pen behind the house, and there was a big manure pile."
At this point, Patty gave in on her memory of the horse in the garage, yielding to Mike as he continued on with, "Yeah, there was this manure pile, and it caught on fire and the fire engine came and put it out."
Mike was about 6 at the time, so it was probably a pretty big event in his mind and maybe not so much in Patty's.
So there!
No more mention of the garage horse stall cuz how could you top a tale of a burning manure pile in the back yard in old time Sandpoint?
Twas a great experience, listening to the tales of our mutual hometown during that speaker-phone conversation in Helen's hospital room.
Twould be an understatement to say it was getting pretty loud with all the chatter and the giggles.
When a staff member suddenly appeared at the door, looking at all of us and listening, I figured we'd been busted cuz we had caused all that commotion while other patients were trying to rest.
Turns out the staff member came on in and joined the party, and, out of respect, of course, we quieted down.
Yup, it's been quite a week, keeping track of the handicapped among us.
As for Bill, he ventured out a second time this week to a restaurant, where we all enjoyed some wonderful visits with Duane and Marilyn Ward and Lynn Poelstra and her hubby Rik.
So, we move on through winter and rehab AND today the last regular season game for the ZAGS.
It's on ESPN tonight, and they're playing their historical rival Saint Mary's. Should be a good finale.
Happy Saturday.
Heal, Bill and Helen and . . .
GO, ZAGS!
The list will go on, and once again we'll be into the seasons where there just aren't enough hours in the day.
For now, we have plenty of time to ponder and plot.
I mentioned visiting my friend Helen.
I think it's safe to announce now that I'm very closely associated with TWO rehabbers.
After a few days of reporting to Helen all the nuances of Bill's early recovery from his foot surgery, I received a text early one morning this week.
"Don't share. Don't call," it said. I'm at Bonner General Hospital.
The night before, Helen had been leaving her accountant's office with her hubby with great news. They would be getting a tax refund!
Well, that news almost instantly led to more news, and it wasn't good.
Helen missed a step and landed on the floor. She learned later that she had broken two bones in her ankle.
Since then, she's had surgery and has learned that she cannot sign up for the first annual Lovestead knee roller derby.
Apparently, the doctor has advised her to use other means of transporting herself from one room to the next during her two months of recuperation.
So, even though there may be no knee roller races between Helen and Bill and anyone else who has the bad fortune to be eligible, we can all still commiserate.
I can commiserate with Skip. Bill can commiserate with Helen, and we'll all get through this.
Yesterday, I took Helen a rose, and, in the process, met the new owner of Nieman's Floral and Garden.
Twas instant familiarity, even though I don't think I've ever met Amelia (Amy) Mathias before.
Of course, she earned points right away by saying, "Aren't you an author . . . didn't you write Housekeeping?
"I wish," I said as she was suggesting that I might be Marilynne Robinson.
This is the second time someone has suggested that I could be the phenomenal, Pulitzer Prize-winning author from Sandpoint.
In each case, for one brief shining nano second, I could fantasize the possibilities before sadly responding, "No, I'm not Marilynne Robinson."
Happily, in both cases, though, the name guessers have moved on with their speculation, "You ARE an author, aren't you?"
I'll take it. After all, there are authors at different levels.
Anyway, turns out as we talked while Amy prepared the rose in a vase, she is the same age as Willie, and the year all the sixth graders went to the old junior high, she had Laurie Tibbs for a teacher.
"Oh, what was she like?" I asked with no hint of familiarity.
Lucky for Amy, she answered correctly.
"She was nice and she was young," Amy recalled.
"She's my sister," I said.
Amy also remembered the day when Laurie brought her Arabian gelding Richie to school and demonstrated what she would be doing while competing in a show hack class at the Arabian Nationals in Albuquerque that fall.
During my interlude at Nieman's, I also met Amy's husband who grew up in Snohomish, Wash.
"By any chance do you know Mark Perry?" I asked. Mark is a Sandpoint High grad, same class as sister Laurie.
"He was my football coach," John responded, adding an impressive litany of superlatives about Mark and his high school campus and all his wonderful achievements as a coach and athletic director.
When Amy handed me the rose in the vase, I assured her I'd be back to Nieman's.
Nice to have another owner who appreciates the history of a store which has been in Sandpoint for a century or so.
And, a very nice owner, at that!
Later, at the hospital---that's where you see the locals either working or recuperating---I was not disappointed, enjoying lots of little chats with several familiar faces.
In one case, I was sitting in a chair in Helen's room when Patty Hagadone McDonnell walked in with flowers for our mutual friend and Patty's classmate.
In the midst of her visit, my brother Mike called.
Patty said that she remembered Mike but surely he wouldn't remember her cuz he was a little kid at the time.
Well, the time was the late '40s when Patty lived with her family over on St. Clair in south Sandpoint, and the Brown family lived near the old junior high on Euclid where Mother had a young horse.
Patty, a horse lover, would come over to our house to see Mother's filly named Largo.
As these recollections were floating through the air around Helen's bed, Patty announced that Mother kept her horse in the garage at 214 Euclid.
With the speaker phone on, Mike heard that factoid and refuted Patty's assertion.
"No, the horse did not stay in the garage," he said. "It was in a pen behind the house, and there was a big manure pile."
At this point, Patty gave in on her memory of the horse in the garage, yielding to Mike as he continued on with, "Yeah, there was this manure pile, and it caught on fire and the fire engine came and put it out."
Mike was about 6 at the time, so it was probably a pretty big event in his mind and maybe not so much in Patty's.
So there!
No more mention of the garage horse stall cuz how could you top a tale of a burning manure pile in the back yard in old time Sandpoint?
Twas a great experience, listening to the tales of our mutual hometown during that speaker-phone conversation in Helen's hospital room.
Twould be an understatement to say it was getting pretty loud with all the chatter and the giggles.
When a staff member suddenly appeared at the door, looking at all of us and listening, I figured we'd been busted cuz we had caused all that commotion while other patients were trying to rest.
Turns out the staff member came on in and joined the party, and, out of respect, of course, we quieted down.
Yup, it's been quite a week, keeping track of the handicapped among us.
As for Bill, he ventured out a second time this week to a restaurant, where we all enjoyed some wonderful visits with Duane and Marilyn Ward and Lynn Poelstra and her hubby Rik.
So, we move on through winter and rehab AND today the last regular season game for the ZAGS.
It's on ESPN tonight, and they're playing their historical rival Saint Mary's. Should be a good finale.
Happy Saturday.
Heal, Bill and Helen and . . .
GO, ZAGS!
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