Love and Spring Beauty

 

I'm already feeling endorphins this morning. 

The snow and rain from yesterday morning has turned into a distant memory. 

For the rest of Tuesday, the sun ruled the outdoors and definitely the moods. 

I even spent some time standing against the barn door, beckoning the bright early spring sunshine to bring warmth to my face.

It was a day filled with dramatic shadows and greener grass and raking up riffraff from winter storms. 

And, it was all so satisfying. 

The warmth, with no need for a jacket, meant our dogs could spend time in their outdoor run. 

They could be safe and they could breathe fresh air while I tended to my yard clean-up with no concerns. 

Bill was gone for part of that time, teaching a forestry class at Sandpoint High School.  He did so once last week and will wrap up his teaching duties today.

Today looks even better than yesterday weatherwise.  It also marks a welcome milestone.  My second walking trip outdoors with Bridie involved a lighter load than usual.  

No flashlight needed!!!!🌞 

We have turned the corner for 2026, and it feels so invigorating.  

This morning has required the jackets because we had a substantial overnight freeze, adding a beautiful glistening touch to the landscape. 

By afternoon, the frost will be gone and even more birds will be singing songs of spring. 

BTW:  while typing this, I looked out the window and saw that my least favorite birds, the starlings, have arrived.  They were congregating on top of the shop roof. 

Ugh!

Yesterday when I observed that Mauri Brooks Knott  (a Priest River native and family friend) was concentrating on "love" this week with her Facebook output, I kept reading.

Upon finishing her post, I sent her a note and asked if I could include the thoughts she had written about her grandfather in my blog today.  She graciously said yes. 

I knew her grandparents on the Naccarato side and always thought the world of them.  Her Grandma Mary Lou, a spunky and fun lady, was one of my favorite people in the 4-H, fair and general farm scenes. 

Though I didn't know her grandfather that well, I always viewed him much the way Mauri has illustrated in her meaningful piece below. 

Yes, Mauri, it's a great week to think about love as we make our way toward Valentine's Day. 

I've always said it's the best 4-letter word in the world.  Happily, most of the time when I say that, people will guess the word. 

There are so many levels of love beside the obvious romantic version.  Mauri has articulated one such.  

It's nice to remember her grandfather, and equally comforting to think about all the layers of love we see and experience in our lives each and every day. 

Hope you enjoy Mauri's thoughts and think about the Bob Naccarato examples whom you know. 

Our world can use these reminders. 

 

💓💓💓💓💓💓💓

By Mauri Knott

Posted yesterday. 

My Facebook this week is all about love.

Not because I am naïve. Not because I don’t have opinions. But because I am a moderate with friends who lean both left and right, and I am tired of the war we are waging against one another.

Robert Naccarato

My grandpa was born on this day in 1926. One hundred years ago, the first year of what would later be called the “Silent Generation.”

He didn’t know it then, but those born that year would live through World War II, the Korean War, Vietnam, the Persian Gulf, Afghanistan, and Iraq.

He served his country for six of those years as a member of the U.S. Army and the National Guard.

As I reflect, I think the timing of his passing in 2019 was a blessing. Because this most recent war—the one we willingly play into every single day, would have been deeply disgusting to him. 

You see, my Gramps was a man of God. Not God-fearing, I never once remember him being fearful. He celebrated God. He believed fiercely in grace, in joy, and in the love God showed for others.

Gramps never met a stranger.

After meeting someone new, he’d often ask [me], “Did you tell them you were Robert Naccarato’s granddaughter?” 

He held relationships in the highest regard. Differences didn’t scare him or slow him down.

Despite being raised in rural Idaho in a migrant Italian community, he could have been narrow-minded or quick to judge, but he wasn’t.

He met people where they were and for who they were: hippies snowed in on the Bear Paw, the first African American family to move to town with six kids in tow, a cousin and her partner celebrating their nuptials at the Ranch, an immigrant priest with very broken English. 

That same priest said something at my grandpa’s funeral that stopped me cold. As he listed all the ways Gramps loved others, devoted husband, caring father, proud grandpa, faithful follower, he paused, teared up, and said, “And he was my friend.”

He went on to explain that Gramps was one of the very first people to welcome him into a tiny town in north Idaho, and that he never expected such kindness from someone of my grandpa’s generation and demographic. 

But there it is.

He didn’t just sit in the pew on Sunday and go through the motions with self-righteousness. He lived it. He loved his neighbor. He lived with humility. He showed his kids, grandkids, and great-grandkids that people come before judgment.

So once again today, I’m reflecting on LOVE, the love that was modeled for me and for my children.

Not as a political move.

Not as a talking point. 

But as a choice.

Because if a man who lived through real wars could still choose relationship over righteousness and love over labels, then surely we can do the same.

The world doesn’t need louder sides; it needs better neighbors.