Basketball games in the hay loft of that big red barn during two childhoods, 20-plus years apart.
Willie's friend Keith setting up for a shot and falling through an opening in the floor on the side of the hay loft.
A pigpen at the east end of the other "barn."
We called it a shed.
So, yesterday when I asked Marc and Wendy to park the 4-wheeler next to our barn here at the Lovestead and they moved on past the BARN, rolling on down the lane to the far SHED, I simply smiled.
Guess a shed is a barn in Marc's mind.
As for other buildings, we called it the bunk house when we lived there for 30 years from 1977-2006.
Marc, who had lived at the place as a pre-teen in the 1970s, called it the garage.
At least one family, the Crapes, lived on that farm in between the Alton's and the Love's.
So, buildings on the place may have changed a bit.
There were several boys in the Crape family, and when we moved to the small farm on Great Northern Road, we surmised that maybe those barn windows had served as nice targets for rocks.
Pretty much every one of them was broken. Over the years we replaced them, had a new roof put on the barn and painted it.
So, the photo above shows it almost as good as new, even though it was built on that spot in the 1940s.
It's not quite so pretty these days as the place is not a farm anymore.
Marc Alton and I exchanged many memories yesterday while strolling around the Lovestead and sipping on coffee in the front yard during a visit where we had the pleasure of meeting his vibrant wife Wendy.
Besides putting in our respective time on that farm on Great Northern Road, Marc and I shared another commonality.
We both attended Lincoln School AND we both had Mrs. Alberta Sutliff as a teacher.
Again, perspectives differed a bit.
My memory, besides the fact that Mrs. Sutliff seemed like the first really nice teacher I had in grade school, involved a swat on the rear while I was down on my knees next to a fellow student's desk just after noon hour one day.
I was supposed to be in my desk at the back of the row, but whoever the classmate was had been telling a good story as we filed into the classroom. So, when I crawled up the aisle on all fours to hear the "rest of the story," the telling ended abruptly with that swat and the command to get back to my desk.
In spite of the much-deserved reprimand, I always loved Mrs. Sutliff, just like every other student who had her as a teacher.
In Marc's case, she made a dramatic difference in his life. When his family had moved to Sandpoint from California, Marc was way behind in his reading ability.
Mrs. Sutliff took care of that----spending extra time with him both in the classroom and the office getting him up to speed.
Marc told us yesterday that she was probably one of THE most significant teachers in his life.
And, speaking of teachers, Wendy and I hit it off instantly. The minute one story ended another unfolded as we shared our experiences in the classroom.
I could tell from our discussion that Wendy is a dynamic, beloved and valued educator in Sarasota, Flor., where she and Marc reside and where Marc serves as an executive chef.
Marc and I hadn't seen each other since about 1978 when he was one of the gifted and talented students in my sophomore honors English class.
So, we had some catching up to do, which we did in the outdoor setting of another farm a few miles away from the farm northwest of Sandpoint which we had in common.
Oodles of memories and wonderful discussion while petting horses in the hay field and watching dogs perform.
And, speaking of memories, I ran across the piece below this morning, focusing on early memories and how we actually form our memories of childhood times.
Funny how they are influenced by our own perspective and helped along with others.
It's also remarkable how two people view the same happening, or they don't. In some cases, everyone around us remembers some events where we participated, yet the happening is totally absent in our minds.
So, think about your earliest memories as you read. It's a fascinating piece, which could serve as a great springboard for a family discussion on certain topics of the childhood years.
At least one family, the Crapes, lived on that farm in between the Alton's and the Love's.
So, buildings on the place may have changed a bit.
There were several boys in the Crape family, and when we moved to the small farm on Great Northern Road, we surmised that maybe those barn windows had served as nice targets for rocks.
Pretty much every one of them was broken. Over the years we replaced them, had a new roof put on the barn and painted it.
So, the photo above shows it almost as good as new, even though it was built on that spot in the 1940s.
It's not quite so pretty these days as the place is not a farm anymore.
Marc Alton and I exchanged many memories yesterday while strolling around the Lovestead and sipping on coffee in the front yard during a visit where we had the pleasure of meeting his vibrant wife Wendy.
Besides putting in our respective time on that farm on Great Northern Road, Marc and I shared another commonality.
We both attended Lincoln School AND we both had Mrs. Alberta Sutliff as a teacher.
Again, perspectives differed a bit.
My memory, besides the fact that Mrs. Sutliff seemed like the first really nice teacher I had in grade school, involved a swat on the rear while I was down on my knees next to a fellow student's desk just after noon hour one day.
I was supposed to be in my desk at the back of the row, but whoever the classmate was had been telling a good story as we filed into the classroom. So, when I crawled up the aisle on all fours to hear the "rest of the story," the telling ended abruptly with that swat and the command to get back to my desk.
In spite of the much-deserved reprimand, I always loved Mrs. Sutliff, just like every other student who had her as a teacher.
In Marc's case, she made a dramatic difference in his life. When his family had moved to Sandpoint from California, Marc was way behind in his reading ability.
Mrs. Sutliff took care of that----spending extra time with him both in the classroom and the office getting him up to speed.
Marc told us yesterday that she was probably one of THE most significant teachers in his life.
And, speaking of teachers, Wendy and I hit it off instantly. The minute one story ended another unfolded as we shared our experiences in the classroom.
I could tell from our discussion that Wendy is a dynamic, beloved and valued educator in Sarasota, Flor., where she and Marc reside and where Marc serves as an executive chef.
Marc and I hadn't seen each other since about 1978 when he was one of the gifted and talented students in my sophomore honors English class.
So, we had some catching up to do, which we did in the outdoor setting of another farm a few miles away from the farm northwest of Sandpoint which we had in common.
Oodles of memories and wonderful discussion while petting horses in the hay field and watching dogs perform.
And, speaking of memories, I ran across the piece below this morning, focusing on early memories and how we actually form our memories of childhood times.
Funny how they are influenced by our own perspective and helped along with others.
It's also remarkable how two people view the same happening, or they don't. In some cases, everyone around us remembers some events where we participated, yet the happening is totally absent in our minds.
So, think about your earliest memories as you read. It's a fascinating piece, which could serve as a great springboard for a family discussion on certain topics of the childhood years.
https://aeon.co/essays/where-do-children-s-earliest-memories-go?utm_source=pocket-newtab
In other news, we're in the "fix-it" phase this week as we mark 14 years on July 1 of living here at the Lovestead.
This morning, Peter from Peter's Appliance comes to look at our freezer, which several days ago felt that it needed a utility change. The freezer wants desperately to be a refrigerator.
And, when a freezer harbors those wishes, bags of blueberries and raspberries and huckleberries stored among the meats and other veggies don't fare well.
In fact, they decide to spread rivers of purple and red tears all over the meat packages and on every available spot where they have been stored.
It's a gory scene, to say the least.
At first, we thought the problem was a door that had been left open, but when the purple tears kept on spreading with the door firmly shut, we decided the freezer had already started its own transformation to become a refrigerator.
After that discovery, out came dozens of bags of soft, runny berries and beans and nearly half a frozen hog, thankfully still frozen and stored various packages.
My sisters have been nice enough to let us temporarily store the stuff in their freezer.
In that time, we have also learned that new freezers are a premium these days if you can get one within the next few months.
Seems just like toilet paper shortage in the early Pandemic. Everyone bought 'em up.
So, we're praying that Peter can fix ours and set it straight that it has just one thing that we expect it to do----keep that food frozen.
Later this week---actually on the anniversary date of our moving into this place---some chimney folks are coming to hopefully patch a hole near the chimney.
Seems that lately we have been hearing pitter patter in places we shouldn't be hearing it during all those rainstorms. Fortunately---or we hope anyway---no major damage has been sustained.
After 14 years, we have definitely reached that stage where pretty much every which way we look, something could use some fixing.
So, we'll deal with the urgent things like keeping food frozen and rain off from our heads until the next mini-disaster hits.
Never a dull moment, but these challenges do keep life interesting.
Happy Monday.
In other news, we're in the "fix-it" phase this week as we mark 14 years on July 1 of living here at the Lovestead.
This morning, Peter from Peter's Appliance comes to look at our freezer, which several days ago felt that it needed a utility change. The freezer wants desperately to be a refrigerator.
And, when a freezer harbors those wishes, bags of blueberries and raspberries and huckleberries stored among the meats and other veggies don't fare well.
In fact, they decide to spread rivers of purple and red tears all over the meat packages and on every available spot where they have been stored.
It's a gory scene, to say the least.
At first, we thought the problem was a door that had been left open, but when the purple tears kept on spreading with the door firmly shut, we decided the freezer had already started its own transformation to become a refrigerator.
After that discovery, out came dozens of bags of soft, runny berries and beans and nearly half a frozen hog, thankfully still frozen and stored various packages.
My sisters have been nice enough to let us temporarily store the stuff in their freezer.
In that time, we have also learned that new freezers are a premium these days if you can get one within the next few months.
Seems just like toilet paper shortage in the early Pandemic. Everyone bought 'em up.
So, we're praying that Peter can fix ours and set it straight that it has just one thing that we expect it to do----keep that food frozen.
Later this week---actually on the anniversary date of our moving into this place---some chimney folks are coming to hopefully patch a hole near the chimney.
Seems that lately we have been hearing pitter patter in places we shouldn't be hearing it during all those rainstorms. Fortunately---or we hope anyway---no major damage has been sustained.
After 14 years, we have definitely reached that stage where pretty much every which way we look, something could use some fixing.
So, we'll deal with the urgent things like keeping food frozen and rain off from our heads until the next mini-disaster hits.
Never a dull moment, but these challenges do keep life interesting.
Happy Monday.
One more fix-it for this week occurred when a nice man named Dan in Kootenai sharpened my clipper blades.
He lives across from the Vanhorn's, who have a most attractive and creative lawn.
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