Home&Harvest July/August 2020

When is the last time you experienced wonder?

I’m not talking about seeing something cool or having a great day. I’m talking about the humbling sense of wonder when you gaze upon the stars, the kind of stars that can only been seen in the night sky deep in the woods, away from everyone. The kind of experience that inspires you down to your soul to be the version of yourself that younger you promised you’d become.

You remember that little girl, don’t you, the younger you, who would ride in the car with the window all the way down, trying to catch the wind in her hand? What about that little boy, the one who wanted to explore everything with little more than the promise of adventure in his pockets?

When I look around, I search for wonder in people’s eyes. But I feel we have all become too self-important, too busy. We’re trying to prove something on social media, to self-promote. To argue, not listen. To live with a set of self-beliefs that have not been challenged in years, that have not changed, that no longer inspire even you.

When we take the time to inventory our world, I fear we have forgotten how to live great lives based on dreams, hope, love and wonder. So many of us feel we are just getting by day to day- trying to get through- and fearing that it’s too late to make a change, or worse, too scared to. And when we live in this state, we become static, bored. Arguments become entertainment.

You become disconnected. Maybe you’ve stretched yourself so far from wonder that you aren’t even sure how you really feel about anything anymore. So you forget to grow. You can’t even remember the last time you humbled yourself and really, I mean really listened to someone else who is not like you. And it’s easy, isn’t it? Just bring in politics or the quarantine and poof! You can validate your state of mind.

But there is another way.

Grow yourself a seed of wonder. Write down your dreams. Smell every flower you walk by. Gaze at the stars. Look at the clouds. I mean it- lie on the lawn and just stare at the clouds. When is the last time you did that? Taste something exotic, try something new. Remember that there is so much more to life than how you’ve been living it, and it’s not too late to explore it. The more you humble yourself in the shadow of true wonder, the more you will realize just how very precious life truly is.

You will realize just how much more love, forgiveness, even understanding you have to give and why you’re supposed to give it. Remember that the most important thing we can do as humans is to help one another. If you were born with ANY sort of privilege, realize that is your power, your wonder, for someone else. So share it. Don’t keep it like a firefly in a jar. Help everyone around you feel as though they belong just as they are. Be inspiring, be inspired by yourself. The world is counting on you to catch the wind in your hands, to set out on an adventure for the treasure of wonder. Please don’t forget this.

With love,

Heather Niccoli Editor-In-Chief Home&Harvest Magazine P.S. It has come to my attention that many of you did not see our May/June issue, available only online. When we were placed under quarantine in late March, I was in the throes of production for the May/June issue. Suddenly my invoices seemed inappropriate as things shut down and fear set in. I wondered where I’d even distribute the magazine, as everything was closed. I had just finished the March/April issue, and I was more than grateful to our loyal locations and the assistance of Dissmores, Moscow Safeway and Pullman Safeway, for allowing me rack locations to ensure the magazine got out quickly and safely. We didn’t even fill many of our regular locations, as they had already shut down.

I knew the show must go on with the May/June issue, but how? That’s when I got a marvelous idea. Since the flower shop was closed, I had some serious time on my hands. I decided to make a HUGE online issue and give a FREE FULL PAGE AD to any business- hurting or not.

I figured it was best to focus on this as a gift to the community to keep my mind in a positive place, and so with that we had 92 businesses participate. The end result was a 222 page magazine, online only, and it was a labor of love I’ll never forget. I made the font bigger so it was more user-friendly to read, and it has so many awesome articles. In fact, all of my writers worked for FREE. That’s right- when I told them all I couldn’t afford to pay them but wanted to create this, they all jumped on board. Talk about a dynamite crew. I would like to thank everyone who took the time to share the link and help spread the word. I even had several advertisers try to pay even though I could not print it, because they wanted to support the magazine. This is our community. This magazine exists only because of you. It is something I am grateful for, and so I thank you for reading this and most importantly, being the best part of the place I call home. Also, you’re holding the BIGGEST PRINT ISSUE EVER! 76 pages. Truly, thank you.

Visit www.homeandharvestmagazine to read the May/June online issue.

Burke ore bust by Tony Niccoli

A few weeks back, being tired of having been cooped up for so long, and yearning to get back on the road and travel, Heather and I decided to scout out a few fun day trips that would be more isolated from crowds but still pack in a lot to see or do. We needed a little exploring. Luckily, living in the Palouse region, we were spoiled for options and we made a little list of some of the places we had most wanted to see.

That all served up the perfect opportunity to travel back in time and go poke around the ghost town of Burke. It’s something I had come across a long while ago, and even though Heather and I both love Wallace and Kellogg and manage to visit a few times a year, we still hadn’t taken the short drive up to see the remains of the old Frisco Mill, and the town of Burke with its fascinating and silent streets, and the collection of old mining facilities and abandoned buildings. Its just 7 miles north of town, but you are immediately transported into a different world – and a different time.

On our way out, we made a quick stop at the Cataldo Mission and had a little picnic at Old Mission State Park. We didn’t go into the Mission on this trip, deciding to save that for our next adventure, and instead just had a fun walk around the grounds and down to the river. After lunch we headed out to Wallace for a quick walk around one of our favorite towns before heading north on Burke Canyon Road.

As you leave town, there is a neighborhood that slowly gives way to just a few remaining houses lining the road, and before you know it you start to hit sections of a canyon that are completely empty save for a little river and some remnants of old foundations. The occasional cluster of houses or cabins brings you back to the present time, but for much of the drive out you get to imagine that you are somewhere much more rugged, and distant in the past. Try to visualize what it must have been like making this trek on foot, or by horse, and then finally by rail.

Our first stop along the way was the ruins of the old Frisco Mill. A roadside sign makes it easy to find the spot, along with images of the buildings that used to stand there on the edge of the river. Destroyed by dynamite during a conflict between unionized miners guards working for the mine, all that remains today is shattered and broken timber reinforcements and foundations. The standoff and gunfight left 6 men dead, and brought in martial law and thousands of soldiers to secure the area.

The conflicts between mistreated workers and the mine operators spread through North Idaho and eventually into other states as well and marks one of the most captivating points in the history of the American West. As we stood there marveling at the enormous amount of work that must have gone into securing the hillside and placing those foundations, and the giant piles of rubble left behind, I was glad we had finally made the short trip up to witness such an extraordinary area. Like much of Idaho, and the Silver Valley especially, Burke was settled on the quest for precious metals. Silver and lead were discovered in the Burke canyon area in 1884 and a stream of miners and upstart mining operations quickly followed. But what makes this little town so unique among the many other boom towns that followed a similar trajectory is its location deep in a tiny canyon. At some points the canyon is only 300 feet wide so they had to get really creative with building. Just as the river follows the long, thin canyon that it created, the town bends to take the shape of its surroundings. By 1887 a railroad had arrived and a year later the famous Tiger Hotel was built.

The town was growing, but space was quickly becoming more restricted.

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In order to fit in the miniscule footprint allowed by nature, the hotel was constructed with the railroad passing directly through it. And the road. And the river! When the river became burdensome it was rerouted to allow maximum efficiency and the use of every square foot possible.

When a second rail line was laid through the town it went right down the only street. Having so much shared space and with shops closely lining the edge of the street, compromises were quickly made. When a train passed though wagons and cars would pull off to the edge of the road and people joked that shop keepers would even roll-in their awnings. And still the town grew.

As the home to several successful mines like the Hercules, Star, Tiger-Poorman, and Hecla, and a few thousand miners, Burke went vertical and built along the very edges of the steep canyon where some of the most interesting foundations can still be seen today.

And at its peak, with over 2200 full-time residents, booming mines, lumber mills, and the commotion of daily life, Burke must have really been something to behold. The hotel had 150 rooms and more bunk houses were nearby.

Over a thousand people were fed in its restaurant daily.

The trains brought passengers both to see the marvel of the town, and to settle or return from an excursion down to Wallace. And as they left, they took with them the spoils of all that hard labor – millions of dollars of precious metals, and progress producing lumber that was much needed around the country for our continued advance.

When you stand in Burke today – most likely completely alone, possibly with just one or two other visitors being the only other people in sight – it’s easy to get lost in the vivid imagination of what life must have been like. It’s a time capsule, a frozen moment in history that beckons you back to the whistle of trains, buzz of lumber mills, clomping of hooves, tooting of old auto horns, friendly hello’s of passers-by, and above it all the crushing and commotion of a mine and processing plant that took up the center of town. With ruck crushers booming, conveyor belts whining and mining carts full of oar singing out as they all danced together above a river that had been routed under their feet. When you open your eyes, a lot of it is gone, but plenty remains to honor the moment now passed.

The hotel was torn town in the 50’s but you can still see a little of the foundation next to the creek in a pull off after the old beehive burner for the sawmill that sat just to the south. The rusty rail line marks the path to this day, running behind a fenced area and into the old mining operations area that has some of the most remarkable ruins left. The Star was the last mine to close in Burke, and it signaled the ending of an era. Without the work, there was no more need to run the shops across the little street, no more use of hotels and lodging for miners and mill workers, and finally no use for a population so far up the canyon. As the town was left, and the mining area partially fenced for safety, what was left behind on the ground is an excellent reminder of our local history, a visual aid for the imagination, and a curiosity definitely worth a visit.

All historic photos courtesy of the Historic Wallace Preservation Society Cover Photo: Tony Niccoli

Heather and I spent a long while poking around and looking from every angle, always finding something new to see, little bits of rubble, old foundations, and the evidence of fires, floods, and time that brought down buildings, all next to the sturdy and fortunate ones that still remain. Almost everywhere you look along the canyon side, if there isn’t a little mine entrance or cave, there is some other foundation timbers standing watch over the quiet town, forever marking the location of another bit of history.

It’s an odd sort of ghost town, not the late 1800’s wood buildings one might expect from the normal usage of the phrase, but mid-20th century memorial that shows the town as it was in several phases. As the mining dried up or became less profitable in certain locations, companies closed and their workers moved on. Some of Burke was very old at that point, some more modern for the day, but it all now stands or crumbles as a testament to an amazing story.

If you are lucky enough to call our region home, then a trip out to Burke is as simple as hopping in the car and enjoying an afternoon. But if you live far away and read our little local magazine online, or by subscription you will soon have a chance to do a little digital exploring. When looking for some historical photos to use in this article I reached out to the Historic Wallace Preservation Society and was delighted by how much help we received! Heather Branstetter sent some amazing photos from their collection and let me know about an exciting project that they expect to have completed by the end of the summer.

With their side-by-side comparisons you will be able to see images of Burke’s past right next to what the same area looks like today, allowing people all over the world to experience this unique ghost town. They already have a version online for the historic and lost building of Wallace at: tourwallace.gravistech.com and the work is already underway for Burke.

Home&Harvest

July/Aug 2020

16

Greetings, friends. As I write the July/August issue in mid-June, the world is in a bit of chaos and I’ve chosen to turn down the noise of the media and take a breather. Instead of watching the news, I sit outside sipping coffee in the early morning soaking up nature’s quiet soothing sounds. I find by greeting the day with a prayer and a desire to make my little world a better place to live in any way that is within my power helps set the tone of my day. As a new normal emerges and we are doing things we have never done before, our routine is different and sometimes life can feel very surreal. For me, more than ever, the fragility of life is in the forefront of my daily thoughts and actions. The day after I had submitted my article for the May/June on-line edition, my beloved sis-in-law, Denise passed away suddenly after a battle with cancer. And it was another layer of grappling with a different look to life for my brother and the rest of our family. If you knew Denise, her life was filled with helping others, both professionally and personally, she had a beautiful heart & soul. And I dedicate this article to Nini, as we called her. A life well lived – of: Joy. Perspectives. Volunteerism. Taking chances.

I remember one day when I was a kid that it seemed so weird to wake up in your bedroom (we lived in a mobile home) where the surroundings looked the same but looking outside, it was another new view. We had moved yet again and my world didn’t look the same as it did the day before. Kind of like now, don’t you think? And then that optimistic kick-start of looking for the silver lining gets a hold in my mind and off I go. As a child, I’d go off to explore my new surroundings and get familiar with my new normal in a different town. Three years ago, I moved from Genesee to Moscow and did the same thing, I explored my new area, got familiar with the landscape and neighbors and settled in to enjoy my new normal in a different town. And I feel like I’ve settled in quite nicely, it’s home. This vintage beauty of a farm house that overlooks fields and mountains fills this gal’s need for space, quiet, and a place to get dirt under your fingernails. I found my little piece of heaven, then along came my Mr. Right (Rod) who shares my love of simple rural living, family and embracing the beauty of life. Currently we are “combining junk drawers “and he is in the process of moving to Moscow where he will join me full time. We each have adult children who are happy that we have each other to get into mischief and most likely keeps us out of their hair. lol Plus we have a blended dog family who can be seen romping around the fields and or terrorizing the squirrels. Rod also inherited my grand-angels and adores the kiddos. And on one special weekend camping trip in June, the kiddos officially made him their “inherited grandpa”, of which they now refer to him as “Pops”. This new status came complete with a certificate and a list of grandparent rules (i.e. always be fun, laugh at their jokes, they will laugh at his bad jokes, take them for ice cream, etc).

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Joy Today as I write this article, I’m perched on a hillside in sturdy Adirondack chairs (best yard-sale finds ever!) Rod had decided a week prior that we needed a place to take in a new view. What was amazing to me, was that I long as I had lived here, that I had never stopped to take in the sight from atop of my hillside. It took someone else’s vision to make a change and see life from a new vantage point. It’s now become our fav place to sit and admire a familiar, yet different view where coffee and sunrises or wine and sunsets are perfectly paired and savored. And it hit home that in life, sometimes when I look at a situation, that changing the view of looking at things a certain way leads to a better mindset.

Perspectives Sitting here watching the world come alive, I think back to a time in my life when I was a young parent living in Genesee and how a school meeting took me down a new pathway that firmly inserted me into the community. I remember the school superintendent hosting a meeting at the beginning of the school year and asked those present to help the school get new playground equipment. That idea kept rolling around in my brain and after I started pestering the school administrators about wanting to start the project, they held the first meeting and suggested I take the lead. It was a win-win for them, they would get me out of their hair and hopefully get a new playground.

I had never chaired anything in my life before, but I said I’d do it even though I had absolutely no leadership skills or experience with fundraising. Being young, naïve and goal driven, the 10 or so members of the dedicated-

-group all had an end result of a new playground in our mind’s eye. We called ourselves “The Playground Committee” as this was before there was a formal PTA was formed at our school. We rolled up our sleeves and formed a game plan. This was back in the 1990’s and we needed to raise $15,000 to buy the structure, gave ourselves 5 months to raise the money and 3 months to redo the playground. This group which was made up of dedicated parents along with a first-grade teacher trusted me and my crazy ideas of how to fundraise. Our moneymakers were a tacky prom (imagine the gaudiest outfits ever!), a plant sale, a community dinner theater, a massive garage sale and the local farmer’s co-op donated pea seeds wherein the grade school kids decorated seed packets to sell. It was non-stop projects. The work was endless, as we all had day jobs, family, community/church obligations – yet we were all committed. The inside joke in our group was that property values next to my house were going down because no one wanted to live next to me, as I was known for giving anyone I saw the “opportunity to help our cause”. Actually, it wasn’t that bad, but… ok maybe it was. Regardless, in the end, we reached our financial goal, ordered the equipment and we worked every weekend assembling the equipment to transform the tired and dangerous playground into a safe and fun place for the kiddos. The day before school started an SOS went out as we still needed sod. The beauty of living in a farm community was that a local farmer donated his blue grass sod out of his field and multiple people showed up to help and together we laid sod under the headlights of all the trucks to finish the project the night before school started. Sweet, but exhausting success. A few weeks later, the superintendent held a ceremony to honor us and it was then we learned that we had accomplished something that two other times this had been attempted but failed.

As I looked at this amazing group of parents and community members who banded together for a common cause, worked countless hours, sought outside help for technical skills beyond our skillset, and I understood the love for our kids, school and community. To me, that message was powerful, step up when you saw a need to fix something and together people can make it better and succeed. ~Volunteerism~ ~Taking Chances~ As defined in the dictionary: To seize and make the most of opportunities as they present themselves.

If you think about it, this is something we do every single day and opportunities present themselves in all sorts of forms such as people, ideas, events and so on. It permeates our daily life. If I want to be creative and try a new recipe, I’m hoping it’s a keeper and doesn’t end up in the garbage as a failed experiment (yup… then you order pizza!). Or it can be in the form of seeing a new way of doing things and taking the initiative to pitching an idea to my chairman. Whether it be a new recipe, a new relationship, a new project, or a change of location or job, it requires us to step outside of our comfort zone into new territory. It’s about seizing those ordinary moments and seeing them in a different light and acting on it. Being an agent of change. And there is courage in being vulnerable and taking the risk. If you succeed, so much the better, if you didn’t, then it should be viewed as an effort well tried.

And my hope is that if I am open about my life and maybe connect with you from the stories I tell from my own perfectly imperfect life, that maybe you will not feel alone or overwhelmed. That maybe you will feel inspired to take that chance and go for the gusto which hopefully includes, finding joy, changing your perspective and make your world a little bit better through volunteerism. For me my greatest fear is reaching the end of my life and having that regret for not taking that risk or showing up for my life in a way that matters. And that my friend, is the catalyst for keeping me moving forward following my moral compass in life and seeking a life well lived as best I can. Plus, I sincerely feel together we can be a beautiful agent of change wherein we show up for each other and our community.

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talk teen annie geбl

by

L

Let me start by saying that I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m making it up just like the rest of you parents out there. My husband makes it up even more than I do! You might think I’m joking, but he literally makes things up. Several years ago, our oldest threw a tantrum, as toddlers do, and my husband was like, “Yeah, we’re not going to throw ourselves on the ground around here.” He made up the rule that our kids could only cry if they were standing up. What we learned from this knee-jerk ruling was that when the kids stood up, they often forgot what they were crying about and ran off to play. On the occasion that they did really need to or want to cry, they did, but most of the time they just stopped. Huh. Anyway, I’ve gotten off topic. I wanted to talk to you about teens today. So, back to that. My husband and I have stumbled through parenting for seventeen years now. Our two oldest kids are teenagers and our youngest will be in a few months. One of the things that always saddened me, back when I had toddlers, was hearing about these teenage years in a very defeatist way. I heard a lot about how my kids would turn into bundles of hormones and angst and not want to be bothered by their parents. (I mean, I might even remember being a little like that myself.) So far, we’ve had a different experience, thankfully. I figured it couldn’t hurt to share some thoughts with you about why I think that is and maybe give you hope that your teens can still talk to you too!

I think the biggest piece of advice I could give for parenting any age is to be consistent. My best advice for parenting teens is to meet them where they’re at. For each of our kids, that’s someplace different.

Trick ‘em Our oldest son has always had an incredible sense of humor. When he was still only single-digits-old he’d tell me jokes and need to wait for me to get it. Through the years I’ve only been ahead of him on figuring out what’s so funny a few times. One of those times was just before he turned thirteen. We were driving somewhere (which, by the way, is a great opportunity to chat with your kids) and he got visibly excited. I asked what was so thrilling and he said, “I just realized I’m going to finally get to be an irresponsible teenager!” I laughed, because he’s funny. He took my laugh as worrisome.

So, I played along. “Well, because that’s not exactly how it works. When you turn thirteen, you actually get to be more responsible because it’s the beginning of practicing for adulthood. I mean, we’re only going to have five years to teach you everything you need to know before you move out. Do you think we should make a schedule?”

He did not want to make a schedule. And he believed me and proceeded to be a responsible teenager! We pointed out moments when he’d do something responsible and congratulate him on it for the first several months or a year or so. And we let him know how he was really helping to create an easier transition to adulthood. What started out as a way to pick on my kiddo, turned into a great way for him to step up and become the best version of himself.

Pre-plan Our middle child, and only daughter, is a different story.

She laughs a lot but it’s not the first thing that comes to mind. What does stand out to me is her confidence, even though she’d probably argue about that. (She also likes debating. That certainly stands out about her, too!) This girl knows who she is and what she wants and readily admits that she’s likely to shove back, if pushed. So, prior to her entry into the teen years we had a chat. Again, we were in the car. I said something like, “There’s going to come a time very soon that you’re going to feel like we know nothing and are just pulling rank with the rules your father and I have for you. I want you to know right now – to really hear and absorb what I’m saying – that anything we do or say is because we truly believe it’s the best for you. We want you to grow and thrive. We want to give you room to do so and will provide parameters for you, but if we need to, we’ll shut things down too.

Because we love you.” Then I asked her to repeat back to me what she heard me say and then to remember it.

So far, so good. Since we laid that foundation, she’s able to give us the benefit of the doubt more often than not.

And I feel more comfortable, than I might have otherwise, giving her space to grumble and roll her eyes because I believe that she believes we have her best interests at heart. We know we’re in this together and we check in with each other regularly, and especially when one of us feels like that car conversation from more than two years ago needs to be recalled again.

Steady as he goes Our third child is nothing like the other two! Different personality, different interests, different motivations.

And, as I said earlier, he hasn’t turned thirteen yet so I really can’t say what kind of teen he’ll be or what strategy will work. What I can say, though, is that our youngest son loves a routine. He has always provided more structure for himself than we have expected of him. He prefers to be in bed by 9:00 pm and to get up with the sun. He schedules his days with homeschooling starting at 8:00 am, time for Lego construction, Minecraft with friends, and down time to draw and watch tv.

He gets picked on for being so set in his ways at such a young age, with people telling him he’s probably going to be wild as a teenager. He doesn’t buy it, though. So, neither do I. For him, I’m going to try honest support of his needs.

We talk daily about what he’s built, the latest movie review he’s watched, and the things he worries about and is excited about. And I’m just going to keep those conversations going. I’m going to support his routines and schedules and confirm as often as he needs that it’s perfectly okay for him to go to bed earlier than his friends.

I’m going to say until I’m blue in the face that different isn’t better or worse… just different. I’m going to hopefully watch him grow even more confident in liking what he likes, even if it’s not what everyone else likes. Catch up with me in a few years and we’ll see how it plays out.

Three kids, three different strategies. I can’t promise you that they’ll work in your family, but hopefully they reassure you that something can work! You can keep talking to your kids and they can even want to keep talking to you. In the last few months, with all that’s been happening, I’ve sat with our two oldest kids a few nights a week, every week, and discussed it all. They have developed opinions and beliefs that they want to discuss. I’ve learned from them and they’ve learned from me. I’m so honored to be their mother and watch them continue to grow. Often, the times we’re chatting correspond with our youngest’s Minecraft time, so he doesn’t hang out with us, and that’s okay. His understanding is still connected to ours, as his parents. So, we still talk, just not as often or for as long as the debates and discussions I have with his brother and sister.

Honestly, I think that’s the bottom line and perhaps the biggest takeaway on how to enter the teen years with teens that will still talk to you: Talk to them, where they’re at.

Don’t dismiss their humor as insincerity. Laugh with them, and occasionally at them! Don’t dismiss their heavy sighs and eye rolling as hormones. Ask them what’s bothering them and assure them you truly want to know. Like, really truly. Don’t dismiss their routines as ridiculous. Help them roll with the punches when life happens and the schedule gets disturbed, but otherwise let them build all the structure and Lego they want!

Whatever your children’s ‘things’ are – don’t dismiss them because they aren’t fully adult, the same as yours, or easy. Your children are still children, probably adult sized, but still learning how to be adults. Don’t dismiss them. Simply talk to your teens.

Broken Operations

by Keith Crossler

I

In early 2001, the MVFD welcomed in a new ladder truck. We were lucky enough to get a new truck that was used as a demo unit, so it comes with lots of “bells and whistles” at a not so “bells and whistles” price tag. That also means that it’s technically used as it has made a journey around the country being shown off to other departments in an effort to sell that brand of truck. We were pretty excited for the new truck to arrive. It was replacing a late 70’s American LaFrance that was certainly a good truck, just a bit on the older side.

Once we committed to the purchase, it had two more stops to make.

First to Detroit, MI. It was Halloween in 2000 and Detroit experiences an overwhelming call volume during that night. It’s common for the truck manufacturers to let Detroit Fire use the demo trucks for that night as extra equipment. Our newly purchased truck was there to help.

Then, on to Appleton, WI to the manufacturing plant. They would go through it with a fine-toothed comb and get it all ready to go for its new home.

At the end of 2000 our excitement was growing. The new truck was on its way and we couldn’t wait for it to get here. Then the bad news came. Just as it was rolling into Billings, MT, the truck suffered a major engine failure. Fortunately for us, we hadn’t taken official possession of the truck yet. While we had to wait longer for the arrival, it now came with a new engine. So, not so bad after all. We have truly come to love this truck and are glad things worked out the way they did. A couple of years had passed, and I remember a call that gave us some issues that had us testing our knowledge and abilities on the truck.

The call went out for a structure fire on Nursery Street. What is mostly on Nursery Street are storage units and commercial spaces. This was one of the commercial spaces. Early on in the fire, it was determined that we needed the ladder truck to do an aerial water attack. The truck hadn’t responded yet and I wasn’t tasked with anything at the fire, so I jumped in my personal vehicle and drove to the station to get it. As I released the air hose (it supplies the truck with air so that we don’t have to wait for air pressure to build in order to drive it), the fitting immediately starts blowing air back at me. Knowing we needed the truck on the fire, I weighed my options of what to do. Do I let our Incident Command know that the truck is inoperable or do I see if I can get it there? Being the stubborn kid I was, I put it in drive to see what happened.

I found that if I kept the RPM’s up, the air pressure would stay high enough so I could make it to the call. Away I went. I of course reported it when I was able to, but felt it was best to get to the call and go to work.

After we established our water supply, we went to work to set up the ladder. The truck has four outriggers that stabilize the truck while the big, heavy ladder is in operation.

You need to make sure you have solid ground, otherwise the truck could tip over. With the outriggers out, up goes the ladder. Swinging around over the top of the fire and water starts pouring in through the roof upwards of 2,000 gallons per minute. We operated this way for quite a while, taking turns up on the end of the ladder running the remote control nozzle. Sure, we can run it from the platform on the truck, but it’s much more precise from the tip (and more fun too).

The other advantage to the truck being there was the extra equipment that it carries that a standard pumper doesn’t.

Specifically in this case, a gas powered, circular saw. This saw has a special blade made for cutting through just about anything. On this call, we used it to cut through metal roll up doors. It made for easy access without having to try and go inside the burning building to open the doors.

We all took turns running through the different jobs. This fire took a particularly long time to go through the overhaul and salvage operations. The building housed a few different businesses and with the extent of the fire, made for a longer call than normal. These buildings also had metal siding and a metal roof. They didn’t seem to burn away as other materials do, so there was a lot to work around after the bulk of the fire was gone. As we gained the upper hand and were ready to pack up, we came to a new problem we didn’t realize could even happen. The ladder wouldn’t move to come back down.

When we trained on the truck after its arrival, we got taught all the ways the truck works, even some of the ways you can override the systems if necessary. The truck is built with safety features that will prevent you from tipping the truck over. As we started to look into what was happening, we found that one of the outriggers wasn’t solid on the ground anymore and the safety functions weren’t allowing us to move the ladder. Best we could figure, there was gravel on the road when we set it up. Once water was flowing around the truck during operations, we think it moved the gravel enough that we lost our solid footing.

Finally one of us remembered that there was an override switch we could hold on the outrigger control panel, along with another one on the ladder operations panel that could give us the controls in a way that could move the ladder again. First, we retracted the ladder so it was as short as possible. Then we actually raised it up higher thinking that this would put the weight back onto the top of the truck instead of hanging over the side. We could then rotate it around to bring it safely back into the cradle.

Mission accomplished. We all certainly learned a lesson that night on how to overcome the unforeseen obstacles on basic operations. To this day, it is something that we discuss and train on, just in case it happens again.

When our pioneers first built their homesteads here, it was like playing with blocks.

The rooms were built with solid wood walls. There weren’t any plumbing problems, with excess pipes. There were no electrical wires to rearrange and reasons to bore holes in the walls. Just solid wood- walls, ceilings, floors and all. Not much foundation or any wimpy walls. So they moved them around. Horses were hitched up to do the pulling and logs or metal “rollers” were put under these square blocks. Many pioneer homes were built this way in this area. In the later 1930’s, when the country schools were being abandoned; school houses were often brought to the farms as tool sheds or barns.

John Lorang of White Spring Ranch in Genesee, moved the sections of his Farmhouse as did many other people in this area, but he documented it thoroughly; including the weather at the time. John recorded his daily adventures and also details for the weather “beurar” bureau, with wind conditions and morning and night temperatures.

First, after moving into their well-built homestead in 1885, John and Mary Lorang had four boys; but things soon got too crowded for the four growing boys and two parents in that tiny space. The Homestead had been built by a shipbuilder before 1884 and was very solid, but still too small for this big family. So in 1890, John and his older brother Theodore Lorang combined efforts to buy an additional 160 acres just South of the Ranch. This purchase was a big change because the good friends and family that formerly owned the site had a farmhouse. A solid structure built c.1873.

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We know it was patented by the U.S. government and William White in 1875. There was also a spring on the property named by John’s neighbors as White Spring and with this addition we became the White Spring Ranch, in honor of John’s old friend, William, who had just passed away. The old farmhouse on the additional acreage was cut in half and transported with horses to create additions to John and Mary Lorang’s home. One piece was added to the West side for a washroom. The other side, added to the North end, became the kitchen.

The washroom addition was very helpful because it was placed on top of a seepage well, used by the family; so the well was now inside the house. The kitchen addition had a small porch and a new kitchen was a big help to Mary Lorang who had been cooking on a small stove in the main room of the Homestead. This new c.1873 kitchen was actually 10 years older than Mary and John’s 1884 Homestead, but it was a much bigger space; a welcoming kitchen for a big family and even until today.

John and Mary Lorang continued to have children.

Christine was born in 1891, Amalia in 1892, Bertha in 1895, Martha in 1897, Viola in 1899 and then little Charles in 1902. Charles made the number of boys and girls even and John called them his “Matched Set”. 10 children and two adults in this tiny home even with the extra additions were too much. Peter the oldest did get sent to college, so that helped. John was adamant about sending his children to college. But times were prosperous for John and Mary in this fertile Palouse soil. The train had arrived in Genesee in 1888, which helped the farmers considerably and the story goes that many farmhouses around here in the early days were quite fancy and elaborate. John decided to build his own elaborate farmhouse.

The big change was made when Charles was out of the crib and almost 2 years old, in 1904. John hitched up the horses again and pulled out the “rollers”. It was a Wednesday, April 6, 1904 and the west wind was up. 32 degrees in the morning and 40 at night. They began to dig up the precious trees around the homestead that John had planted in 1884. After spending two months gathering supplies of wood, sand, bricks “from the old Bank”, paint and rocks for the foundation; on Monday, June 13 a “fine day, 40 morning, 78 evening” John began moving the kitchen addition. It traveled all around the washroom and attached to the south end of this building, until the washroom and kitchen were two peaked buildings, side by side. On Friday, June 17 the weather was “fine all day, 50 morning 82 evening”. John hitched up the horses and turned the 1884 Homestead 90 degrees, so the bay window would, instead of facing the South, would face the road and become part of the front of the new house he was going to build.

On Wednesday, June 29th, 1904, it was “50 morning, nise all day, 86 evening” and the professional carpenters began work on the new section. John wrote in his journal “G. Stelz and Forest began to work on the new house at 9:00 in the morning.” John would help with carpentry during this process, building the china cabinet, some floors and ceilings, generally assisting. The new addition was finished in 1904, but it wasn’t until Monday, June 5, 1905 “40 morning, rained all night, 56 evening” when John put down the paintbrush and writes “I finisht work on the house, been to school meeting”.

One time I tried to explain this process to visitors of the Ranch, but just ended up just waving my arms in the air and pointing, saying “it went over to this side, then...”.

After the blank stares, I found some children’s blocks and used these to demonstrate the story.

John took several photos of his new 1904 Farmhouse, with his matched set of children. It has been restored and can be seen just off Hwy. 95, 2 miles North of the Genesee junction. We are Open again and welcome visitors, Sundays and Tuesdays, 1 p.m. –Sunset. or by appointment at (208) 416-1006.

Grilled C Steaks by

Tony Niccoli

It’s nice to be back in print for the July/August issue and reaching our complete audience!

With the town opening up again, and distribution back, it feels great to be talking about grilling again. If you missed the special online-only issue for May/June then take a few minutes to drop by our website and check it out. With everything closed, Heather made an amazing decision to go online and even offer completely free ads to not just our regular advertisers and supporters, but also open it up to any businesses that wanted to participate with free full page ads in what became the largest issue of Home&Harvest Magazine ever! It has some really fun reads, and the Flank to Flame article in that issue was a very special recipe called Depression Era Burgers. It’s an amazing way to take a small budget and stretch it into something incredible that won’t seem like anything less than five star gourmet. I highly recommend you try them before summer slips away.

In keeping with that line of thinking, and after hearing from several friends that found out they love Oklahoma Onion Burgers just as much as Heather and I do, I decided to write a follow up that takes a simple, inexpensive ingredient and makes a sensational dish. And even better – this is 100% Code Red or Keto for anyone trying to produce high flavor, interesting meals, but still adhere to a diet. The star is a vegetable that I really wasn’t into until I had my palate expanded in the last few years, and now it has become something that we have on a very regular basis!

About now some of you are realizing just what I did with the title of this article. I knew that I couldn’t lead with Cauliflower in big bold letters that stretched across the page and keep you salivating this long if you still have the same preconceived disinterest that I used to share. But bear with me. These are steak cut, and most importantly they are delicious! So please, keep an open mind and a closed grill lid and join me for some Grilled C. Steaks. They might just become a staple – or at least annual – grilling experience at your house as well.

Home&Harvest

To start with, we want a fresh, full head of cauliflower. If you aren’t the one that normally does the veggie shopping for your house – or even if no one normally does the veggie shopping for your house – this might not be exactly what you expect. These won’t be the little broccoli-looking florets that you picture when you think of cauliflower. Those are actually cut out from the full head. Instead you are going to be buying something about the size of a head of iceberg lettuce but it will look like a big white brain! If my iceberg lettuce reference still left you confused, then please feel free to just reread an older issue where we grill meat and I won’t be offended!

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For the selection, you want a head that is tightly closed, without any obvious soft or wilting spots, and it should be completely pale white and free of darker blemishes. It’s best to use quickly after purchase – especially when grilling – but it you do need to store it for a while keep it in the refrigerator’s crisper and make sure it stays tightly wrapped. When we go to grill it, we want our steaks to be firm and hearty and the key is as much in the selection and storage as it is in the preparation and cooking.

Because a head of cauliflower is the full of little folds, nooks, and crannies, it is the perfect hiding spot for dirt, bugs, or pesticides. So we want to start by soaking it in a large bowl or sink full of cold water. I let it sit in there for a few minutes and then shake it off gently before moving it to a strainer and running it under more cold water.

Put it face up on a cutting board and get a long knife. Make your first cut down the middle, splitting it into two even hemispheres. After that, just slice off ¾ inch steaks from each side until you get near the ends. These slices will look even more like a cross section of a brain! I think that’s pretty cool, but you may not want to show that off to anyone on the fence about trying it for the first time. I save those end pieces that are too small to make steaks for a different dish the next day – usually Heather’s famous cauliflower and cheese soup! Remember to just leave that center intact when you make the slices – the core of the head will cook up just as good as those outer florets and it makes our work on the grill much easier!

Before they go onto the grill what do we need to do? Come on now – if you aren’t new to reading my articles you should have already guessed. Almost nothing, every, under any circumstance, may ever go onto a grill without a little oil and a lot of salt and pepper. I normally hit mine with salt and pepper directly from the grinders and a nice coating of olive oil. That leaves a simple boost to an already sweet and savory flavor and allows the most freedom in toppings after they come off the grill. But if you want to kick up the flavor a little more during the cook, try adding some paprika or ground pepper like a chipotle to a little dish of oil, mixing in your salt and pepper there. You could even toss in a few crushed garlic cloves and maybe a little oregano or cilantro to bring out more flavors. The beauty of working with the cauliflower is that you are painting with such an open and receptive canvas. Take it south-west or Asian, add some traditional barbeque sauce just before they come off the grill or try come cheese in the last few minutes to melt over the top. Experiment with your family’s favorite tastes and you can really have some fun here. It won’t be as limited as most meats you grill so you have a tremendous amount of freedom to dream up something new.

Once you have them salted and oiled, place the steaks a few inches apart over a medium heat grill and let them cook with the lid closed for about 8 minutes a side. This should give you some amazing color and result in a steak that is still firm but fully cooked through and ready to melt in your mouth. Remember as always to oil the upper side before-

-you flip, taking a moment to hit them with a little more of any seasoning you are using, and never add any sugary ingredients until the final few minutes of the cook. If you have ever served up totally black barbeque chicken then you know exactly what I’m talking about! Don’t feel bad, I had to learn the hard way too – any sugary sauces are just going to burn way too quickly and can’t be on there for the entire time you are grilling the cauliflower steaks.

Adding them in the last two minutes is just enough to get a smoky grilled flavor with plenty of crust and no unnecessary char or burn.

For anyone reading this and still unsure of what to try for their initial cook, or possibly intimidated about screwing it up on the first try I’m going to leave you with two of my favorites – both already hinted at in my last list of suggestions.

The first is to go spicy! This is great especially if you are serving the cauliflower steaks as the main dish. When you mix up your oil and salt, throw in 1 tablespoon of paprika and 1 tablespoon of chipotle powder, along with one clove of grated or very finely chopped garlic. Rub that one side just before they go on the grill, and then hit the other side just before the flip. About 1 minute before I pull them I add some chopped cilantro to Heather’s and give both a healthy squeeze of lime. Heather likes to add a little chipotle crema and more lime to hers when I serve them, but that gets a little too spicy for me. I go with salsa or pico.

The second way I’ll start you with makes the cauliflower become the perfect side dish, and creates an amazing potato replacement for anyone on a diet that restricts starch and carbs. For this one just use the regular oil, salt and pepper before grilling, but add plenty of grated cheddar cheese about 1-2 minutes before they come off the grill.

Serve with chopped green onions, crumbled bacon, and a little more salt, then add either ranch or sour cream for a perfect baked potato steak! You won’t believe just how good these are. And they can act as a side to a simple meat dish, or get really loaded and become the main star of the meal.

And if you’re still a little unsure of cauliflower, and unwilling to admit that you may just fall completely in love with grilling veggies, don’t worry – you can always tell neighbors and friends your just out there grilling a couple of steaks.

C Steaks.

Strawberry Rhubarb Tarts Emory Ann Kurysh

Steps: Makes 12 For the crust: 3 cups all-purpose flour 1 tsp salt 1/3 cup coconut oil, room temperature 1/3 cup butter or margarine, cold 1/2 cup cold water (approximately) For the filling: 1/2 cup all-purpose flour 1 1/2 cup granulated sugar Dash of salt 2 cups rhubarb, diced 2 cups strawberries, diced 2 tbsp butter or margarine

Ingredients:

1. Preheat oven to 400°F. For the crust- combine flour and salt in a medium bowl. Add the coconut oil and butter or margarine. Mix well. Then add water. The dough should form a crumbly ball. (Add flour or water accordingly.)

2. Transfer dough to floured surface. Form it into a flat, round patty with a rolling pin. Using a large mug or anything that will make a circular shape, cut 12 circles.

Place each one in a non-stick muffin pan, pushing down the dough as you do so. Trim away any excess dough.

3. For the filling- Dice the rhubarb and strawberries and cook in water until softened. Drain the water.

Combine flour, sugar, and salt in a bowl. Add the fruit and mix well.

4. Fill each tart with the filling. Dot with butter or margarine. Bake in oven for approximately 30 minutes or until tarts are golden brown. Sprinkle with sugar, and serve warm with either whipped cream, ice cream, or just by themselves!

Amazing Gluten Free Sugar Free Chocolate Chip Cookies Sara Raquet Ingredients 1.5 cup almond flour 1/2 cup salted butter, melted 3/4 cup monkfruit sweetener 1 1/2 tsp vanilla extract 1 egg 1/2 tsp baking powder 1/2 tsp xanthan gum 3/4 cup sugar-free chocolate chips (Lilly’s Brand Semisweet) Instructions Preheat the oven to 350 F. Prepare a baking tray with lined parchment paper.

In a large mixing bowl, pour melted butter, monkfruit sweetener, vanilla extract and an egg. Beat thoroughly with a hand mixer for about 20 seconds.

Then add in the almond flour, baking powder, xanthan gum and a pinch of salt. Mix until well incorporated and texture turns doughy. Pour in the sugar-free chocolate chips and fold in nicely with a spatula. Use a cookie scoop to make 1-1/2 sized cookie dough balls. You should be able to make about 20-24 balls with the entire cookie dough.

Place on the baking tray a few inches apart from each other. Bake for 12-15 minutes. Then set aside and allow to it cool. Serve and enjoy!

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Orange Sponge Cake Ingredients

Heather Niccoli

3 large eggs 1 cup white sugar 2 tbl orange zest 1 ½ cups all-purpose flour 2 tsp baking powder 7 tbl orange juice Orange Slices for Garnish Directions Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Grease and flour 8x8 square baking pan. Separate the eggs. Beat egg yolks, sugar and grated orange rind until light and fluffy. Do not over blend. Mix flour and baking powder together in separate bowl. Slowly add flour mixture and orange juice to the egg yolk mixture. In a separate bowl, beat egg whites into stiff peaks, and then fold slowly into the batter. Pour into prepared pan and place orange slices on top of cake for a beautiful effect! Bake at 350 degrees for 50 minutes.

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Peanutbutter Oatmeal Chocolate Chip Cookies Kitchen: Lezah Shinkle submitted by Gayle Anderson

1 cup peanut butter 1 cup butter (softened) 1 cup brown sugar ¾ cup white sugar 2 eggs 2 cup flour 1 cup oatmeal 2 tsp baking soda ½ tsp salt 2 cup chocolate chips

In a mixing bowl, add peanut butter, butter and sugars, mix well. Add eggs and mix well. Add flour, oatmeal, salt, soda and chocolate chips. Preheat oven to 350, roll into balls or use a small ice cream scoop and drop onto ungreased baking sheet and bake approx. 12 minutes. **Gayle’s Special Tip: rotate cookies halfway through Home&Harvest

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Braided Cinnamon Swirl Loaf Emory Ann Kurysh

Ingredients: For the dough: 1 1/2 cup all-purpose flour 1/2 cup whole wheat flour 1/4 cup granulated sugar 1 tsp salt 2 tsp active dry yeast 1/4 cup canola oil 3/4 cup warm water 1 large egg oil, to grease pan For the filling: 1 cup brown sugar 2 tsp ground cinnamon 1/3 cup melted butter Steps: 1. Combine the flour, sugar, salt, and active dry yeast in a large bowl. Mix well.

2. In a medium bowl, beat the oil, water, and egg. Then pour the wet ingredients into the dry ingredients. Mix with a spatula until well-combined. A soft dough should be formed.

Transfer the dough to a floured surface. Knead for 5 minutes, adding more flour if dough is sticky. Grease a medium bowl with oil and place the dough inside, covering with a towel and letting rest for 10 minutes. Meanwhile, prepare the filling.

3. Using the same floured surface, remove the dough from the bowl. Flour a rolling pin and roll out the dough to an 11”x17” rectangle. Spread the filling evenly onto the dough.

Starting at the widest end, roll the dough into a long log. Cut the log in half and pinch one of their ends together. Gently braid a few times. Set inside a greased loaf pan, cover, and let rise for 90 minutes.

4. Preheat the oven to 350°F. Put the loaf inside and bake for 30-35 minutes or until golden brown. Remove and let cool slightly before taking it out of the pan. Store in an airtight container, bag, or bread box at room temperature.

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Annie Gebel

Home & Harvest Tarot Reading Tarot has been around for centuries. Like anything that’s been around that long, it’s been through some changes and overhauls. And, like anything at all, you can find people with very different experiences and with a variety of opinions about it. For me, tarot and oracle card reading is an intuitive artform for guidance, clarity, and the occasional nudge to move in a direction I’m working hard to avoid.

These days you can find tarot and oracle cards with just about every theme you could possibly want. If you’re interested…just search and see what fits you. Tarot cards are 78 card decks with five suits. The same card will have similar meaning in every tarot deck, even if the imagery is different. Oracle decks can be created with any inspiration, theme, meaning, and even number of cards. In both kinds of cards, the imagery and/or words that might appear on the cards are meant to help the reader see a particular message in answer to a question that’s been posed. Most decks also come with guidebooks that explain the author’s reasoning behind the deck and the meaning he or she has given to the cards.

The questions asked of the cards can be just about anything, but know that, at least in my readings, the cards are not there to tell you what to do. They give you messages or allow you to recognize a message you need to hear. They can certainly help guide us and I use them often in decision making, but we all have to take responsibility for how we ultimately take action or don’t.

One of my favorite styles of readings, both to give and receive, is a three-card spread where the you can use your own intuition to choose what message you need to hear. That’s what I’m offering here! So, what I invite you to do is to close your eyes, if that’s comfortable, and take three long, slow, deep breaths. After your third full exhale, breathe normally and open your eyes. Ask yourself what message is meant for you, look at the face-down cards, and choose one – the first, second, or third card. Once you’ve chosen, remember your card and find the picture with the readings for your message. This reading is done with The Light Seer’s Tarot.

Card 1 Ace of Pentacles

Pentacles is the suit of wealth and security and represents the element of earth. Aces tell us of new beginnings. We can see all of that represented here. In traditional tarot decks, the pentacle is a coin, so here you have that symbol held dearly and tenderly in someone’s hands and being planted in the soil.

The message here is that you have already planted or soon could be planting a seed of your own. That seed could be a new mantra that you tell yourself daily and feel your confidence grow a little with each whispered repetition. It could be starting a new job or relationship and hoping for the best. Whatever comes to mind as your seed, think of the optimism and excitement you have for what could be. Hold those positive emotions closely as you wait for the roots to grow and the seed to sprout. Sometimes we see growth right away with just a little sunshine and rain. Other times seeds need more detailed and specific care – certain fertilizers, weeding, hand watering. And even when something sprouts, the fullness of the plant may not be realized for a time, like with trees. Enjoy the potential that surrounds whatever is new or will soon arrive in your life. Even in the midst of stress, new possibilities can spark moments of joy and fantastic anticipation.

Card 2 8 of Cups

This card symbolizes the process of letting go of or releasing something or someone who doesn’t fit into the life you’re creating. It’s not meant as a ruthless cutting out of people, but sometimes that’s how things seem to play out, isn’t it? Really, what it’s asking of you is to consider honestly what your goals and dreams are and what path will take you there. In imagining those possibilities, you might realize that you need to go back to school, move, have a supportive group of friends, buy a new computer – the realizations could be anything! Everything, though, comes with something that needs to be let go. Maybe going back to school means giving up weekends or saving money by not eating out anymore or letting go of a job. Some consequences may be welcome, but others might be more difficult to accept.

The woman in this card has placed eight cups in the water in a ritual of letting go of the pieces of her life that aren’t serving her in moving forward toward the sunrise that greets the reality she is seeking. Maybe you could do something similar if that seems fitting. You could also journal, make art, have a farewell party, or any number of other things to say goodbye to something or someone that isn’t part of your next steps. This is especially important if you’re turning away from something or someone negative in your life. In those situations where ruthlessness is necessary, emotionally cutting ties is just as important as physically doing so. Recognize your dreams and look toward them, letting go of what holds you back.

Card 3 The Wheel

This card is traditionally known as the Wheel of Fortune and it symbolizes luck, fortune, and/or something to smile about! The Wheel always spins and we’ve all experienced times when it dials up less than ideal situations for us, but today’s message is of a positive or fortuitous result. Sometimes we miss out on luck because we don’t trust it or miss seeing the opportunities we’re offered. Keep your senses open and follow their lead. While you cannot control The Wheel, you can actively help create your joy by looking for signs that help you recognize or realize lucky breaks, steps toward goals, or moments of growth.

The Wheel is one of the major arcana cards in a tarot deck. This group of cards represent experiences or moments that might be more significant than the norm. So, pay attention, good karma is spinning your way!

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Souls of Sojourners’ Special thanks to Ginger Rankin and Sojourners’ Alliance, this facebook series will be published in each issue of Home&Harvest.

By Ginger Rankin It was San Francisco in the seventies. Our family was settling into their evening.The rocky Faralone islands usually seen from our back window were hiding in the fog until early the next morning when they’d magically appear again with the sun. Nothing unusual here. Then the phone rang.

The voice on the other end was hesitant. She seemed to want to make sure above all else that she was speaking to the minister’s wife.

“Yes, yes, this is she. Who is this?” No answer. No Name. Dave and I were accustomed to phone calls bringing in every degree of human emotion.

I was ready to call Dave to the phone when the voice said, “No, no, please, I want to talk to you.”

“Sure, how can I help you?”

This was the first of many phone calls from this young woman. I came to learn that she was a stay-athome mom of two young girls. She had been in college but when she and her husband met, the family came quickly so she put her classes off for later and became a wife and mother.

“Where are you now?”

“We’re living in my car right now. It’s a long story and I don’t want to complain. I just want my girls to be safe. He has a temper he can’t control and I couldn’t take it anymore. I’m scared he’s going to... I’m scared.”

My mind started racing to ways to help. I suggested they come to our house, I could meet them somewhere, our church was right downtown and we could meet there. “No, thanks, please. I’ll be all right. I just need to talk a bit to somebody. Would that be okay?”

My heartbeat slowed. “Okay, for sure.” And we did. I can’t remember what we talked about but it lasted a few minutes, and as it ended I said, “Please call me anytime you can. We’ll talk. I’d like that. You take care, all right? I’ll look forward to you calling.” I didn’t want to let her go.

“Thanks!” She said, “Bye!” This is how it began. And for several months we had sporadic conversations - all of them brief and ending abruptly as though there was a real need to cut them short. I learned that the children were in school and able to use the YWCA for showers. She assured me that they had food but I never got those details.

She was able to work while the girls were in school in fast food jobs and collect money for gas.

Then there was a long pause between calls when I feared for them, and finally I received the last call. She had taken a job as a secretary in a small law office. They had found a motel that had been transformed into tiny apartments and were doing well. Together they had come through it and they had new hope and she wanted to thank me for being there, on the other end of the line when she needed to hear a friend’s voice. I thanked her for trusting me.

That was my personal introduction to a person without a place called home. I learned much from her that has helped me over the years. I learned that there are as many reasons for homelessness as there are people without homes.

I learned that sometimes the reasons come from inside ourselves and sometimes from the outside. I learned that there are ‘seen’ as well as ‘invisible’ wounds that we carry that can cause us to be alone and homeless. I learned that each of us has the power to denigrate or to lift another human being with our words and our actions. And we can try to control or - and this is the hard part - let go when need be.

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Just because the world is experiencing a pandemic doesn’t mean that history stopped happening or stopped being interesting. The Latah County Historical Society is still actively collecting and providing research services (remote and by appointment). One way that we chronicle our history is through our stories. Everyone has a unique history and perspective on who they are, how they got here, and how they overcame their unique challenges in life. As a historical society, we work to record these stories. One of the easiest ways to record these unique and personal stories is through what we call oral history.

Oral history is a technique by which an interviewer asks an interviewee about their life and history and records it using a microphone.

The Latah County Historical Society collected a bevy of oral history interviews in and around 1976. These interviews help to record life in the United States of America during the bicentennial of the Declaration of Independence. These interviews were recorded on audio cassette tape and stored in the LCHS archive.

When recording oral history, there are a plethora of equipment options. In my experience, video is unnecessary for oral history. Naturally, there are some exceptions to this rule. When recording family history, a person who communicates using sign language, or with an extremely expressive person, video can be useful (and perhaps essential). For the majority of oral history projects, I recommend audio-only. Audio has a much smaller file size (I’m assuming you’re recording digitally) for easier storage. Audio equipment can be as fancy or basic as your budget allows. For many interviews, an audio recording application on a smartphone will be sufficient. Small digital recorders are available affordably, and just like anything, you can spend as much as you would like. If you want first-class equipment, it can surely be found.

Whatever type of recorder you choose, make sure to test it and know how to operate it successfully. There is nothing worse than trying to replicate a great interview because of the failure to operate equipment (I’m speaking from experience here).

The main difference between oral history and a recorded conversation is preparation, research, and intentionality. Let’s start by discussing who you want to interview. In an oral history, you are interviewing people to gain insight into their life experiences. Therefore you can interview anybody. Absolutely anybody. Let that sink in. For instance, if you wanted to record experiences about the COVID-19 pandemic, a six-year-old and a sixty-six-year-old will be able to give you an account of their experiences.

Make a list of people, places, and events that you might want to learn about as objectives for your project. Identify potential interviewees that can speak to these items on your list. Explain your goals to the interviewees and ask them if they would be interested in participating. If the interviewee agrees to the interview, have them sign a permission form. This form must contain a signature of the interviewer (yourself), the interviewee, and the archives or museum to preserve the interview.

This form will also explain that the interview is being conducted and preserved for research. Once your interviewee has agreed to participate, it is time to begin framing your conversation.

When conducting oral history, make sure that the interviewee and interviewer are in a quiet space. For instance, if there is a window-mounted air conditioner rattling in the background, your recording will likely be challenging to listen to. It is important to note that you can maintain social distancing while conducting oral histories. You can sit across an 8’ table with the recorder close to the interviewee or talk over the phone (or video chat). However you want to do it, make sure you find a quiet space for both parties.

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Start with your list of topics that you completed earlier.

Narrow down your list to subjects that are inclusive of the interviewee’s life. Remember, oral history’s purpose is to chronicle this person’s life, not the stories that their parents told them. If you are interviewing a thirty-five-year-old probably don’t ask them about their experiences during the First World War, instead ask them about their experiences on and shortly thereafter September 11, 2001.

I find that it is helpful to send the interviewee your list of topics that you are hoping to cover in the interview. This way, the interviewee has some time to reflect on their experiences and put them together in a meaningful way.

This process also allows the interviewee to let you know if they are not comfortable discussing specific parts of their experiences. The interviewee can also let you know if they have nothing to say about a particular topic (for instance, if they lived through an event but were too young to recall it clearly).

Once you have compiled a list of topics, it is time to start to build a list of questions to ask the person. These questions are the entry into the interviewee’s stories and, therefore, their lives. Your goal with the questions is to get your interviewee talking about their lives and experiences. StoryCorps has a list of queries if you get stuck when formulating your questions: https://storycorps.org/participate/great-questions/ Start with your most broad questions. Listen carefully to the answers and respond with meaningful questions to clarify anything unclear. Return to your list of questions when you feel like the first question has been answered or the interview is getting off track (this happens).

When interviewing in an oral history, I find it is best to ask the questions and get out of the way. It is essential to allow your interviewee time to think about their responses. Silence in oral histories means that the interviewee is carefully crafting their response. Allow your interviewee to share their story.

Being part of oral history is hard work. Recalling a persons’ history can take a significant emotional toll. I find it best to attempt to limit interviews to 90 minutes. I generally do a courtesy ask at 60 minutes if the interviewee would like to stop and take a break or continue. Remember, oral history recordings can span multiple sessions.

It is important to remember that oral histories can happen over the telephone. I recommend doing them over a traditional land-line phone for the best audio quality. If that is not possible mobile phones and or video calls will work as well. Make sure to do a trial run with your equipment to ensure successful operation.

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208.746.8900 | NMLS ID #527990 1025 Warner Avenue, Lewiston, Idaho After the interview, make sure to thank the interviewee (everyone likes a thank-you card). Make sure to name your audio file to include the interviewee’s name along with the date of the recording. Make a copy of the digital file and place it on another form of media (like a thumb drive or upload it to ‘the cloud’). Your last labor-intensive step is to transcribe the interview. Transcription takes time, but it allows for much more access to the interview from researchers.

Keep in mind, the rule of thumb for transcription is that it takes four hours to transcribe one hour of audio. Once you have finished the transcription, bring your digital files and transcription to the museum or archive.

Your next step is to identify your next interviewee!

If you are looking for inspiration the Latah County Historical Society partnered with the University of Idaho Library Digital Initiatives to share our oral history collection here: https://www.lib.uidaho.edu/digital/lcoh/ If you have any questions or would like to help LCHS collect oral histories, please contact me. I am happy to help with the whole process. LCHS also has audio recorders that we can loan out for folks to record oral histories in Latah County. I’m looking forward to hearing the stories that you record. Stay safe out there!

Zachary Wnek Museum Curator Latah County Historical Society zwnek@latah.id.us 208-882-1004

Ashley Peel + words

photos

Driving down Highway 12, the last remnants of the summer sun sank behind the canyon. Lyn—Alli’s mom and our eager shuttle driver—sat in the passenger seat chatting about all the things that could hurt (or kill) us in the next four days. I knew that cougars and bear were in the area, this was North Idaho after all, but I had tried to compartmentalize their existence to a deep place in my brain labeled ‘least likely to encounter.’ I had to do something, otherwise I wouldn’t get any sleep.

“Keep an eye out for drunken locals, too,” she said, munching on a potato chip. Karen piped in from the backseat, “Don’t worry, Ashley brought her big-ass knife.” It was true. I had packed my 10-inch hunting knife. I don’t hunt, but I do own a ‘big-ass knife’ that a regular at a bar I worked in during grad school had gifted me when I first moved to Idaho.

But back to Lyn. She really was the Shuttle Driver with the Most. Not only had she agreed to ride the two-plus hours to Three Rivers Resort with us, spend the night in our cabin, and wait around in the morning until we launched to take photos, when we picked her up from her house, she stepped out with a grocery bag full of fresh-off-thegrill hamburgers and brats, popcorn and potato chips. She’d even thought to pack mini Tupperwares of condiments.

“Oh, and rattlesnakes.” My ears perked up. I hadn’t thought about rattlesnakes. I had pushed those even farther into my brain than cougar and bear. Basically, I had convinced myself rattlesnakes didn’t exist outside of Hells Canyon. “Just be sure to make a lot of noise if you’re climbing up rocky embankments.” I envisioned screaming “Heeey snake!” in the same tone I use for “Heeey bear!” in the woods. Or clapping my hands in the way Vicky Robinson smacked two sticks together to warn cougars in Parent Trap.

I had been trying to convince myself not to set-up my tent every night and to brave it in the wilds like Karen and Alli. Rattlesnakes? Shit. I was setting up that tent.

My motivation for stand-up paddling 90 miles down the Clearwater River, from the confluence of the Selway, NF Clearwater and Lochsa to the confluence of the Snake, had many facets. One: three days stand-up paddling with one of my closest friends and a newfound, badass friend, navigating a handful of rapids, drinking champagne in eddies and soaking up sun in between. It just sounded fun. Two: finally getting a multi-day SUP trip under my belt. I had done a handful of backpacking trips, two 40mile sections of the Appalachian Trail and a three-day hike in the Blue Mountains of Australia, but it had been awhile, and I missed that feeling of self-support adventure.

Clearwater Adventure

September 9-12 2020

The 2020 Subaru Ascent. ÂŽ

More of everything.

Self-supports have many layers of ‘feelings.’ First you’re excited but a little nervous about the unpredictable encounters of any overnighter on the fringe of wilderness.

Most of the nervousness washes away when you step onto the trail (or push into the water), replaced, again, by the excitement of finally setting off. You ride that excitement through the first entire day. Lay your head down in exhaustion on night one. By the middle/end of day two you tend to question your motives. Your body is exhausted, your mind is tired and you focus on how much farther you have to go rather than how far you’ve already come. But suffering is half the fun and makes the end of day beers—or White Claws in our case—and dehydrated meals taste so damn good. And then pride comes along on the final day (whether that’s three days later or seven) of having accomplished what you set out to do because now it’s not something you’re ‘going to do,’ it’s something you ‘did.’

And then there’s this: I’m the Digital Content Manager for NRS, a leading manufacturer of paddlesports apparel and equipment. In a nutshell, I read, edit, watch and critique paddlers’ adventures all. day. long. But rarely do I actually go on an adventure of this caliber. I needed an adventure.

A legit adventure that was part fun, part suffering, part planned and part unknown. *** I packed too much. I blame my backpacking dormancy and the fact that I didn’t have to actually carry all this shit on my back as an excuse to pack more. Plus, as mentioned before, I had planned to pitch a tent to protect me from all the things that wanted to kill and/or ravage me, so there was that piece of gear. (For the record, it was a one-man, backpacker, bivy-plus style of tent.) I was also the group’s photographer.

So, I had a tent. I had a Pelican Box for my camera, lenses and extra battery. I also packed the group’s first aid kit, wag bags—just in case—and throw bag. But basically, I just packed more than the other two women. As I rigged everything (to flip), I wondered if this board would actually float with the additional weight, let alone clear the shallowest sections.

The top section of the Clearwater is pretty shallow. Amazingly clear and rather languid, which made for a dreamy first day. As we launched from Three Rivers Resort, waving goodbye to Lyn, we immediately hit a few riffles, which tested our shaky legs and new-to-us boards. We eddied out on river right at the first sandy beach we scouted and passed the Corkcicle of champagne to officially kick-off our adventure.

This routine would become habitual over the next three days.

Rapids. Recovery. Champagne. Repeat.

We didn’t have a set plan for camp that first night. The weekend before, Karen and I had driven the highway that follows along the river, highlighting mile markers along the way. We noted landmarks that could hopefully give us an idea of how far we had paddled each day, as well as potential campsites within our estimated paddling goal. A suitable campsite had to be on the opposite side of the road or an island that split the river. A few established campgrounds existed along the way, including a KOA, but most fell short of our daily mileage target.

We didn’t have a strict timeline. With 96 total miles to paddle, we launched on a Thursday morning with plans to takeout on Sunday afternoon, giving ourselves four days to complete it. We knew the first day and a half would be unpredictable in terms of water levels and flow. As a Wild & Scenic River, the main Clearwater is free-flowing, depending on the snow melt for its levels. In late July, the levels were pretty low but the current stayed consistent. At Orofino, Dworshak Dam pumps tons of water into the Clearwater River. Once we reached that point, making miles would be easy. All that being said, we had planned to paddle 20-30 miles each day.

If we didn’t hit the max on the first day and a half, we were confident we could make up the time below the dam.

So we eddied out and sipped champagne when the urge called. We buckled down and conquered the riffles and once, just half an hour or so from the put-in, I made my first scramble up an embankment—hollarin’ for snakes—for our first (of a few) frosty beverage refills.

Towering evergreens casted shadows along the river as we made our way farther west. Cable lines and bridges connected the two sides, oftentimes miles in between those connections, the only access to the homes dotted along the river left bank. We paddled closer to our first major road-side landmark, Dale’s Cashaway, a small gas station and convenience store with overpriced groceries, tackle and ammunition. I’ve stopped at Dale’s many-a-time on my way to and from the Lochsa River.

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I once stopped simply to wash my windshield after driving through hatch after hatch and could barely see through the splattered insect parts. But this time, our stop at Dale’s involved sidestepping poison ivy—which we recognized a few steps too late—and crawling up another embankment, all for the hopes of a bag of ice to restock Alli’s cooler and a couple of legitimately cold beers (which turned out to be skunked).

As the sun began to lower below the pines, we paddled near a large beach. Karen pulled out her map to pinpoint our exact location, and although she was a little surprised by our progress, she was certain that, yes, we’d marked this spot as an optional camp. A few kids splashed by the shore. A jeep sat parked in the sand, so although this beach fit the ‘split the river’ criteria, somehow it was still accessible from the road. As we got closer, I couldn’t help but keep my attention to the far-left bank, where it seemed that three men were watching us, one with binoculars held tight to his face. Sure, he could have been birding, but the uncomfortable catcalls of old-enough-to-know-better men made me think otherwise. Instead of eddying out and making camp here, we opted to dig just a little deeper and paddle on to an RV camp a mile or so farther. While not totally out of reach from Leery Binoculars, we found comfort in neighboring campers.

A patch of grass at the corner of the campground beckoned us with shade. We created a crude triangle with our boards, purging our gear in the middle. An aging fence along the edge of the campground gave us ample space for drying out our layers. The pings of civilization disrupted the evening as our phones—used solely for taking Insta-worthy pics—recharged. We checked in with our families, ate rehydrated meals out of the bag and turned our stand-up paddleboards into sleeping pads.

I didn’t set up my tent. *** I would be lying if I said I slept amazingly, because I did not. But for once, the terror of large critters and/or ill-intentioned humans weren’t to blame. It was the damn mosquitoes. Note to self: when assuming that you will be too chicken-shit to sleep under the stars, pack a bug net just in case you find that ounce of bravery. I thought I would have woken up proud of myself, but I just woke up tired and covered in welts. I alternated between sleeping fully cocooned in my sleeping bag as a reprieve from the bloodsuckers and peeking just my nose out for a little fresh air. When I fell back asleep, I inadvertently exposed more parts of my body, which mosquitoes immediately attacked, waking me up.

As the water boiled for coffee and brekkie, we rearranged our gear bags. I had taken a minor swim the day before during a set of shallow ripples. Despite the confidence I had in my rigging, she was not ‘rigged to flip.’ Luckily, I had properly sealed my dry bag, and Karen managed to wrangle my sleep kit before it beat us to the Snake. So, I had to up my strap game for day two.

We pushed off mid-morning with a ritual champagne toast. We raised our glasses this time to the assistance of a kayaker friend who lived in Kooskia. When he saw we were crashing at Long Camp, he stopped by with a bottle of chilled bubbly and a couple of beers. We refilled our Corkcicle and left the empty bottle with him—no glass on the river, y’all!

The landscape of the Clearwater began to change as we paddled that second day. Although the CFS hadn’t changed overnight, the wide channels of the day before began to narrow in places, creating tighter canyons. Because that same volume of water passes through a narrower area, the constriction creates some fun rapids and challenging river features, especially for us as beginner whitewater stand-up paddlers. All three of us are familiar with reading water and making (fairly) strong decisions in the moment. Throughout the course of the day we learned to not only read the water and angle into the tongue of the flow, we became comfortable with the feel of the board as we forfeited our control to the river. With each rapid, our number one goal was to stay on our feet. But we congratulated and hollered for each other, even if we had to pop down to our knees. And for the unsuccessful moments when bailing was the only option, we eddied out and relaxed until the shaky legs had subsided from which ever one of us had swam.

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We filled the silence with word games, yelling out clues across the river and squealing like schoolgirls when we guessed the right answer. As we paddled closer to Orofino, we began to share the river with more and more recreators. We had only seen one or two paddlers the day before, but the weekend had kicked off a little earlier for these boaters and floaters just out to soak up some Friday afternoon sun.

By late afternoon we rewarded our 20-plus mile day with a late lunch at a riverside pub. I savored every bite of my Philly Cheesesteak and washed it down with a spicy Bloody Mary.

Once we pushed off from Orofino, the dam would immediately pump tons of water into the Clearwater, drastically increasing the current. During lunch we scoured GoogleMaps for possible campsites. The closer we paddled to Lewiston, the more populous the area became, and the risk of more Leery Binoculars increased. After spending the first night in a legit park, we all agreed that we’d rather repeat that than just eddy out at a random spit of sand.

Pink House Recreation Site had a tent spot open. We made the reservation, dipped one last fry into ranch and pushed off for our final slog of day two.

I had originally envisioned this trip to be wild and fully self-supported. But when Lyn showed up at camp with take-out pizza and frozen, in-a-bag daiquiris I didn’t dare complain. We filled her in on the past two days of paddling. At that point, we had paddled 58 road miles, knocking off 29 miles each day.

According to the math, we had 38.5 miles left to go and two days to do it. But could we do it in one? Our miles per hour had been strong, even without a pushy current. With the added levels from the dam, we felt confident we could push ourselves a little harder and knock out the remaining 38.5 miles in one day.

We didn’t account for the wind.

We waited around camp the next morning for two reporters from the Lewiston Tribune to come interview us for a story.

Alli had reached out to the paper about our trip and they were interested in covering it. A photographer from the Tribune had followed along the highway the day before snapping photos from the road above and, lucky for our egos, missed our biggest swim. But now they wanted to ask us questions and take photos of the rigging process.

The stardom delayed our start, but by 10:30 we were crushing our miles. In fact, in less than an hour we had paddled 13 miles and were coming up on Big Eddy. Big Eddy is a recreation site that Karen and I have often paddled around. As its namesake suggests, the river bends around the campground, creating a big eddy on river left. It’s the perfect place to take laps on new boards. In fact, a couple of times in the past I had come out with the product development team to test out new SUP designs.

Depending on the water levels, as the river bends, underwater debris and features create a punchy wave train. Big Eddy had been on my mind this entire trip. I had never successfully SUPed the entire rapid. I wanted to conquer it, but we had knocked out those 13 miles so quickly, I forgot to mentally prepare.

After a quick pit-stop, we peeled back into the current. I steadied my feet, focused on the water directly in front of my board and nailed my line. In fact, we all nailed our lines and with that boost of confidence, I knew it was going to be a good day.

The winds set in around noon. Funneling up the canyon, winds on the Clearwater are common and brutal. The word games stopped. If we stopped paddling, we stopped going forward.

The added wind turned the current choppy and swirly. Whirlpools popped up, mixing with eddylines and challenging our balance more than anything had before. At one point, my board caught one of the whirlpools. My board flipped and the whirlpool sucked me under the board. After a savage couple of minutes, I righted my board and huddled on the deck in exhaustion. I started to feel an unwelcoming resistance from the river that I hadn’t felt the first two days.

When we reached the Clearwater Casino, we eddied out to discuss our options. Splurge on a room at the casino and spend the evening gambling, paddle the final ten miles in the morning, or keep going? After paddling 80 miles, it seemed silly not to power through the final ten. We gave Lyn a progress report and naively estimated we would arrive at our planned take-out in a couple of hours.

In a couple of hours, I don’t think we had paddled half the distance we’d estimated. By then, Lyn had called my phone so many times that it had died. Her last text said, “30+ mph headwinds, get your asses off the river.” (Or something to that affect.) We kept paddling.

Hours later, we reached the paper mill. It was a harsh transition from the braided channels of a wilderness river to the urban environment of industry. Steam spewed from the smokestacks and brusque metal signs warned of a strong water intake.

The river’s choppy waters had turned to crashing waves. If we stopped paddling, we would flip. If we flipped, the risk of drowning was high. We couldn’t take a break to drink water.

We hadn’t eaten since camp. We could only paddle. At this point, standing on our boards wasn’t even an option.

From the Middle Fork of the Clearwater to the Snake River is 97.8 miles. We don’t know for sure, but we’re confident in saying we paddled 96 of those miles. With the take-out in sight (but unattainable), we opted to bail and scrambled up a rock jetty, which was probably illegal.

Motorboats were being told to leave the river; we probably should have quit long before we did. In the heat of the moment, in the determination to finish what we set out to do, we made some questionable decisions. But at the end of the day, we made the right one, even if it meant we wouldn’t complete our goal. But there’s beauty in the perspective of ‘failing,’ although, in my opinion we far from ‘failed.’

Sometimes we just have to admit that the river is stronger than us and she deserves to stay that way. I would say, ‘til next time,’ but I’m proud of what we accomplished and to be honest, that final day’s sufferfest fell outside of the boundaries of Type 2 fun.

trusted. local mechanic n

n

by Joe Evans

Virtually all hunting tales consist of the mighty hunter or huntress going afield on an exotic (expensive) hunt in pursuit of a magnificent stag or other grand beast.

The telling of the tale generally details the hunt preparation, execution and result. Almost without exception, the great nimrod focuses on the great skill displayed in the pursuit: the degree of difficulty in finding an animal and the tremendous precision displayed in the difficulty in the single shot used to harvest the mighty beast. The beast is never harvested until the final hours of the last day of the hunt. Oh, I almost forgot! This animal will undoubtedly make the record book as the largest ever taken in this particular hunting area. Boy, doesn’t all that sound familiar! The hunt I am about to describe does not follow this script in the slightest. It actually is the true story of my first hunt with my oldest daughter Dawn, and what I feel sparked her hunting interest and helped build her character. The year is 1989 and Dawn is still a little too young to carry a rifle afield.

That fall, I went with a buddy on a mule deer hunt in Owahee County with some redneck relatives of his.

We had a great time but did not return home with any meat. Well, deer season was getting close to the end so I thought I’d better get out there and get with the program if I was going to enjoy any venison. Dawn indicated an interest in going with me and seeing what it was all about. Now, my favorite way of deer hunting is still hunting which is basically a very slow stroll though the woods. Not usually the most productive, but I enjoy it. I felt that still hunting was not the best idea with a youngster and decided that a stand-behind brush overlooking CRP land was our best bet.

Okay, my featherweight 270 did not bring me any luck on the mule deer hunt so it was time to bring out old reliable- a Ruger M77 in 7 x 57 loaded with Nosler 140 grain Ballistic tip bullets backed by an unprintable charge of RL19. When we reached our hunting spot by Deary, we disembarked from my CJ5 and walked to our stand.

I was glad my wife filled my pockets with candy as this is a great way to keep youngsters calm. Well, we enjoyed a fairly warm afternoon enjoying the scenery and watching the partly cloudy skies. This is what hunting is all about! Dawn and I enjoyed this for a couple of hours.

Presently, a pickup appeared on a side road approximately a mile away going broadside from left to right.

The pickup disappeared. Less than five minutes go by and here it comes again: a single doe following a treeline coming directly for us in a real quick hurry. It gets within about 150 yards and I stand up to take the shot.

The deer does a 90 degree turn and crosses in front of us doing at least 88 mph at a later measured 88 yards. A real “Back to the Future” deal. I led the deer about a foot or so and touched one off. Deer went down but required a follow up shot as the bullet did not penetrate adequately. Nosler has since corrected this problem. Dawn helped me dress and load the deer for the trip home. By the way, this was the largest doe I have ever taken and also had very tough meat after its final long run. About a week passes and on our refrigerator, a picture of the event drawn by Dawn appears. This hunt triggered an instinct in Dawn which continues to this day. Dawn as taken many trophies, harvested much meat. And has written numerous articles for this magazine. I could not be more proud of my Little Punkin (Dawn). Next hunt I’ll talk about will be with The Big Blue Ox, heh, heh!

the Oh

Otis Shenanigans by

Temple Kinyon

Episode 2: A Hole in the Tub is Worth Two in the Bush Brilliant flecks of red, pink, and yellow confetti dotted the summer-blue sky, then slowly floated down to the ground. Otis jumped up and down, clapping and hooting with excitement. His plan worked! He looked around quickly to see if anyone had seen or heard his shenanigans. The only sound came from the grasshoppers hidden amongst the meadowy patch surrounding his grandparents’ massive garden area. He squinted and shielded his eyes from the sun using his hand. No sign of Grandma Helen running out of the house, or siblings and cousins coming out from wherever they were on the farm. His parents and aunts and uncles hadn’t arrived for the family’s annual 4th of July picnic, and Grandpa Ed had gone to town to get something for grandma at the store. The realization that he wasn’t getting into trouble for his merrymaking brought on severe giggles to the point he had to lay down to catch his breath.

After calming down, he sat up and wiped the glee-filled tears from his face. Emboldened by the lack of anyone noticing what he was doing, he stood and commenced with his celebrations. He galloped over to the massive row of rose bushes again. There were dozens of them lining the edge of the garden area. On the other side of the roses, Grandpa Ed’s unripened wheat swayed in the light summer breeze. Otis was about 200 yards away from his grandparents’ house. The immense distance offered a barrier of sorts, helping to dampen the sound of his jocularity. He wasn’t worried so much about the sound getting him into trouble, but the demolition of the roses.

His concern was so slight, however, that he plowed on, reaching inside his jeans pocket and pulling out four firecrackers encased in red, white, and blue paper. It didn’t get much more patriotic than this to Otis. Every year when his birthday hit at the end of June, he saved part of the money he received from his grandparents to make his special purchase on the 4th of July. This year he had extra funds due to collecting aluminum soda cans and the descent price of recycling them at the local plant. He’d taken his stash and gone with his brothers and cousins to the Reservation just north of their house. Each had carefully planned out their purchases to achieve maximum fun, literally getting the biggest bang out of their buck.

Now Otis was old enough—at the age of eight—to buy firecrackers and bottle rockets of his own, rather than having his older brothers begrudgingly share with him. He’d purchased three large packs of fire crackers, a pack of sparklers, and box of black worms, which would irritate Grandma Helen because they left dark stains on the cement. He’d donated several dollars to his older brother, Deanie, to buy Roman candles and some other flyinto-the-air explosive thrillers that they would set off as a family that night. His contribution also gained him access to the “secret purchase” of several Cherry Bombs and a front row seat to their ignition at some point during the holiday.

Refocusing back to the roses, he knew deep down what he was doing was probably wrong or at the very least disrespectful. But it wasn’t hurting anyone or ruining his grandma’s prized roses by the house, so he continued. He carefully maneuvered the tiny explosives into four rose blooms, flicked his Bic lighter—a birthday gift from his brother, Deanie—and set the fuses off quickly.

They made the familiar hiss and spark, signaling Otis to get the hell out of the way. He jumped back and within a second the four fire crackers torched off, reverberating loud snaps into the air and launching bits and pieces of rose petals. The debris colored the air once again, and then floated down on top of Otis’s head. He laughed and giggled, proud of his creative use of the teeny-tiny incendiaries.

Suddenly, someone yelled out his name, and he froze. Was he caught? What trouble would he get into? He slowly turned around and peered in the direction of the shout. He caught sight of one of his cousins, LeRoy, waving at him from behind the barn.

“Ohhh, Oooooo-tis!” LeRoy hollered. “C’mere!”

Otis scampered toward the barn, knowing in his heart bigger adventures with the older boys awaited him. As he rounded the corner of the big red barn, his brothers, Otho, Cletis, Deanie, and Chuck, along with his male cousins, Buster, Lane, James, and LeRoy, were huddled around one of Grandma Helen’s prized galvanized steel washtubs. Otis knew they were up to no good, and he was all in for whatever it was.

Grandma Helen’s washtubs were among her most coveted possessions. She owned several tubs of various sizes and kept them in tip-top condition even though she used them for everything from laundry, to washing Gus the Dog. She would not be pleased if she knew the boys held one of her tubs captive for God only knows what.

Otis wiggled in between Otho and Buster to get a better gage on just exactly what type of extravaganza they were planning.

“I think we better use two,” Lane offered. “You know, to get the best lift.”

“Yeah, but do you want to waste two, when one will probably do it?” Chuck speculated back.

“We have seven total,” Otho pointed out. “Using two still leaves us with five.”

Otis assessed the situation. Sure enough, their seven beautiful bulbs of explosive nature, a.k.a. Cherry Bombs, sat nestled in sawdust in a wooden box, along with two lighters, several Roman candles, three large packs of fire crackers, and half a package of Oreos. Otis quickly dove into the Oreos, looked up at the older boys, and waited for one of them to scold him about grabbing cookies that weren’t his. No one said a word. They were too involved with their Cherry Bomb project. He took three more.

“I think we better do it before Grandpa gets home,” Cletis remarked. “I don’t know how he feels about us using Grandma’s tub.”

“Seriously?” James laughed. “Grandpa Ed is the king of blowing stuff up. In fact, I bet if we wait, he’d help us.”

The boys looked around at each other and before they could discuss the merits of involving their grandpa, in roared Ed himself, his 1960 red Chevy Apache pickup kicking up a rolling cloud of dust. The boys heard the familiar grumble of the truck’s exhaust leak and ran around the barn to greet their grandpa.

“Hello, boys,” Ed smiled. “Just what were you doing behind the barn?”

Silence.

“Uh, oh,” he chuckled. “That most definitely means mischief.”

Otis stepped toward his grandpa and stuttered, “Well, Grandpa Swan, we, uh, we were trying to figure out some stuff and thought maybe you could help.” He had no idea if his brothers and cousins would get mad at him for being the one to speak up, but Grandpa Ed would go behind the barn to inspect the situation regardless, so why not ask for help. That usually worked with adults.

The look of merriment that spread across Ed’s face told the boys all they needed to know. Several shouted out, “C’mon, Grandpa!” as they raced back to their project behind the barn and beyond the line of sight of the house and Grandma Helen.

Ed sauntered behind the crew and let out a hearty belly laugh as he viewed the washtub and Cherry Bombs. “Somehow, boys, I seem to know exactly what you’re plotting without you even telling me,” he chuckled. “Just exactly how much fire power do you have?”

The group of male Swans huddled around the tub and wooden box of treasures, all offering commentary about how to achieve their impish goal. After inspecting the munitions available, Ed chimed in, “I think you can accomplish your goal using one-

-Cherry Bomb, however if you use two, the effect will probably be more memorable, although unpredictable.”

“Two it is!” shouted Deanie.

“Now kids,” Ed stated, “I’m not condoning you blow up one of your grandmother’s precious washtubs, but if we…I mean you, decide to go forth in your endeavor, I will help soothe the beast when she comes after you with a rolling pin.” He laughed, flashes of his childhood—and adult—escapades with fireworks running through his head. The kids needed some good clean fun; they’d worked hard haying and needed to be boys.

His thoughts were interrupted when Doris’s voice rang out.

“What are you guys doing?” she blurted out as she came around the corner of the barn. She abruptly stopped when she spied the group and the fireworks.

The boys and Grandpa Ed stood frozen, waiting to see if she would turn and high-tail it back to the house to inform Grandma Helen of the washtub’s potential fate. When she squealed, “Can I help?” they all let out their breath. Doris immediately earned their trust.

“Sure!” LeRoy and James said in unison. The brothers and cousins patted Doris on the back as their words tumbled over each other in a garbled mess explaining their agenda. Doris laughed and nodded in agreement.

“Where should we do it?” Buster asked.

All the grandchildren looked to Ed. If he selected a location, that was all the permission they needed to proceed. “I ‘spose out by the rose bushes would be the best place,” Ed said. “It’s far enough away from the house to be safe.”

Otis’s heart sank. Out by the rose bushes. The devastation from his earlier fire cracker antics were littered all over the grass and garden, not to mention the holes left in the bushes. His mind frantically raced to detour the plan, and he yelled above the cousin commotion, “Maybe we should do it out in the road where there’s rocks so we don’t catch the grass on fire.”

A few of the boys started to agree, but Ed replied, “Oh, Otis, what happens if a car comes right in the middle of it all? No, I think out by the rose bushes is the safest spot.”

Otis’s brain again kicked into high gear, his fear of getting into trouble making him frantic to stop the group from seeing what he’d done. “Maybe we shouldn’t be doing this at all,” he offered in his most innocent, halo-above-his-head voice. “Maybe Grandma Helen will be so mad she’ll never forgive us for destroying her washtub.”

For once in Otis’s life, the older siblings and cousins stopped and actually heard what he said. And most of them agreed.

“Yeah, maybe we should use something else,” James said.

“I guess we know better,” Otho added.

“I don’t think any of us wants to upset her,” Cletis agreed.

Ed looked over the troop and started to laugh. Once he caught his breath, he groused, “Although I give you credit for trying to be angels, your grandmother has dozens of washtubs. One casualty for the purpose of entertainment on the 4th of July won’t leave her hurting for a tub.”

“Wahoo!” the children collectively shouted out, beyond gleeful their grandpa was not only on board with the shenanigans, but would most likely protect them from any serious trouble from Grandma Helen. They gathered up two Cherry Bombs, the lighters, and the washtub and paraded toward the rose bushes.

Otis hung back and stepped in beside Grandpa Ed, who was bringing up the rear of the mob. “Grandpa, I need to tell you something,” he quickly whispered.

Ed slowed his stride, seeing the concern on his youngest grandson’s face. “Oh, Otis, what is it?”

“I ummm, well, I,” Otis stammered, afraid of the potential trouble facing him for blowing up the roses. He looked toward the group headed toward the rose bushes—who hadn’t seen the destruction yet—and quickly blurted out, “I blew up some roses with my fire crackers. I’m really sorry, Grandpa. Please don’t be mad at me.”

Ed stopped and so did Otis. Ed saw Otis’s tiny lower lip tremble slightly, realizing the child was seriously afraid he’d done something tragically wrong. He put his big, weathered hand on Otis’s shoulder. “Oh, Otis, let’s go see how much fun you had.”

Otis’s shock at his grandpa’s reaction lasted only a brief moment.

He wasn’t in trouble! Racing full-speed ahead, Otis passed his partners in crime, hitting ground-zero before anyone could put together the scene. “Here, Grandpa!” he shouted. “Here it is, all this flower confetti is mine!’

The group of kids, along with Ed, stopped to inspect the millions of red, pink, and yellow specks of flower littering a fairly large area. They also noticed two huge, gaping voids in the rose bushes.

No one spoke, but all eyes were on Ed to watch his reaction.

“Impressive, Otis,” he commented. “You made quite a mess, but I bet you had a blast doing it, huh?”

“I sure did!” Otis sparked.

“That’s what I figured,” Ed snorted. “How about we not blow up any more roses?”

The siblings and cousins roared with laughter, “Oh, Otis!” several of them shouted in appreciation for his spectacular display of destruction.

“Wish you woulda hollered,” Deanie hooted. “I would’ve loved to see that!”

Otis breathed a sigh of relief, happy his grandpa wasn’t mad and proud his collaborators applauded his stunt. He felt older and more appreciated.

“Ok, let’s light ‘er up!” Chuck shouted.

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Cletis and LeRoy placed the two Cherry Bombs gently on the ground, while Doris held the washtub near them, ready to drop it and run once the fuses were lit.

“Ready?” Cletis whispered to LeRoy. “Ready!” LeRoy breathed back.

They flicked their lighters and lit the fuses at the exact same time. Doris immediately dropped the washtub over the red devils, and the three ran for safety. Ed herded them all back about 50 yards in case the spectacular event sent shrapnel flying.

The moments before the Cherry Bombs blew seemed to last forever.

KABOOM!!

A deafening blast erupted as the washtub missiled skyward in spectacular fashion. Dust and grass flew in every direction, along with pieces of galvanized steel. Every pair of eyes watched as the tub reached the climax of the rocket ride about thirty feet high, hung in the air for a nanosecond, and came hurtling back down to earth. It landed with a tremendous clatter, creating a poof of dust. Everyone raced to the tub to inspect the delightful, delicious damage.

The tub lay in a heap, the entire bottom blown away, leaving just the side of the tub in a warbled and misshapen ring of steel. An explosion of pure, unadulterated wave of euphoria belted out of everyone, sending Doris, Cletis, Chuck, and LeRoy rolling onthe ground in hysterics. Ed whooped and hollered, Otis danced around, and the rest spouted out shrieks of disbelief and awe. The collective jocularity continued several minutes until they could all catch their breath.

“That was soooo cool!” Otis gushed.

“Oh, Otis, it sure was,” Grandpa Ed laughed.

Suddenly, the celebratory air was fractured by a shrill voice coming from the direction of the house. “Ed, just what in Sam Hill are you all up to?” Grandma Helen demanded.

“Was that one of my washtubs?”

Temple Kinyon is a freelance writer and author of the funfor-the-whole-family adventure, THE BUTTON BOXES. She grew up in Idaho, but currently lives in Las Vegas with her husband and furry assistant, Princess Pippa. Visit her at templekinyon.com.

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