Lazy UnHazy Summer Daze

 

We never take for granted the beauty where we live. 

It's abundant all around us here in the Panhandle of Idaho, but I'd say that the list topper has to be the Lake Pend Oreille and mountains around Farragut State Park. 

Granted, the view down the lake from Ice House Pizza at Hope is right up there, but every time we go to Farragut--where Bill and I first met 50 years and two days ago--I can feel my jaw drop and my eyes opening wider than ever with pure awe. 

Yesterday was such a day as Bill and I drove to the former World War II Naval Station for a touch of marital nostalgia. 

Just after we passed the park headquarters, Bill started letting up on the gas in the gray pickup.  I suspected what he was up to, and, sure enough, eventually the pickup rolled to a stop. 

Recalling that even a few years ago there used to be a hint of a road into the spot, he asked if I wanted to get out and walk through the trees and bone-dry grass.  

The "spot" was a slab of grassed-over asphalt about 100 yards from the road.  Purple wildflowers, along with a whole lot of knapweed adorned the asphalt and its surrounding area, an opening in the trees. 

Fifty years ago, there was a structure there, maybe a tent.  It was called the Trading Post Warehouse, and it was where I was sent by one of the 1973 Jamboree officials to search out some feature story material. 

I was doing a series of articles for a special tabloid edition of the Sandpoint News Bulletin prior to the Jamboree. 

A group of young college men, also former Boy Scouts, worked there, stocking the facility in preparation for the upcoming Jamboree, which would attract more than 30,000 scouts from across the country. 

Twas inside that structure that Bill and I met for the first time.  

Yesterday, while standing there, we even pointed to the areas the group of young men sat and to where I sat with a yellow legal pad and a pen, taking notes, as their leader Angus McBride (who also played the bagpipes) answered my questions. 

I even recalled to Bill how I was totally unaware that the group had entered and sat in a semi circle across from me because of being so focused on writing down Angus's responses.

Times have certainly changed for reporters since those days of yellow legal pads and pens that we hoped wouldn't run out of ink. 

Now, 49-plus years later, Bill Love, originally from Louisiana, and I are doing a lot of reminiscing this month and next as we remember those days of getting acquainted and subsequently flew to Texas together.  

It was my very first airline flight and probably the first for Bonner County 4-H members Dan Lund, Jane Lund, Linda Woolsey and Cathy Russell, also on the flight who would be competing in a national horse-judging contest in Dallas. 

And, so yesterday, started with reminiscing, taking a selfie of the two of us on the spot and then putting our kayaks in the water where recreationists galore had gathered for a hot and beautiful July afternoon. 

We saw kayakers, anglers, yachts, jet skis, sail boats big blow-up tubes, dogs, ducks, geese people of all ages enjoying the warmth offset by refreshing lake water. 

And, just like the last time we kayaked there, we realized that the swimming hole to the south seems a whole lot farther when paddling back to the launch.  

Thankfully, as my arms were screaming to please stop, a nice man in an inflatable kayak came alongside me and asked how it was going. 

Our subsequent conversation from that point back to the ever elusive launch area diverted my attention from my sore arms and sped up the process considerably.  

For some wonderful reason, talking tends to take one's mind off from pain. 

Bill and I had planned to have an early dinner at the White Horse Saloon in Spirit Lake but, upon arriving, learned that the establishment where we dined 50 years ago is not serving food. 

"If we can find a cook, we'll open up again," the bar tender told us. So, if there are cooks or chefs out there, check at the White Horse. 

We have vivid memories of the huge hamburgers, dressed with everything including a slab of ham.  And, we'll never forget the yellow lab lying next to a pot belly stove when we ate there one evening in 1973.

The population and offerings around Farragut have increased considerably since those days, and so we didn't mind stopping at Sweet Lou's Athol for a bite to eat. 

Twas a lovely day with most of the hours spent reminiscing and recreating in what we---now the Old Loves---consider one of the most beautiful spots on Earth. 

Enjoy the photos.