Home&Harvest May/June2022

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I am always surprised and humbled by the memories of my life that have bobbed to the surface whenever I am in the position to make a life change. One of the most powerful memories I’ve been thinking about is when I was in the first grade. I was truly one of the most unpopular and weirdest kids in the class. So what really surprises me is remembering my teacher making an announcement that they were hoping a parent could come and be our volunteer art teacher and I thought I would definitely ask my mom.

Now, I can’t recall the exact conversation with my mom, who was running a successful business and caring for four kids- who listened and without hesitation offered her precious time to our class. I remember her looking at old Women’s Day and Better Homes and Gardens magazines for inspiration for fun things to do with kids. I think she even managed to wrangle all four of us daughters to the library to look at craft books. She had never done anything quite like this before, but she did it. I remember her strong New York accent during her introduction- I’m Debbie Evans and I will be your new OUART teacher. (That’s art with a New York twang). All of my classmates fell in love with her and I remember being so full of love as well, watching her teach everyone how to make beautiful and fun things on a budget, like making clay scenes on a floor tile. I made a mermaid in the ocean. All of the kids would try to speak like she did. It was always a magical moment when my mom slipped off her mom hat and dimmed the lights of the classroom, fired up the projector, and drew examples of what we’d do that day. When I was a senior in high school, one of the kids I went to elementary school with came up to me and said, I always loved your mom, our ouart teacher. She was the best! I couldn’t believe after all those years they remembered!

Now that I’m older, I realize how much she was balancing. She probably paid for many of the supplies out of her own wallet- and now that I run my own businesses I truly realize the importance of someone’s precious time. But the fact is, she showed up. She didn’t know what she was doing and she had no training, no real budget, she wasn’t an official teacher. She was just a mom who cared. I’ve always tried to emulate her brazen attitude to show up with little more than a fierce determination and resourcefulness. I used these skills when I started this magazine and our floral shop, when I went to college, when we bought our house and when we started doing some serious remodeling on it. I can honestly say that most of the time I’ve had no clue what I’m doing. I just keep moving forward.

Even with these lessons, sometimes I feel like I can’t take a step until I have it all figured out- and truly that’s the worst place to be.

Because there’s no beauty, no surprise and no lesson in knowing every detail. There’s no safety net, either.

I share this with you because I know how much we have been through the last few years, and if you’re like me, you’ve taken inventory of your life and the things you are and aren’t showing up for. The dreams you’ve put on the shelf. The chances you haven’t taken.

I wanted to remind you that the truth is every day of your life you don’t know what you’re doing anyway. It doesn’t matter who you are, parent, coach, business owner, student, you name it. No one has it all figured out. You just do it. We’re all just winging it. Isn’t that funny to realize? So why not try this for your dreams? It’s never too late to revisit them.

This last year, I’ve been trying to step out of my comfort zones and see what’s out there. I’ve taken a few small trips. I’ve learned many new things. I joined a softball team last year- and I truly know nothing about softball other than my glove breaks all my fake nails. I was reassured I was in good company of people just like me. I was so scared to do it! But you bet I cried tears of happiness when I put on my jersey, proud to be part of a team. When I hit the softball and made it home. When the sun would set during a game and I’d be in outfield watching it and my anxiety was being quiet- I realized that these are the moments that life is really made of.

Summer is the perfect time to put yourself out there again. To remember that you, too, are in full bloom. You don’t need to have it all figured out. You don’t need to be perfect. You just need to show up and believe you can, even if you think you might fail.

I just want to dedicate this issue to my mother, our ouart teacher who showed up and inspired us all. I love that I don’t have a memory of perfect Pinterest-worthy crafts- I have a powerful memory of my mom, showing up, making kids laugh and making me proud.

I hope you all get back to doing the things you love the most, or that you have the courage to try something new. To remember that time is not running out and you don’t have to have it all figured out. Just show up. Trust me, no one else really knows exactly what they are doing, either.

Love,

Heather Niccoli Editor-In-Chief Home&Harvest Magazine

Home&Harvest Magazine editor + sales + design heather niccoli heather@homeandharvestmagazine.com

tony niccoli

contributors temple kinyon keith crossler annie gebel gayle anderson emory ann kurysh diane conroy sa raquet sara hayley noble chad kinyon jacqueline cruver heidi pederson tony niccoli

contents

T he Treasure 8 T he Bees Knees 14 Idler's Complex 22 Duck And Cover 26 DIY Burger Bliss 32 Lemon Seed Poppy Loaf 38 F avorite W hole W heat Bread 40 German Chocolate Cake + Coconut Pecan F rosting 42 F rench Toast Casserole W ith Berries 44 Banana Pound Cake 46 Heidi's Book Review 48 A Reading F or You 50 People of the Palouse 54 T he Eagle Has Landed 58 T he Search F or Community 64 F armers & Photography 72 T he Oh, Otis Shenanigans 76

The

Treasure

by Annie Gebel I remember a song we used to sing in my Girl Scout troop a few decades ago. The words were, “Make new friends, but keep the old. One is silver and the other is gold.” I loved singing it, especially when we turned it into a round!

I thought it was a lovely little tune about how sparkly and fun friendships can be, whether you’ve known someone for five minutes or since Kindergarten. Back then, that was a really long time. Now, as an adult, I still think it’s a lovely tune and not only about how fun old and new friends can be…but also a little nudge to actually MAKE new friends.

With my husband’s Navy career, we’ve had the opportunity to move several times and meet new people all over the country. I don’t want you to think that this nomadic lifestyle is all fun and games. It’s not. There’s a lot that’s really hard about it, including having to leave friends time and again. And it allows for friendships in every shiny color, which is probably one of my favorite things from the years he spent serving. In the military there’s a fairly constant turnover of people. You might be at a particular duty station for three years, but in that time, others are coming and going. Friends are moving through and around and out of town. People you haven’t seen in years might swing back through. You might connect with another spouse that seems perfectly matched to your parenting style, life philosophy, and love of milkshakes. You might be relieved that another spouse is finally moving on to take her drama somewhere else. And just when you settle into the groove, it’s your turn to move, probably making some people sad and relieving others!

With all the changes and getting to meet new people and re-connect with others, there’s a lot to be gained about what’s important in friendships and how to make them. I gotta tell you, though, that getting out of the military life, moving someplace new, and doing it all in the midst of a pandemic, changes the playing field a little. Don’t worry though…I’ve still found silver and gold!

So, let’s talk about how friendship happens. Let’s go back to those early friendships, like way back…girl scout days, if you will. If you’re anything like me, you got sat next to the new girl in third grade. You smiled and the rest was history. BFFs before it was even a thing. The two of you planned lives together, living on opposite sides of the same pond with daughters the same age, who were, of course, also best friends! Through the next several years, you laughed and cried and cried from laughing. Other friends from other classes or sports or clubs hung out for a time, but the two of you were pretty much inseparable. Until you weren’t. Graduation, different colleges, different life paths, houses and families in different states.

Maybe that’s not your story, but it is mine. I had other friends, sure, but my elementary school bestie was the only one I needed for a long, long time. And we’d met early and easily. Being in proximity with someone is probably the earliest way we learn to connect with friends, but it’s not the only way. Throughout college, and even after I got married (to my high school sweetheart who lived down the street from me growing up) and moved into the social circles created in the Navy, being near people was pretty much the way I knew to make friends. I began to expand proximity from being physically next to someone to being emotionally near them. I didn’t make the adjustment consciously, but when you’re going through something together, special bonds tend to form. It doesn’t take too much imagination to see that you at least have that thing in common and perhaps you can build on that.

So, when looking to meet new people, if you’re not already in classes or a family support group, try joining a club, volunteering for something you enjoy, noticing the people at the library when you go, or looking around the gym or church. Here’s the tricky thing, at least to me - after you meet someone you might want to be friends with, you have to ask them if they want to be friends.

I know it might sound dumb, silly, juvenile, hard, obvious. All of that, and it’s the truth. I think back to my kids on the playground with other children and hearing the joyful little voice, whether theirs or someone else’s, “Hi! I’m so-and-so. Do you want to be friends?” And they’d run off giggling. I never realized the importance of this step (or that it was one, honestly) until last year when a new friend was telling me that she’d met a woman at her yoga class that she thought seemed fun and she just asked her, “Do you want to be friends?” Just like that. They went out for coffee…and became friends. I was awe-struck, inspired, a little intimidated, and impressed.

Let’s recap - you’ve met a new person, you’ve asked the question, now…like dating…it’s time to see if you’re actually going to click.

Sometimes it truly seems like you’ve already known each other forever and it’s obvious. Other times, though, a coffee date, ice cream date, lunch date…any and all of it is required to get to know each other and hopefully feel more comfortable with each other or maybe find out that you’re not. Either outcome is okay.

Let me say that again. Whether you recognize that you’re already friends or not going to be friends, it’s okay. Both are fine outcomes and neither is a reflection of your worth. No one is friends with everyone they meet. And no one is meant to be. Your people are out there.

What if, like me, you find yourself in a new place and all the old standby places aren’t fruitful with friend opportunities, hopefully not because of a pandemic but perhaps because you’ve just moved?

Or you might just find that you’re in the market for people that think a little differently, like you, or laugh a little louder or run a little harder. Whatever you’re looking for, and for whatever reason, if you can’t meet and make the friends you want in person, go online!

I used to roll my eyes when people said they had online friends… until I got online friends. It turns out that forums, social groups, and online communities offer the same options to get to know people as the in-person places do, all from my couch! I kind of fell into this process, again not making a conscious decision to stretch proximity to similar emotional experiences to connecting with others with similar values whom I’ve never even met! As I was looking for information on a topic and it was suggested that I see if there were any groups on my favorite social media platform. There were.

I joined. Over time I realized that not only was I getting information, but I was also forming relationships. Surprise! You’re now one of those people you used to roll your eyes at…and it feels good.

It feels good to have people who support you, laugh with you, tell you the hard facts sometimes. Those are friends. And, the truth I accepted, is that it doesn’t matter where you meet or if you ever meet up in person - friendship is friendship. Just like there are a lot of different ways to parent, teach, even live…there are a lot of different ways to have friendships.

So, let’s go over this one more time…

You meet someone, online or in person, that holds some potential to be a friend. You inquire if they’d like to go out for coffee or meet at a local park for a walk, some sort of place where you can chat each other up and see if you click. Alternatively you inquire if they’d like to be Facebook friends or join this other group you’re in or follow you on Instagram. Or you just message them and-

-chat each other up and see if you click. If you do, indeed, click, you connect again.

And again.

If you’re enjoying yourselves, let’s call you friends!

Even though it’s only four steps, it’s not always that simple. However, it’s fully worth it to have people you can call or text or see in person that will talk you down, hype you up, and simply just love you for being you. One of my shiniest friends recently messaged me with this to say, “I think it’s crazy how I’ve never met you but love you so much.” Old friends, new friends, silver or gold - the treasure of friendship is worth searching for.

And while we’re on the subject of treasured friendships, let’s talk about how to take care of the precious metals and gems that surround you. On Ducktails, Scrooge McDuck swam through his gold coins, but in reality, it’s best to handle gold only with soft gloves and as little as possible. Some gems are best cleaned by soaking them, others don’t react well to being submerged in water. Some jewelry can be worn daily while other items will stand up better over time if only pulled out on special occasions. Friendships are much the same way: different.

As you make friends, online or in person, be aware of the sort of upkeep that might be needed in this relationship. What do you need? What do they? If you’re a soft gloves only kind of person and they’re a scrub with a wire brush type of friend, no matter how much you have in common, this is going to be a tough match up!

Be honest and realistic and recognize that how you are and how they are can change at any time, without notice and without malice.

Sometimes life’s circumstances make keeping in touch easier or more desirable. Sometimes the situation you’re in makes it that much harder to feel or stay connected. Do you desire daily conversation with another adult but know that much of that conversation will be about your kids because that’s where you’re at? Do you know that you’ve got a lot happening and daily contact of any kind sounds like a lot, but you’d love a night out once every few months, full of laughter and wine? Do you want friends to hike with or are you looking for a book club that actually reads and discusses books?

It’s all out there - all the kinds of people, relationships, ways to connect, ways to support. You can find what you’re looking for.

It may take time, to really figure out what you’re looking for or to connect with that thing in someone else, but you will learn so much about yourself along the way. You may begin to notice where you’re a little tarnished and could use a little polish. You may find that you’re a rare gem and not just anyone can truly appreciate the way you shine!

Whatever the case, go on…get to digging. Imagine this beauty you could unearth!

Silver, gold, crystal, or rock Friendships new or old, Give us so much to unlock.

Dingy and dirty or shining bright, Keep around you anyone who reflects your light!

That’s not the song…I just made it up, but the sentiment is similar.

Love. Be loved. Be loving. That’s the treasure.

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BEE’S knees the

By Tony Niccoli

This is a story decades in the making – and it starts with a young boy named Riley Reed looking for an inflatable raft.

He and his dad went into their garage and opened a box, and inside they found an unexpected surprise. Bees!

As the swarm of bees came pouring out of the top of the box, they quickly shut the lid and ran away. Then Riley’s dad came up with a plan. They would return later that evening when the bees were asleep to get the raft, and to get a chance to check out this fascinating wonder of nature.

So equipped with flashlights and a sense of adventure, they returned later that night and opened the box again. When I asked what they saw, I almost fell over laughing.

“Turns out they weren’t really asleep. They were just all cooped up in the hive and angry. Big mistake!”

But it was the next interaction that would set Riley on course to become an entomologist. After such a scary encounter, the fascinated 8 year old got to see something entirely different. A neighbor who cared for bees came over and calmly transferred the hive into a cardboard box. He didn’t even shut the lid. Without any mask or protective gear he walked back to his car, placed the open box in the back seat, thanked them for the bees, waved goodbye, and hopped in the front and drove off, completely unafraid of the bees that were beginning to fly around in the backseat. “Right there I knew it. I said – someday I’m going to do that!” And young Riley was hooked.

When Heather and I first crossed paths with Riley, we were strolling around one of the out-buildings at the Palouse Empire Fair last year in Colfax. Those displays and contests are always one of our favorite parts of visiting the local fairs. As many of you know, we sponsor an event annually at the Latah County Fair – the Home&Harvest Huckleberry Battle. That always keeps us busy at the start of the fair, but really our favorite part at all the local fairs is just getting to see all the amazing and creative entrants – from photography and art, to produce and animals, and even quilting, baking and floral design. Thrown in along the way are always local groups and a chance to see something new that you never realized was taking place right in your own community.

Riley was there answering questions about bee keeping and the WSU Honey Bee and Pollinator Program. He was showing some really cool displays of the interior working of hives to a group of kids when we rolled up and joined in.

I’ve always been fascinated by bees and couldn’t believe that WSU actually had one of the most advanced programs for their study right here in our local area.

My personal fascination with bees didn’t start with a swarm in our garage, but rather a soccer team. After all, it was in the bleachers of a Bee’s game that my mom went into labor with me, and it was in those same bleachers that I would spend many fall days growing up. Every time I see a team with bees as a mascot, or see them buzzing around our flowers it brings back great memories and puts a smile on my face. But up to this point in life I still hadn’t had the chance to wear one of those awesome masks and let them crawl around on me. It was definitely a bucket list goal!

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So after talking to Riley about the program and our interest in writing an article we were all set. I got his info and just had to patiently wait out the winter so we could get a chance to meet and interact with the bees in the spring. Writing for the magazine was really paying off now – I was going to find a way to get to wear a bee suit! I started counting the days.

But winter likes to linger here in North Idaho. Just when you think spring weather is fully taking hold, another late season snowstorm covers the ground and sends us all back indoors huddling under a blanket. The temperatures that seem so warm and inviting in the persistent fall feel daunting and frigid when they return after a week of sun, and it seems that glow of the sun has forgotten us entirely some days as the wait continues.

And then, when you finally realize that you can’t possibly wait another day, the snow vanishes even quicker than it came, the crocuses and tulips start popping up from freshly thawed soil, and the weather gives its final break – winter relenting and standing aside permanently. Or at least standing aside for six to eight months.

This was just one of those winters. After a five or six day run of sunny weather and blossoming greenery, I took the opportunity of having a day off to get out and mow our lawn and de-winterize our 1967 Airstream. I even planned to call Riley and see if the bees were ready to start their spring chores when I was done.

But just as I had finished flushing all the water systems, refilling the holding tank, and testing the propane lines, I felt a strong breeze and pulled the collar of my coat closed against the cold.

A quick check of phone to see the forecast, and I ran inside to alert Heather that I was about to winterize the Airstream again.

Twenty degree weather and a week of snow was only a few hours away. I’m sorry to all of you, truly, because I’m fairly certain that my decision to embrace spring early is what jinxed us this year and brought on that sudden drop of the mercury.

Watching a foot of snow pile up again – this time in April – wasn’t something that got me down. You just get used to rolling with that sort of weather where we live. What did have me worried was pushing back our appointment to meet some marvelous creatures that were being re-located to help populate our local area. I just couldn’t wait to go see the bees!

Finally the weather broke, we rescheduled with Riley and we even got to be there to see the bees’ first day in the Palouse region and the introduction to their new homes. They had traveled in wood boxes that had screens on both sides, a big stopper on the top, and a little inner cage to keep the queen isolated and safe during the journey. That protects her, and allows the rest of the colony time to accept her new presence. With practiced precision, one of the professors would pour them out into an open hive, with most of the bees flowing together like a thick syrup, and the last few stragglers needing a bit more coaxing. Each box had 3 pounds of bees, which I guessed at being several hundred, but later found out was actually closer to 10,000! A second professor was taking samples from each colony during the transfer and getting them quickly on ice for future study. Finally, the little cage with the queen was removed and placed in the center of the hive. She would be getting a few more days to acclimate before having the cage removed and freeing her to start working.

Riley was going by and delivering a sugary treat for each hive so they would have plenty to sustain them until our local flowers started fully blooming. Then the lids were closed, and the group moved on to the next box. 150 colonies made this trip, and by the time you read this article many of the new locals will be happily buzzing about the flowers in your back yard. For the most part, the bees were all very well behaved and just excited-

-to get into their new hives and begin to warm up a little. One did manage to find its way up Heather’s pant leg and got a little confused. I’m sure it didn’t mean any harm, and was just frightened, but it went ahead and stuck a stinger into her lower leg. Heather - who normally panics and runs away when bee gets too close, but had actually been very calm and unafraid that afternoon – walked up to me very calmly as I was taking a few photos of the inside of one of the hives. She tapped me on the shoulder and said “Oh, excuse me, Tony, but I do believe I am being stung right at this very instant” She was so calm that I quickly laughed and said that, no, in fact if she had been stung for the first time ever in life, she would absolutely know it. She just replied, “yes, then I have definitely been stung.” We pulled up her pant leg and quickly removed the stinger. Heather was just sad for the bee whom she decided to name “Gertie” and asked if there was any chance she would survive after the sting.

The ladies you see outside of the hive visiting flowers are the workers – but really there is some question as to who works for whom. The queen is stuck inside working her entire life, and just laying eggs according to the types of cells the workers choose to create. The queen knows the difference between a cell that was prepared for a work and one that was created for a drone. After taking her one and only mating flight outside of the hive (or being inseminated in a lab for greater control) she will carry the reproductive cells inside her for the rest of her life. When she is presented with a larger cell, she simply chooses not to fertilize one of her eggs. This results in a male drone, who’s only purpose in life is to one day mate with another queen and pass on genetic information. When she comes across a smaller cell, the queen fertilizes one of the eggs inside her using that stored up spermatozoa. The fertilized egg, containing both her genetics and those of one of the drones she met on the mating flight, results in a female offspring. Almost all the females become workers and carry out the day-to-day operations for the hive. On rare occasions, the workers will decide it is time for a new queen and will feed the larva only royal jelly – not cutting it off after a few days like they would to create another worker. Somehow the hive knows how to regulate its population by number and sex as well as when it is time to make themselves a new queen. So she might be the queen, and may be ruling after all, or she might just be more of an assistant carrying out the directives of the rest of the ladies in charge.

The queen lives for a few years, laying up to a two thousand eggs in a day at her peak. But eventually she runs out of spermatozoa and can no longer produce any females. Hopefully a new queen has been produced in time, and the hive continues to thrive.

Thanks to the care of dedicated bee keepers, if the colony fails in transitioning, a new queen can often be introduced and the cycle continues.

Riley said that when he got his first hive out of barn wall during his junior year of highschool, it was mostly other experienced bee keepers that set him on the right path to caring for them. One of the first lessons was that you can read all the books you want, but the truth is the bees won’t bother to read those same books. So in the end, they are going to do what they want, and won’t always be predictable. He found that the best way to learn was to actually get out there and spend time with them. For most colonies this means checking in on them at least once every week or at most ten days. This allows time to catch any problems before they become serious, and to see if the colony has lost a queen and is working on developing a new one, or needing some immediate help. Behind almost all of the honey bees you see on their daily rounds, there are dedicated bee keepers checking in on their wellbeing, feeding them when blooms aren’t naturally available,-

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-and sharing their love. In the summer, Heather and I love to

-are stacked on pallets. Those pallets, too small to fill their own semi-trailer will be delivered to a larger commercial operation that give some of their extra space for the University’s colonies to hitch a ride. Massive trucks with cold, sleepy bees make their way down to almond fields in California.

This allows for much more study – as the warmer weather means that the bees will be out and gathering months earlier than they ever could near WSU. After a few months of study, and spring is getting ready to break in the Palouse, the scientists wrap up their experiments and prepare to head home. At this point, some bees will remain in CA or be sold to regional farmers that have a shorter route home. Some will return to their normal homes in WA and ID, and with them, massive trucks of new colonies will make the trip to establish new hives. The hives we got to see were at the Palouse-Clearwater Environmental Institute at the end of Rodeo Drive in Moscow. They were all new to the Palouse but will be quickly thriving and setting out to work in our gardens. Other new colonies went to locations scattered across Pullman, Troy, Othello, Albion, and out at the Smoot Hill research area, where the dedicated team from WSU will continue to study and care for them. By maintaining and caring for hundreds of colonies of active honey bees students like Riley, and professors he to push forward the understanding of what bees need for success today – and well into the future.

And the triumph of those colonies directly relates to the crops that depend on them.

have coffee on our back deck or front porch in the morning.

And the yard is always abuzz with the older ladies from local colonies out collecting for their families. It turns out there is a hierarchy to jobs in a bee colony. The younger workers start life by cleaning out their own cell, making sure it is ready for the next egg. They might transition on to jobs like undertaker, pulling dead sisters and brothers out of the hive and tidying up, and eventually onto being a nurse caring for and feeding new larva. Some will become attendants for the queen, cleaning and feeding her so she can stay busy – others move on to producing wax for the comb. Some specialize in making the honey we all crave. Others work as heaters or cooling fans, using movement and the flapping of their wings to regulate the temperature for the hive. Then they go to more adventurous posts like guarding the entrance from predators. And by the time they are reaching the end of their days they pop out and visit us on their daily collection routes. This is the most dangerous job, exposing her to constant threats outside the protection of the hive and so is selectively reserved for those nearing the end of their few short months of life. The saying busy as a bee suddenly takes on new meaning when you slow down a bit and watch how diligently they all work.

Besides the daily visitors to our flowers, fruits and vegetables, I also always love to see the hive boxes scattered around our region. Whether it’s on the side of a highway, out barely visible in the middle of a field, or just in a neighbor’s yard – all of these bee keepers are helping to care from something really special and greatly needed to keep our agriculture producing.

The truth is, honey bees are just so amazing, but so are the armature bee keepers and the scientists who are studying them. On a tour through one of the WSU labs I got to see the stations where they artificially inseminate queens to control the genetic lines.

We looked at experiments in progress delving into everything from microbiomes to mating and reproduction. From ways to defend against mites to how they can help protect against diseases. We even saw the cryogenics tanks where viable reproductive cells are stored for future insemination, and the extreme freeze refrigerant systems that are keeping DNA in long-term storage for forthcoming experiments that may be dreamed up in the future. They study the changes in the populations that they help to create, adapt to what the bees are experiencing here in their regional environments, and formulate new ways to aid in their survival and success as thriving colonies of essential pollinators.

And against this backdrop there is the also the collaboration with large-scale pollinating and honey production operations.

That amazing support and sharing of observations and data drives forward the understanding of how to protect failing populations, and how to create environments in which colonized honey bees thrive, as well as hundreds of other local pollinators that remain essential to the success of local plants. When problems are noticed in the field, or new lines of questioning are imagined in the labs, there is a quick sharing techniques and best practices – the end goal of all of work is thriving populations of honey bees that are well prepared to prosper in our region and beyond. That makes for better populations of pollinators for all the wonderful crops that depend on them.

In the late winter, the team from WSU rounds up all their colonies, and prepares to move to warmer weather for continued study. The snow is brushed off the hive boxes and theyHome&Harvest

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be a bee keeper not a bee haver

“

Here on the Palouse – canola is the main pollination work for bees that are used on production farming, but nearby in orchards across Washington, the cherries, apples, and pears that we all love have honey bees to thank for their success each year!

So as you see them trying to land on your food at a picnic, or hoping to grab a sip of your soda at a ballgame this summer – please – resist that urge to swat away your friendly neighborhood pollinator. Maybe plant a few extra flowers, and leave out dish of water with pile of pebbles on the side so they can get a drink and then easily climb back out. Care about the bees that are calling our region their home and remember just how hard the University and keepers work to make sure we will have them for generations to come!

Just before I left, I asked Riley if there was any good advice to share for people that might be interested in starting a hive in their own backyards. “Sure,” he said, “be a bee keeper – not a bee haver. There is a responsibility to caring for them and doing it right.” You can check out WSU’s Bee Program web page if you want to learn more about how you can bee a keeper yourself.

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Keith Crossler BY

Do you ever get that feeling that you need to just drop what you’re doing and go? Not like I’m watching TV and I really need to go do the dishes type of feeling... but an unexplainable urge that you need to be somewhere else. Helping somewhere else or that even though you aren’t really available, but you just go.

It was late August. All of the Palouse area was in a Red Flag Warning. Which means hot, dry, low humidity, and high winds. Potential for rapid fire growth is extreme. It’s very common that time of year. Fire departments all over the area know about the warnings and are prepared to go quickly and with extra resources. The faster you can stop an event the better. Mutual aid requests are made early into an event as it always takes time to get those extra resources on scene.

This particular day, I was at work holding down the office by myself. So, I knew if there was a call that day, I wouldn’t be able to go. At least not until after the normal work hours. It was about 3 in the afternoon and we were dispatched to a reported barn fire out by Idler’s Rest. I waited and listened as the call unfolded. We had a quick response. A fully staffed structure truck headed out in hopes of knocking down the flames fast. Keeping it from spreading to anything else. Water tenders were close behind them with a brush truck out the door in case it spread to the grass.

This is when you realize how dry it was that day. Before we even got the call, it was spreading to the grass. Moving quickly. Very quickly. Later, the guys would talk about the fire spotting out 20-30 feet from the fire lines. There was no stopping it out in the open fields. Mutual aid requests were given. Idaho Department of Lands was coming from their Deary office. They jumped on the radio and said they had already requested air support. As I sat and listened, I couldn’t help but feel like I needed to go help. But I couldn’t. I knew I would go after work, but man it was tough to just sit and listen.

As the fire progressed, you could tell these guys were trying their absolute best to get a handle on things. It was an uphill battle at best. As the fire moved over a ridge and into the next draw, it was overwhelmingly obvious that things were getting worse and folks were getting confused. It was about 45 minutes into the event and I heard one of the water tenders say something we never want to here. “I’m up at the house and my escape route just burned over!” My heart sank. For the first time in my 22 years, I thought we had a real possibility of losing one of our own. I stood up, locked the office, and left. I had to go. There was no way I couldn’t be there to help.

I raced to the station. I knew a bunch of our trucks were already out there, but I would take whatever was left and go help. To my surprise, there was still a brush truck there and waiting. I was by myself so I radioed into Command and asked if they would like me to respond. “Absolutely!”. Just as I was about to head out, another member pulled up. He jumped in and we were off.

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It was so surreal to look out and see that huge column of smoke as we got closer. We rolled into the staging area, picked up another member, and were assigned to evacuation confirmation on West Twin Road. We had two driveways to check. As we went to the first one, I noticed another “driveway”, but it had a cable across it with a no trespassing sign. No way someone lived up there, but dang it, we had to check. We dropped the cable and headed up. It was tight and overgrown. We could hear the fire in the distance burning in the trees. Another feeling that we had to go just a little further before we abandoned this road. Sure enough, there was a house. I couldn’t believe it. Banging on the doors we found an elderly woman inside the home. She didn’t want to leave, but we had to make her go. If this fire kept going at the pace it was, we had minutes at best to get out of there.

She finally agreed and came out to her car. We wiggled our truck around and drove out. One down, still two to go. We hurried up the road and checked the other two homes. Empty. We were clear. Checking back in with our Division Chief, we were assigned to drive out the rest of the main road and see if we could find how far the fire progressed. It wasn’t too far. A half mile or so. Surprisingly enough, we found it. Up in the trees, the wind wasn’t so overwhelming. It was actually pretty mild. We dumped our load of water where the fire was impinging the road. If we could keep it south of this road and between the field that the farmers had put a solid fire break in, we could probably hold the fire where it was.

Since we were empty, we headed back to our division staging area to fill up. I chatted with the Division Chief and asked for more resources to anchor the line and stop the fire. We didn’t get it. We kept being held back so the air support could work the fire. It was frustrating to just sit and wait. Finally, we got the green light to go back up to the fire line. With a couple of other trucks, we were to make a push on the south side of the road and try to knock out as much as we could. The air support was going to lay a retardant line on the north side of the road in case it tried to jump over. I really felt like we had it at this point, until we were pulled out again.

The Incident Commanders felt it was better for us to stay out of the way and let the planes and helicopters work while we still had the day light. I however, disagreed. We could do so much more on the ground in between their efforts. But we followed orders.

We stayed in our staging area waiting for another assignment.

The fire really died down as evening fell. Cooler air along with rising humidity slowed any fire progression on the ground and at this point, we had it out of the top of the trees. Dozers and the farmers had a quick line around almost the entire fire. One last assignment for us was to run up through a field and see if we could offer any other support on a hotspot before it got completely dark.

There really wasn’t anything for us to do but watch the helicopters make their final drops (and boy was it cool to watch standing just feet away and pretty much directly below them).

Fortunately, our water tender that was trapped earlier that day, made it out okay. The house they were protecting had a good green zone around it and they were able to sit tight as the fire burned around them so they could then make it out to the staging/ safety zone. I would say we had some close calls that day. The fire really blew up fast. The support from our mutual aid partners was really impressive, to say the least. When we drove out that night to go back to the station, we were seeing folks from hundreds of miles away there to help. Most everyone was sent back home that night. The Department of Lands took over the incident and handled the full containment and extinguishment over the course of the next week.

Duck and Cover

By Hayley Noble

With Russia’s invasion of Ukraine and other aggressions over the years, it seems that the Cold War did not end in 1991 with the dissolution of the Soviet Union. Tension was growing in 1945 between the United States and the Soviet Union at the end of World War II after the division of Berlin. The Soviet occupation of Central and Eastern Europe created the metaphorical “iron curtain,” effectively dividing Europe into “East” and “West.” Things came to a head in 1947 with the Truman Doctrine: a foreign policy of containing Soviet influence and communism put forth by President Truman. Many agree that this is considered the “official” start of the Cold War as we know it. Then on September 23, 1949, Truman announced to the press that a Soviet atomic detonation was detected, and the arms race truly commenced. The Cold War has a complicated history that is still being played out, with complex ties to Idaho. When most think of Idaho and the Cold War, they quickly think of history associated with Eastern Idaho: Idaho Falls, the Idaho National Laboratory, and the 1961 nuclear reactor accident.

Latah County’s Cold War history is not nearly as dramatic or unique.

Many communities during this time considered the chief threat to be nuclear fallout from Soviet attacks. Throughout the 1940s to the 70s, the U.S. Department of Defense created many agencies to address this concern, such as the Office of Civil Defense, Civil Defense and Mobilization, Defense Civil Preparedness Agency, and so on and so forth. Eventually, all these iterations consolidated to become the Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA) in 1979. One of the main operations of these agencies was to inform the public about what to do in the case of an attack. They published a variety of guides and handbooks related to survival in the event of nuclear fallout. Among these were how-to’s on everything from building fallout shelters and radiation monitoring to medical care and preparing for mass casualties. Survival was on everyone’s mind.

Locally, the County Civil Defense Agency distributed a Community Shelter Plan instructing residents where to gather in case the attack warning sounded. Most of Moscow was to congregate at the University of Idaho, while the Kendrick and Lewiston grain elevators and others were used throughout the county. The warning sirens threatened to sound at any time. Moscow native LeNelle McInturff remembers the warning tones broadcast over the radio for emergency drills. Latah County, the City of Moscow, and Fire Chief Leon Sodorff prepared a Disaster Relief and Civil Defense Plan outlining how local authorities would respond to an event, such as an attack. It reads, “The mission of Civil Defense in the City of Moscow and Latah County is to plan for and take actions in an emergency to: reduce to a minimum the loss of life and property, maintain public morale at the highest possible level, provide the military with needed civilian support, and provide for the most rapid and complete possible recovery of our social institutions and economy.” The plan lays out the chain of command and responsibilities of all parties and breaks down subsequent groups and committees on their roles and responsibilities. It covers everything from how to provide security and communication, housing, rationing, supplies, transportation, medical services, and minimizing radiation. Presumably other cities and counties across Idaho published similar reports, demonstrating how much of a perceived threat nuclear fallout was.

The federal and local governments set up trainings and instructional videos for all citizens to follow.

One of the most famous pieces of media to appear was the short film Duck and Cover, produced in 1951, featuring Bert the turtle as he learns what to do in case of disaster. Millions of children throughout the country were shown the film in school in the 1950s. As a child, LeNelle McInturff remembers her parents receiving all kinds of pamphlets on home safety and how to protect your home and family.

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She recalls seeing the Fallout Shelter signs all over town and the public service announcements on television. She vividly remembers a dream about the crawl space under her house serving as their family fallout shelter, complete with a lamp and desk to finish homework. LeNelle recalls the usual little toys included in cereal boxes were replaced with small plastic missiles with spring-loaded launch pads to shoot the missiles. She and her sisters had competitions to see whose went the farthest. As a kid Idahoan Ed Marohn remarked that “the Cold War as existing in our lives like eating and sleeping.” It was always present.

The federal and state governments issued training and course materials for those wanting to learn to use radiological monitoring equipment. Such kits included radiological monitor instruments, radioactive source material, training films, and student worksheets. The LCHS collection even contains forms filled out by Norman Lewis of Kendrick as he signed up for the training. An employee of the Idaho State Forestry Service, Norman scheduled trainings in March 1967 at the Latah County Court House, receiving the training films, teacher guides, and certification cards for students. Trainings and literature did little to assuage fears. LeNelle recalls her neighbor digging a fallout shelter under his barn and making sure no other families knew about it. Additionally, added fear mounted with the launch of Sputnik and the thought that Soviets were watching you from space.

But the fear did pass. The second Red Scare and Korean War of the 1950s gave way to the space race and Cuban Missile Crisis in the 60s. And, eventually, the events of Vietnam overshadowed the threat of nuclear attack and fallout shelters. Ed Marohn stated that “as the Cold War dragged on, we started to grow immune to its rhetoric, accepting it as a way of life.” The space race was over and other events loomed on the horizon. Focus shifted to general preparedness in case of more natural disasters. The University of Idaho College of Agriculture issued its own guides on how to navigate such disasters.

Throughout the 1980s, tensions eased and the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989 signaled the collapse of European communist governments and the end of the Iron Curtain. The Soviet Union was considered officially dissolved on December 26, 1991. But with the Soviet collapse, Russia lost relevance and power on the global stage. Vladimir Putin witnessed Russia’s diminishing status and when elected President he invoked imagery from Russia’s victories, such as the Great Patriotic War, known to us as World War II. Many suspect that according to Putin, the Cold War never ended. With Russia’s invasion of Georgia and Ukraine, it would seem he is attempting to reassemble the Soviet Union. The war crimes and atrocities in Ukraine have left the world terrified that other countries could be next. War amid a pandemic will lead to worsening health conditions and strain the global economy. Idahoans are already feeling those effects with tenuous supply chains and inflation, leading to rising food and fuel prices. Local farmers are concerned about the availability of fuel, fertilizers, and other chemicals needed to produce crops, affecting their profits. Additionally, the world is anticipating a drop in wheat exports as Russia and Ukraine are the world’s largest producers of wheat.

The Cold War, as we knew it, may be over but a new Cold War has emerged, where Russia is once again a global threat. The United States may not be its primary target, but through globalization all actions have consequences in the 21st century. We may not be building fallout shelters and publishing guides on how to handle mass casualties, but fears remain the same.

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diy BURGER bliss

Tony Niccoli Okay, summer is here and all that late snow is finally gone! If you haven’t been outside grilling yet get to it this weekend. Don’t let another prime day pass you by – you’ll thank me when the snow starts flying again much sooner than you expect it. To me, nothing defines summer grilling more than the burger.

If you caught either of our last two issues, you know that I’m focusing all my 2022 articles to something I call the 3-T grilling method. That’s Temperature, Texture and Taste. And while I’ve written about burgers a few times in the past – from both a beginner’s perspective and an indepth review of specific techniques – I thought I was a great place to return with the current focus of 3-T grilling.

After all, burgers are the absolute epitome of summer outdoor cooking!

Let’s start with a quick review of the Temperature, Texture and Taste approach and then look at how it specifically relates to burgers. My idea with 3-T is that a quick planning phase should allow you to improve your technique and outcomes when cooking items you are already familiar with, and also allow you to expertly adapt new proteins and veggies while creating your own recipes.

The key is the balance of the three. The texture will directly impact the taste, and vise-versa. For temperature, we don’t simply mean that you want something to be hot when served, that’s only part of the timing. For any proteins, be it meats that have a safe-cook temp that needs to be hit to insure they are edible or mushrooms or other items that need to have their tissue brought to the correct temperature so they aren’t served too chewy or limp. This will tie directly into the other two factors in 3-T. A burger cooked slowly will eventually get to a safe serving temperature of 160 – but you won’t like the results if the outside is solid charcoal and the inside lost all of its juices and flavor. Cooked far too quickly, you will have a perfect center, but a tasteless exterior that looks like it was barely given time on the grill. Perfection is the balance – getting your center to the desired temperature at the desired time so that they serve up hot a few minutes later after a quick rest, and still have great grill marks and just a little crust on the exterior. That first bite should leave you jumping for a napkin as the juice runs down your hands and chin. Can you picture that burger? Do you want to serve those at your next cookout? Then let’s focus on balancing the 3-T method and get your well on your way to summer perfection.

I’m going to start with taste on this one. Again, we will always work backwards like we did in the last two articles. We want the burgers to hit the plates hot, juicy, and absolutely full of flavor! I’ll start with my choice of condiments, buns and then decide on cheese, and finally seasoning. Why work backwards? Well, if you want to make a fancy chipotle-ketchup that’s going on top of a grilled pepper or some pepper-jack cheese, you might want to back off the cracked pepper when you season the meat.

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At my house, the good-old-fashioned burger still reigns supreme, so we are going to start there. I don’t need pineapple rings, buns made in styles I can’t pronounce, or cheeses that come with pairing recommendations from a sommelier. And even if your burger dream is something totally elevated, I would still recommend trying one straight down the middle first if you are either new to grilling your own patties, or committed to 3-T development and expanding your skills. After that first round, review where you could make some improvements and keep track of what works for you. Repetition is the key – and with burgers it’s something your family and friends are going to love! Don’t worry about getting your signature recipe on the first time out – everyone will be more than happy to keep taste-testing for you all summer long.

So for this time-honored flavor profile, I’m going to serve with regular ketchup, yellow mustard, iceberg lettuce, a few pickle slices strait from the jar, white or purple onions (raw for Heather, grilled for me) and some thick slices of either American or cheddar cheese from the deli counter. All on a classic bun, the ones that taste the same in hotdog or burger shape and come 8 to a pack. I can picture that taste now! And if you are like me, the taste you just imagined was the burger itself. A perfect sear outside, juicy inside, quality meat, lightly pressed and bursting with flavor. Nothing but salt and pepper to season it before the cook, and that real hamburger taste with every bite!

I’m sure you noticed that as I was talking about taste, I couldn’t help but describe it with the texture and temperature (or cook) for the burger. So let’s move to texture next and examine how our choices will dictate the balance. We want to work with 80/20 for burgers – starting with just ground beef. You can up the stakes later with some bacon in there, an internal pocket for cheese and onions, fillers like bread crumbs or diced peppers, even a portion of lamb mixed with the beef. But to begin, master the cook of a solid patty and stop having to buy boxes of those coaster-sized premade pucks that are just a frozen fast-food experience even when cooked perfectly. Get fresh ground beef in an 80% meat 20% fat ratio. You aren’t cooking these every day, so don’t worry about that lean 85/15 or tasteless 90/10 option – get the good stuff and enjoy the difference. In addition to more flavor, that extra fat will keep the juices locked in longer during the cook and really blow you away with the increase in quality.

Form your patties lightly – you don’t want to over work them because they will get too hard when cooked, and you don’t need to be a perfectionist getting every crack smoothed out in the corners. Just take your pound of beef, divide into 4 equal chunks and lightly hand-press out a rounded shape. Then, with your thumb, make a really deep indent in the center of one side.

During cooking, as the moisture evaporates out and the tissue contracts, this will leave you a perfect round burger (instead of a bloated football shape) and will keep you from feeling like you need to press them flat with you spatula. Absolutely never do that! I know you love your grill, but you and your family deserve all the juicy flavor – so keep it in the burgers and not out on the grill creating flare-ups.

Once the patties are made just hit them with a lot of salt, and some cracked pepper to taste. Over season as always, you’ll be glad you did later. If you weren’t able to find any 80/20 and had to settle for 85/15, try to make the patties just before you plan to grill and chip up one or two large ice cubes for each one.

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Add those ice shards evenly as you press out the patty shapes and grill before it melts away. This will slow the internal cook just enough to keep more flavor in without the extra fat.

I cook for about 3-4 minutes on the first side over medium-high or high heat the with the lid closed for a burger this big (going more or less based on the heat I have set for any side dishes). At the flip point I also turn any sides and then quickly close the lid again. That last side should need about 3 minutes so for thick cheese I go on now at the flip point, for a regular slice I open again with just over a minute left. We want that cheese at least 90% melted before we pull the burgers, but they will continue to cook a little as they rest and the cheese will get just a tiny bit more melty if it was a regular thickness, and just one slice.

Perfect texture will start with the exterior bark. You should have firm, crusty, charred meat that isn’t totally black or burned, but has a dark coloration and clear grill lines.

Up top, the cheese should be fully melted, not necessarily bubbled or completely run off, but clearly softened and re-set. Inside, we can trust quality meat to a medium-rare or medium cook, and should expect pink coloration and a ridiculous amount of moisture and flavor. By giving them a few minutes to rest as you plate everything, the patty will re-absorb most of its own juice and not pool out all over the plate if cut in half, but definitely run out on your hands a little with each bite. Sure, you can cook longer if some family members want medium-well, or well done, or if you started with frozen ground beef or just don’t trust your skills, but if you want to beat the best restaurants, medium is the temperature to aim for.

Did you spend that last paragraph dreaming of the perfect burger? Could you imagine it in your hand, sense that grilled aroma, feel that light resistance on the first bite and see the perfect pink inside? Did you get the mental image of the taste of a perfect burger? Well, just remember we didn’t say a word about taste there! That was just a description of the texture and the temperature, but your mind filled in the rest. With 3-T grilling, and always remembering that it’s more than just sauces, marinades, or tricks on the grill, we can elevate any item we cook to absolute back-yard bbq perfection. So get ready for summer, get the ingredients for some simple burgers, and take two minutes before you start to plan your strategy for the texture, temperature, and taste. And don’t forget to practice again the following week!

Lemon

poppy seed loaf This loaf mimics those found at Starbucks. It is not an overly sweet one, so adding a glaze to it is a great option if you are craving something sweeter!

INGREDIENTS

(For the loaf) 2 cups all-purpose flour 2 tbsp poppy seeds 1 tsp baking powder 1 tsp baking soda 1/4 tsp salt 1 cup granulated sugar 2 large eggs 1/2 cup unsalted butter (plus extra to grease), room temperature 3/4 cup milk, room temperature 1/4 cup lemon juice 1 tbsp lemon zest (For the glaze- optional) 1 cup icing sugar 2 tbsp unsalted butter, room temperature 1 cup icing sugar 1 tsp lemon juice

KITCHEN

emory ann kurysh

STEPS

1. Preheat oven to 350°F. Grease a loaf pan (approximately 9” x 5”) with butter and set aside.

2. In a large bowl, combine the flour, poppy seeds, baking powder, baking soda, and salt.

3. In another bowl, add the sugar, eggs, and butter. Beat vigorously by hand or on low with an electric mixer for 2 minutes. Then add the milk, lemon juice, and lemon zest. Mix well.

4. Make a well with the dry ingredients. Pour the wet ingredients into the bowl. Mix until well-combined.

5. Add the batter evenly to the loaf pan. Place in oven and bake for about 50 minutes or until a toothpick comes out clean. Remove, let cool, and then glaze if desired!

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FAV O R I T E

whole wheat bread The is a recipe that I having been making weekly for years now! It’s big, soft, almost fall-apart-melt-inyour-mouth bread. It’s like a warm hug in food form! I make it with 50% whole wheat and 50% all-purpose flour, so that it’s not overly dry but also not overly unhealthy (as far as bread goes). You can really mix up the ratios yourself, though. Add more whole wheat if you would like it to be healthier, or less whole wheat if you prefer whiter bread. Additionally, it contains no eggs or dairy for those who are intolerant of them. Halve this recipe if you are wanting a smaller yield. Or if you’re like me and you prefer to have extra bread to freeze, follow the directions exactly! Enjoy! Makes 4 loaves.

INGREDIENTS

1 cup granulated sugar 3 tbsp active dry yeast 4 cups warm water 1/2 cup canola or vegetable oil, plus more to grease 1 tsp salt 6 cups whole wheat flour 6 cups all-purpose flour Butter or margarine

KITCHEN

emory ann kurysh

STEPS

1. In a large bowl, add the sugar, yeast, and warm water. Mix well, then cover with a tea towel for 15 minutes or until the yeast has bubbled.

2. Remove towel. Next add the oil, salt, and flour- the whole wheat first followed by the all-purpose one cup at a time. Make sure to stir in-between each cup. (It will work out to be 12 cups exactly, but it could also turn out to be closer to 11 cups or 13 cups depending on how you prefer the texture of the dough.) When the dough is no longer sticky, transfer to a floured surface. Knead for another 5 minutes until smoothed out. Form into a ball and place in a new, large, oil-greased bowl. Cover with a tea towel. Put in oven with the light on for 1 hour to let rise.

3. After dough has risen, remove it from oven and punch it down. Then grease 4 loaf pans with oil. Cut the dough into 4 equal pieces. Form into the shape of a loaf and place each one in a pan. Cover loaves with a tea towel and leave on countertop to let rise for 20 minutes. Meanwhile, set the oven to 375°F. 4. After dough has risen for the second time, remove tea towel and place all 4 on the middle rack of your oven.

Bake for 35 minutes or until a deep golden brown. Remove and brush with butter. Let cool down before slicing into them.

Note: This bread should be stored in an airtight container or wrapped in tin foil at room temperature. Do not refrigerate. They keep well up to a few days. Otherwise, you can wrap them and freeze them up to a few months.

(Pictured is a loaf that has been frozen and thawed!)

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GERMAN

Chocolate Cake with Coconut Pecan Frosting CAKE INGREDIENTS

4 ounces Bakers German Chocolate ½ cup of water 1 3/4 cups sugar 1 cup butter softened 4 eggs- room temperature 2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour 1/2 teaspoon salt 1 teaspoon baking soda 1 cup buttermilk room temperature 1 teaspoon vanilla extract

KITCHEN sara raquet

COCONUT PECAN FROSTING

1 cup sugar 1 cup evaporated milk 1/2 cup butter 8 tablespoons 3 eggs 1 1/2 to 2 cups coconut 1 cup pecans chopped 1 teaspoon vanilla extract

CAKE STEPS

Melt chocolate in a double boiler on stove. Cream butter and sugar together (about 4 minutes ). Add eggs one at a time; beat well. Add cooled chocolate and water, flour, salt, soda, buttermilk and vanilla extract, mixing well with mixer. Spray three 9 inch cake pans. Divide the batter between the 3 pans (comes out to about 2 cups per cake pan). Bake layers in preheated 350 degree oven for 30 to 35 minutes. Cool about 10 minutes and remove from pans. Frost with Pecan Frosting.

COCONUT PECAN FROSTING STEPS

Beat eggs and add to milk, sugar and butter. Cook on medium heat about 12 minutes until bubbles and begins to thicken. Stir constantly. Remove from heat and add nuts, coconut and vanilla extract. Mix well and let cool. Spread on tops of cake layers.

Optional: Use a chocolate buttercream on the top of the cake and sprinkle with toasted pecans and coconut.

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f r e n ccasserole h t owith a sberries t INGREDIENTS

1 loaf Emory’s Favorite Whole Wheat Bread 6 large eggs 1 1/2 cup milk, any kind 1/4 cup syrup, any kind 1 tsp vanilla extract 1/2 tsp salt 1 tsp ground cinnamon 1/2 cup brown sugar 1 cup strawberries (fresh or frozen), sliced 1 cup blueberries 4 tbsp unsalted butter Powdered sugar, to sprinkle

kitchen emory ann kurysh STEPS

1. Grease an oblong casserole dish (approximately 9” x 13”) with butter.

2. Take a loaf of bread and cut it into cubes. Place cubes evenly in casserole dish.

3. In a large bowl, add the eggs, milk, syrup, vanilla extract, salt, cinnamon, and brown sugar. Whisk or beat with an electric mixer until mixture is homogenous. Then pour onto bread cubes, making sure you get every one. Top with berries and add dollops of butter. Cover with tin foil and put in refrigerator for about 4 hours.

4. Preheat oven to 350°F. Remove casserole from fridge and place in oven. Bake for 25 minutes with foil on, then remove it and bake for another 10 minutes. Take it out of the oven, and dust with powdered sugar. Cut into pieces and place on plates. Feel free to add as much syrup to your dish as you please!

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“

Like most casseroles, this recipe is quite a simple one to make. It is delicious and yields big results. Just make sure that you set aside a lot of resting time for the bread to soak up the ingredients. Feel free to use the recipe for my favorite bread, or you can choose to buy your own loaf!

”

banana

pound cake

kitchen sara raquet

INGREDIENTS

3 cups sugar 1 cup butter room temperature 6 large eggs, room temperature 3 medium mashed ripe bananas 1-1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract 1/2 teaspoon lemon extract 3 cups all-purpose flour 1/4 teaspoon baking soda 1 cup sour cream STEPS

Grease a 10-inch fluted tube pan. Sprinkle with 3 teaspoons sugar; set aside. In a large bowl, cream butter and 3 cups sugar until light and fluffy, about 6 minutes. Add eggs, one at a time, beating well after each addition. Add in bananas, vanilla and lemon extracts. Combine flour and baking soda; add to the creamed mixture alternately with sour cream, beating just until combined. Pour into prepared pan (pan will be full). Bake at 325° until a toothpick inserted near the center comes out clean, 80-85 minutes. Cool for 10 minutes before removing from pan to a wire rack to cool completely. Once completely cooled dust with powdered sugar. If using any optional add-ins sprinkle some on top of the powdered sugar. Optional add-ins: 1 cup mini chocolate chips or 1 cup chopped nuts!

by

heidi pederson

T he Magnolia Palace by Fiona Davis

Lilian Carter’s life has completely fallen apart since losing her mother to the Spanish flu outbreak in 1919. Under the pseudonym Angelica, Lilian was one of the most sought-after artists models in New York City, posing for statues that grace the landmarks from the Plaza Hotel to the Brooklyn Bridge.

Since losing her mother Lilian has become desperate, work has dried up and a scandal is looming leaving her without a safe haven. While trying to figure out her next move Lillian stumbles upon an employment opportunity too good to pass up at the Frick mansion. The very mansion that bears a statute she posed for. However the longer Lilian works at the Frick mansion the more deeply her life gets intertwined with the family. Lillian gets pulled into a tangled web of romantic trysts, stolen jewels, and family drama that runs so deep, the stakes may just be life or death.

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Almost fifty years later, Veronica Weber is an up and coming English Model who has a chance to make her career, and with it earn some much needed money to support her family back home. But when Veronica gets dismissed from the Vogue Shoot taking place at the former Frick residence, now converted into one of New York City’s most impressive museums, she ends up stumbling upon a series of hidden messages. Veronica meets Joshua the charming intern/budding art curator for the Frick museum and together they embark on a scavenger hunt. One that could reveal the truth behind a decades-old murder in the Frick family.

Fiona Davis does an amazing job intertwining two different eras into one book, seamlessly going back and forth. Her writing will leave you with a mystery occurring in one era, during one chapter, while simultaneously picking up the mystery occurring in the other era in the next chapter. I devoured this book in 3 days just needing to know what came next. I found myself wanting “one more chapter”.

Davis does an amazing job weaving the overall mystery into both eras, with back story and details you won’t want to end.

Davis brings the historical fiction of the Frick family to life, as well as the Frick Museum through her descriptions. When I finished this book I found myself googling the Frick Museum and Audrey Munson, the woman who inspired the character Lillian for Davis. If I ever make my way to New York City the Frick Museum is on my bucket list for sure. After reading this book I want to see all that was described in this book.

I rated this 5 books out of 5 books. If you love historical fiction, mystery, art and New York City this book is for you. This is my first Fiona Davis book but a quick search of her other titles makes me want to run out and grab them. I have passed this book on to my friends for their enjoyment. I walked away from this book having learned more about the art world in NYC and the Frick family while also enjoying a good book. I hope you do too. Until next time fellow readers. Happy Reading! |

May/June

2022

48

HEIDI’S

book REV IEW

A Reading For You

by Annie Gebel For this reading, the Light Seer’s Tarot is here to open our eyes to a piece of information we need to hear but might not want to.

Sometimes the cards can be used to nudge us out of a stupor. Today is one of those days. Take a few deep breaths. Roll your shoulders back and/or gently stretch your neck. Take a look at each card and choose the one that seems to connect most with you.

4 of Pentacles

The woman in the picture is holding a purse with pentacles, clutching it really. She’s not looking at it, but rather has her eyes closed and isn’t looking at anything, even though there’s a lovely view of the city and hills beyond for her to see. The message held in the 4 of Pentacles is that you are leading an abundant life. When you notice some success (whether financially, emotionally, or in some other way) don’t hold it so tightly that you stop the flow. Abundance is meant to come and go, flow in and out and in again. You’re meant to appreciate it, not live in fear of losing it.

When I think about the woman on this card recognizing the flow of her success, I envision her being pulled from her worries by the breeze and setting her purse down to stand up and look out over the scenery around her. I imagine that breeze reminding her that what comes, goes. The spaces are filled with more, which continues the cycle of abundance. The breeze can teach us much and hopefully it not only encourages her to recognize all of the abundance she’s got and not just the money, but also reminds you.

Where can you appreciate success for yourself? How can you open your eyes to the flow of all that you have achieved? In what ways can you show your gratitude for what you have?

Home&Harvest

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May/June

2022

50

King of Cups, Reversed

Sometimes people think that an upside down card means something bad. I don’t believe that and don’t read the cards that way. It’s all simply information, this King in reverse included.

The King is the highest of the minor arcana suits. Cups is the suit of emotions, nurturance, and relationships. So, the King of Cups is kind of a guru in these areas. He represents a maturity in situations that are emotionally charged and has an extensive library of ways to be in healthy relation with others.

In reverse, he’s using his wisdom to withdraw from a triggering situation. Or he’s diving into self care to relieve excess stress. He might have caught himself being a bit too dramatic or temperamental and have to take some action to nurture, heal, and reconnect.

The message of this card speaks to me of the emotional maturity that allows us to realize we’ve done something we’re not proud of, apologize for it, and mend the relationship. In that, we are leaders and mentors to anyone around us who witnesses our recognition and repentance. Think about how you can use your deep wisdom to respond to any situation, but especially hard ones, with and through love. And know that sometimes, stepping back is love.

2 of Pentacles

This card is about balance. If you’re anything like me, you might have a love/hate relationship with that word - which is actually kind of balanced, isn’t it?! Anyway, balance in our lives is what allows us to not fly off the handle when something upsets us. It’s what helps us appreciate the simple joys of children’s laughter or cute puppies. Balance is what allows us to find our center again and again when life comes at us with highs and lows.

On the card, the two circles could be the sun and the moon, but they’re also being held with strings and can be swung around in harmony. Have you ever seen fire twirling? I’ve seen a few videos and it’s incredibly impressive. That’s kind of what I picture when she gets her pentacles swinging around her - rhythm, excitement, and harmony!

Where do you need a new equilibrium in your life to easily or at least comfortably juggle the various pieces of your life?

How can you create more balance, or uphold current balancing acts that are working, to allow you to live as your best self? *** If you keep Home&Harvest around your living room for a while, feel free to pull this reading out again and again and see what part of it speaks to you at different times. We’re constantly evolving and need to hear different truths at different times. Sometimes you can hear the wisdom from within you without help and other times you can turn to the cards and let them speak to you.

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by gayle anderson

Suzy McNeilly Those of us who call “The Palouse” our home already understands this area is special. And it took living and traveling all over the world for one woman to land in this area and realize she had found a place to call home at the end of the road in a yellow farmhouse. And a place that she would begin creating “her tribe” of people that brings love and joy in her life.

With that, let me introduce you to Suzy McNeilly whose has made Colfax, Washington her home since 2006.

Suzy was born in California and at the age of six moved with her parents to Japan when her dad, who was in the Navy was transferred. She describes herself as a “3rd Culture Kid”.

She explains this a child who is influenced both by their parents’ culture and the culture in which they are raised and basically a blending of the two but yet unique to the child, thus a 3rd culture.

This kind of experience gave way to opportunities during her formative years to learn first-hand in how to understand people as well as navigate with ease in different cultures and situations. Suzy recalls that she was the only Caucasian child in her International girls school. While learning in English, she says the children were instructed to only speak English when on the playground — but spoke Japanese. When Suzy was 14, the family moved back to the States and while it was a big cultural change, especially as a teen, Suzy easily made her way back into life in America. Being socially outgoing and an athlete, it was easy finding teens who had similar backgrounds like hers, thus learning how to create her own tribe.

Being raised in the military, it was a normal path where she too joined the Navy as a Corpsman and did two years in active duty. Suzy then married, had three children and went onto get a Bachelor’s degree in Psychology. During her last tour in Iceland, she took a civil service position as the NATO Health & Wellness Director. Fast forward a few years and some major changes in life started her down a different pathway after her mom passed away, she moved to Spokane to be close to her dad.

Later on, after relocating to the Pacific Northeast and being a people person, Suzy interviewed and was hired for the Colfax Council on Aging as their Volunteer Coordinator, later becoming their Nutrition Director. Pieces started falling into place as Suzy later married into a local 4th generation farm and ranching family who homesteaded and established their farm back in 1867.

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May/June

2022

55

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The McNeilly operation grows grains, hay and have a cow/calf feed lot. Currently Suzy is the County Managing Director for the Southeast Washington Economic Development Association (SWEDA) and as she describes her job as being an advocate for helping small businesses succeed. She is also the President of the Friends of the Library Association and says that this is the kind of volunteer work that feeds her soul. After living on military bases throughout her childhood and adult life, she relishes living in the country in wide open spaces. The lure of life on a farm and the awe-inspiring fact that you are helping feed America (& the world) makes you appreciate all the hard work that goes into raising food. There is no prerequisite that says you can only love farming unless you are born into a farm family. In some people it simply speaks to their heart & soul. When Dick and Suzy’s 8 grandchildren come to visit, they enjoy the hands-on learning and all the ins and outs of ranch and farming life. This is especially true for granddaughter, Alexis. Alexis is now 14 and has spent 4 weeks during the summer and one week in the fall helping on the farm for the last several years. This is where she has found her love and plans on making this her vocation, which thrills Grandpa Cowboy & Grandma Suzy. Sadie, whom at age 5, came to visit and said, “so where’s the cowboy that runs this place?” Henceforth how the loving term arose of “Grandpa Cowboy” came to be.

And Suzy as well has fell under the spell of loving farm life and she told me that for the first time this is where she has felt settled. She helps, if an extra hand is needed here and there. Other than that, when she isn’t working at her off-the-farm job and her volunteer work, she has created a quiet haven for those who choose to stay at their Airbnb house appropriately named “The Farmhouse”. Suzy’s passion is creating experiences for her guests as well as giving them an insight on farm life. Often times while chatting with them, it leads to hosting impromptu BBQ’s where life passions and interests are shared with each other. Guests are charmed by the cattle in the pasture next to the house and that allows Suzy to share a more in-depth discussion about life on the ranch and putting a personal face of those who put food on America’s dinner table.

And I thought to myself after listening to Suzy’s story, that just like in a fairytale, she found her prince, lives in their very special kingdom and it’s her own happily ever after.

And when you think about it, isn’t this what we all want in life? Creating and living a life to the best of our abilities, finding our own tribe of people that brings happiness and joy, and finding that very special place where you feel settled. I can attest to the power of rural living, and while I realize it’s not for everyone, those of us who do choose the Palouse and the amazing people who live, work and play in this area, I think we are beyond blessed and have it all, don’t you?

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The

Has Landed

eagle

by Chad Kinyon

What do you do when your new big-bore ELR rifle is ready for pick up, and you’re a thousand miles away? Shipping is out because if anything goes wrong, it will take six months to replace any parts. My brother from another mother, Don Galloway (yeah, that Don, you probably know him), had some vacation time he was looking to use and needed some Southern Nevada sunshine.

Don’s delivery service to the rescue.

You only get first impressions once, and the only thing I can say about this new rifle is it is a beast. She (guns are almost always named for females, gods, or monsters) weighed in at 31 pounds and is just a smidge over 5 feet in length, which would make her slim by human standards but a tank by firearm standards. The fit and finish were impeccable, and this is no surprise since there is no way Klayt Kinyon (gunsmith) would let me have her if she wasn’t perfect. I don’t want to use the term “perfectionist” because it does carry some preconceived notions. However, when you ask yourself, what qualities do I want in a gunsmith? Perfectionism maybe should be at the top of the list.

When breaking in a new barrel, everyone has their own little ritual of firing and cleaning, and I am do different. A couple of stainless steel chips pressed against the barrel wall could destroy the accuracy of the barrel with the very first shot. I go with a good scrubbing before the first round to make sure all the “stuff ” from cutting the chamber is out of the barrel. Then, while at the range, I do a quick clean after every two rounds for ten rounds, then I will spread cleaning out to every five shots for the next 20. After that, I will do a cleaning after each trip to the range. Slow-burning powders tend to burn dirty, so it is more of a housekeeping issue.

Range day 2/28/22 You always want to be super cautious with the first live rounds out of a new rifle for safety reasons. I like to fire the first round remotely by tying a cord to the trigger and standing a few feet back, much like the firing of a Civil War era cannon. Just a way to ensure I keep all my body parts and eyesight. I’m not worried about hitting a target, just that the bullet lands safely in the target berm and doesn’t go over the ridge into parts unknown. The first bullet impact looked extremely high, but nothing exploded or broke, so that is win number one. I did a quick bore sight by removing the bolt and looking down the barrel at the target area—a technique that my dad taught me when I was like 12, and I still use it because it works. Due to the slope built into the scope base and rail (80 MOA), I knew the aim point in the scope at 100 yards would be extremely low. I determined that aiming at the target base might get an impact on paper where we could measure it. Using an app on my phone, I measured the difference between aim point and point of impact of bullet number two to be a ten mil high impact. It wouldn’t be convenient, but we could work with that. I used the ten mil mark above the crosshairs to aim and fired the third round. The bullet center punched the intended target. I calculated out the zero for the scope at 1370 yards. It might be too much when trying to shoot a grouping, but just right in a sport where the typical starting distance is around 1500 yards.

The initial grouping was three shots inside of .36”. Considering the size of the bullet at .375”, that’s pretty much in the same hole. Remember that perfectionist gunsmith comment?

He nailed it. Load development will go a lot faster when you have a group like that as a starting point. The first few rounds were slightly faster down the barrel than I would’ve liked, well in excess of 3000 fps. I went into Quick Loads to true the burn rate, which was somewhat different for each bullet. I then cross-referenced to align the OBT and selected a new charge weight to load for range day #2. Things are going to change slightly as the barrel breaks in so don’t get married to a specific load this early in the process.

Range Day 3/3/22 I loaded up eight rounds with 129.6gr RL50 & 377 CE MTACs. I planned to shoot four rounds for grouping and speed and four to shoot at a longer distance for performance.

A good 100-yard group doesn’t always translate into longrange performance. These rounds were pretty much right on at 2912fps, but the group was 1.01” at 100 yds, which wouldn’t cut it. Neither group was anything to write home about. Conversely, a poor grouping at 100 yards will turn into disaster the further out the target gets. I called Kasey Jones, one of my trusted tribe, to get a better idea of where these solid copper bullets wanted to be in relation to the lands (rifling). He said to put them as close to the lands as possible without touching them.

The next batch for range day #3 would be 129.5 gr RL50 seated to 4.371” cartridge overall length, or COL. This length would put the bullet Ogive a mere .001” off the lands. I also loaded up four more rounds looking at a half node at 3000fps 134.3gr RL50 seated to the same depth. I wouldn’t want to leave any performance on the table. Let’s see if Kasey’s advice worked out.

Cleaning and a quick peek with a borescope revealed a ton of copper fouling in the final 12” of the barrel, which proved very difficult to clean. I finally got it out with a copper remover from Breakthrough Clean Technologies. Excellent stuff, and I highly recommend it if you need to de-copper your barrel. Both sets of MTACs shot 1” groups at 200 yards. The new seating depth suggested by Kasey looked to be right on. The half node I was looking for was there, but I think the life of the brass may be sacrificed, so the plan moving forward will be to develop the slower node but possibly exploring a 400 grain bullet.

Nineteen days left until the Oregon shoot and the rifle isn’t ready to compete. Once I dove into the once-fired brass, I had two cracked cases showing signs of case head separation. I still have no idea why they cracked, and it sent my load development into a tailspin as all of the brass started showing a similar mark in the same location and hinted that it would eventually do the same thing. Long story short, I bore scoped the brass and couldn’t find any such marking on the inside of the case. Which got me wondering if it was just cosmetic? What would cause a mark on just the outside of the casing? So I tossed the effected brass into the tumbler to clean them and, low and behold, they came out with no visible flaw. Using that “hindsight is 20/20” logic and applying my PHD in common sense, I now believe that the split case left some hard carbon on the inside of the chamber from escaping gases. Since I use a bore guide when I clean the barrel, this went unchecked by cleaning and unseen by the borescope. This hard carbon imprinted on the casings that followed. The chamber has since been cleaned out, and the last test rounds will determine if that was the deal or if I have a bad batch of brass.

I broke into a new lot of brass to determine if that’s the case. Remember what I said about keeping a hundred or so pieces tucked away just in case? Well, this is a just in case kind of moment.

We are down to 2 days before we leave for Oregon, and my match ammo has yet to be loaded. Being unprepared at this point is very uncharacteristic of me. My stuff is usually assembled by the front door a week in advance. That way, you can look at it while simultaneously driving your spouse crazy, and yet, without fail, there will be something that you forget. So, being in this position this late in the game is a little like petting this cat backward.

Range Day 3/5/22 We went straight to the long-range area to make the most of the last trip to the range. It’s time to find out if this beast will perform at longer distances. After getting the dog and pony show set up for maximum data gathering, we settled in on a rock at 1900 yards. The first round was just a few inches high. I made a slight adjustment, and the second round found its mark. Let’s stretch it out a little further and switched my aim to another rock at 2089 yards. First-round impact. One last stone at 1725 yards. The first round went a few inches high, and the second found the mark. All rounds fired would have impacted a 30” steel target. I think we are ready to take the new rig into a competition. The next stop, the Best of the West ELR event in Lexington, Oregon.

Home&Harvest

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May/June

2022

63

THE SEARCH FOR COMMUNITY

Have you ever heard the hollow sound of leaving a house? Empty, it is left as it was found, without a trace of someone coming back. The indentations in the carpet show ghosts of the furniture. The nail hole dotted empty walls remember everyone’s conversations. The memories of important moments just hover there and remain in the echo. When you close the door and leave a home, where do you belong?

My mother would unfold the Sunday paper, like performing a ritual, and scan the rental columns through her glasses perched at the end of her nose. Sometimes she used my stepdad’s but she would always see things through rose colored lenses when seeing life in the next place. As though all prevailing problems would be left behind with the final sweeping.

I learned to stifle the loss of friends and familiarity. Eventually the act of leaving transitioned into the anticipation of starting again someplace new. In each new school I would enter the social activities for my appropriate age groups like Girl Scouts, drama clubs, and after school sports teams. Rarely staying long enough to become a contributing member or develop close friendships, I existed in a state of waiting for that looming abrupt exit. I was an outsider just passin’ through. I recall one teacher’s comment on a report card that said even though I had only been in attendance for six weeks, I had been a positive addition to the class. She had chosen words of monumental validation.

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I don’t think l questioned my mother but I know I grew tired of the constant interruptions in my life. Through my grade school years I was not old enough to comprehend that my step father was chasing work to support us and we couldn’t always pay the rent. When I was fourteen he left and we moved in with my grandmother. One roof was much too small for those two women so the stay was brief. The challenges Mother faced as a single parent spit us out of the expensive Seattle city limits and I faced my first encounter with rural life. For this change of environment, I will always be grateful.

Mom and I landed in a small moss enveloped house in the dense woods of the Olympic Peninsula. The absence of sidewalks and street lights was strange to me. I kept expecting Little Red Riding Hood to wander up the path and a bit suspicious of the fireplace hearth and chimney, but I knew the Big Bad Wolf would not have a chance of getting past my mother. She always had a gun under her pillow even in the city. She seemed amazingly adaptable and dressed in plaid shirts and mens pants now in her new environment. The truth was she was comfortable because she had spent her childhood in the rural farmland that once existed south of Seattle. She was at ease here. She whistled through her days and revealed a happy side I had never witnessed. She fed the squirrels and the birds and the neighbor’s dog if he wandered over. I vaguely recall a visit from a bear that was too much for me to calmly accept but she acted as though he was welcome. Before the end of the school year, Mom had made a few good friends but had to admit she had not found any decent work and we were packing boxes again. She heard of a possible job opportunity in Eastern Washington.

WHOA! The small town of Bridgeport was a drastic contrast to anything I’d known. Granted at the age of fifteen I was not well traveled but the drive over the Cascade Mountain Range and a little farther northeast led us to a sage and sand landscape that I had no idea existed in the State of Washington. Had I missed illustrations of this in my text books or slideshows explaining the geology of my surroundings? Did I miss a semester? Before standardized curriculum, this was a likely possibility for students that changed schools as frequently as I did.

I am sure that my mouth hung open as we drove across the bridge just downriver from the Chief Joseph Dam and followed the “s” curve through town. Passing intersections of dirt roads and sparsely spaced houses with big yards and shady porches, I could easily see the defined edges of town and felt the simplicity of what you see is what you get. The business district was home to a post office, a hardware store, a grocery store, drug store, restaurant, and a few empty storefronts. To sell me, Mom drove up to the outdoor public swimming pool, notably within walking distance from anyplace in town. Say no more, I’m on board!

Parked at a small motel I just sat in the car with the door open to the view of a well maintained running track just a few yards across the nicely mowed grass at my feet. There was no fence.

There was no building. Just a big oval track and some weathered high jump pads. Could I adjust to this free and open country?

The air was strangely dry and had a hint of something wild that I could not identify. I could not find a traffic signal or sign to read as far as my eyes could travel and the horizon held only dotted orchards and bare brown hills. I am sure that I visibly relaxed my shoulders as my thoughts calmed. I painted myself into the serene landscape.

In youth, the spirit is so alive with contagious energy. Everything I experienced was magical. It was like my sense of smell was awakened the first time a warm summer rain released the fragrance of the dry sagebrush. Still unforgettable. But the way we were welcomed was the biggest contrast to a crowded city.

They literally approached me with a smile and an invitation to join them walking around town. I immediately felt like I fit. I had friends. It led to my daily routine of congregating in someone’s yard or the park, just sharing the summer days and laughing together.

I had been influenced by previous peer groups that the exclusion of grown-ups was imperative to the development of “coolness”. As if puberty did not hold enough emotional challenges, the door closing to sound wisdom and advice seemed a bit self-sabotaging but I had embarked on the risky road to rebellion. This was derailed upon seeing that the lifestyle here was inclusive of all age groups interacting easily and fondly of one another. The family values there were admittedly a priority.

When young folks of any age came by our house they politely included my mother in conversation. Our two person family began to grow with each person that entered our house. I did not feel like an only child.

Late one summer night I wandered to the kitchen and saw the form of a man sleeping in our backyard hammock. Waking mom with alarm, she just replied it was probably the drifter they called Pineapple and he was welcome to it. I thought of her acceptance of the bear back in the house in the woods, and agreed this was not a trespass issue if she was ok with it. I was able to begin to put away my fear of people that I had developed for city survival. This brought it home that life here was not going to be the same as in the city. I enjoyed the slower pace that people moved through the day, taking time to be kind to one another.

I really wanted to be a part of it. It was my first experience of community and that summer remains in my memory like it was yesterday.

In the fall, the school year began with notable adjustments. The total number of students in my class was thirty. My previous school was eight hundred. I felt invisible there. I now had a support group of friends in each class. The support for small town sports was also a new experience. I was overwhelmed at the first game, right there on the field with the lights, the pep band and enthusiasm of everyone’s relatives there to share the glory and the defeats. It was nothing like that in the city, where there were events held and no one to fill the elevated bleachers. Most of the seats were always empty, like they got the day wrong. I soon knew everyone on the field and every family cheering them on.

My mother’s job opportunity was to repair and furnish several small abandoned orchard workers’ quarters outside of town.

Half way through the project, the owner reneged on his promise to pay her and she had no recourse. She knew I was really doing well and tried another crazy gamble. There was a small diner on mainstreet that was possibly functional under a thick layer of dust covering everything inside. She had experience running a small cafe in the industrial district of Seattle in the 1950’s. It was a favorite spot for the hungry truckers. (She continued cooking like that throughout my life so my idea of an average portion is a very full plate.) This diner was going to be a gathering place for my friends so I was drawn into a delightful partnership with Mom. She promptly put paint brushes in the hands of my friends and I, who she referred to as “all of my kids” and we-

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-painted the interior back to life. She contacted the right services and had the walk-in cooler, the soda fountain, the grill and the steam table all shiny and working in very little time. To target the audience she wanted, she got a large, free standing jukebox delivered and a pool table and my friends and I now had our hang-out, complete with the sign “Mom’s Cafe”.

I noticed some patrons not approving of the pool cue coming so close to their plates of food which no doubt cut down on the clientele. This and the selection of music I put on the juke-box was probably what led to a profit of about sixty dollars a month.

So another page in history was turned. I loved my mother for all the work she put into it and for taking such a risk. She had a propensity for doing things just because she wanted to. She had no regrets. But without a means of income, we were going to be returning to the big city.

My diary recorded the focus of this wonderful chapter of my life: human interactions. The one I still recall most clearly was sitting around a tiny campfire on the opposite bank of the river, gazing at the lights reflecting on the water from the town they called home. There were snowmobile rides through empty, leafless apple orchards, tightly clutching the driver, sparkling crystals of snow flying past the headlight. There were stories shared around a snapping campfire of the “Prop Men” that haunted the abandoned orchards, walking on their tall stick legs and seeking humans trespassing on sacred ancient grounds. There was dancing together and there was crying together. There was an account of a bad rollover car wreck on the highway, and how we rushed out into the night to see our classmates emerge alive in the flashing lights of the emergency vehicles. There was an adventure of being stranded on a remote dirt road sixty miles from town when a car just stopped running. Daylight dwindling, discussing how we could survive by catching fish in the stream or eating berries, there was the welcome sound of a car driven by a thoughtful older sister, on the road that she knew her brother would be on, tardy in his return. There was a constant sense that someone was looking out for you. My life intermingled with others’ and my spirit was fed in the sharing.

I really did not want to leave that feeling of fellowship. With tears of regret, I harbored a mountain of mis-directed teen-age resentment toward a mother who I knew was trying her best. Leaving before the end of the school year, I was promised a school yearbook would be sent to me, and it arrived with autographs and long comments from everyone. The time there is framed in those cherished pages and some of the bonds have remained throughout my life.

Life back in Seattle was like one big mixed media presentation.

Constant images were flashing of where I had been and where I was now. I saw all the great music legends live, but wished I was listening to them on an album with those friends who wanted to know me. I attended a city high school that funneled three grade schools I had attended, yet I was not admitted into any of the well established cliques. I was the transient, the drifter just passin’ through, warranting fear and guilty of vagrancy. I chose to isolate myself in my room a lot, complete with black light, posters and incense from the “very happening“ University District.

The hippie movement was beginning to fade but had shifted into the fashion trends. I was at an awkward age. Making a wild child statement with my beads and bell bottoms my mother was worried about me. She forbade me to wear my “hippie moccasins” out of the house so I would simply drop them out my bedroom window and retrieve them once out of the house.

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With a total of thirty moves in my twelve years of public education, I graduated as an average student in a class of over one thousand in the Seattle Coliseum. It was a spectacle. When it was over, it meant nothing but the end of an ordeal. I was invisible even to myself, but I was a high school grad and headed out on my own. I chose to believe I had life by the tail. I worked in several apparel stores for a year before attending community college and after collecting an associate’s degree, with no guidance to pursue higher education, I found myself back downtown in another retail position. I had very little in common with my co-workers and difficulty forming acquaintances outside of work.

I would sometimes treat myself to lunch at the nearby Italian deli or the Greek cafe in the Pike Place Market. The heart of the city had an incredibly vibrant and colorful atmosphere. There were pockets of people interacting in a setting of dizzying chaos. The handsome fishmonger throwing slippery salmon might loudly ask the white coated chef eyeing the catch of the day, “Carl, how was that halibut last week? I know you want some more of that!”.

Vendors in messy aprons, men in suits, young urban professionals in short skirts, and braless bohemians from the many esoteric shops all smiling and enjoying their lunch and conversations. It was common to hear them greeting each other by name, revealing familiarity from frequent encounters. The Ukrainian baristo could be heard hollering over the people at the crowded counter, “ Hey there Mick, so when are you going to meet my cousin?

You’d like her. You need a woman!” Years later, I would think of these scenes when hearing the theme song of the tv show, Cheers; “Where everybody knows your name, and they’re always glad you came.” A nameless extra, I was just passin’ through.

Riding the city bus home from work each night to a dark studio apartment by the Ballard locks was profoundly lonely. The tall vapor street lights highlighted the pouring rain and I imagined even the rats at the nearby shipyard looking drowned and soaking wet as they crept closer and closer to my basement apartment. One of those lonely evenings, I stepped into a streetside telephone booth with rivulets of rain cascading down the glass sides and flipped through the hundreds of white pages of the thick, hinged and bound Seattle phonebook. Certain to find names of old classmates I could call, I found none. In a sea of thousands of people, I was alone. If I had life by the tail, it had snapped me out into the cosmos in a mean game of crack the whip. In the chaos of the big city, something in my being was screaming, “I am not the right species for this habitat!”. What had happened to me was simple. I was without community.

I recently asked some acquaintances in Palouse what words they thought described elements of community. They are good ones.

Let me ruminate on them; Sense of self As much as this sounds like being self centered, it is not. It refers to your perception of your character and abilities that define you as a unique person. With a secure sense of self, it is easy and enjoyable to extend time and talent to those around you.

Sense of belonging Acceptance allows the boundaries of age, abilities, and background to dissolve. There is comfort in the feeling you are compatible with your neighbors or your surroundings.

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Abundance I think this can be a term associated with fulfillment in one’s spiritual realm, but I cannot deny the reality of abundance as I depart from a friend’s farm with arms full of produce.

Interacting This is key to forming networks of people to do the same things you like to do, joining organizations or clubs, making acquaintances you like to converse with or can call upon in time of need.

Balance I see this as being mindful of each of our essential needs like career, friends, family, and health (mind, body, and spirit), and devoting time and attention equally to each.

Tribe I love this reference. It suggests a group of diverse members creating its existence.

In the book Tribe: On Homecoming and Belonging, the author Sebastian Junger simply notes “Humans don’t mind hardship, in fact they thrive on it; what they mind is not feeling necessary.”

I think a sense of community is something very precious. It allows a person to be the best version of themselves. Personally, I think it is even more important than our other senses of sight, smell, taste, hearing and touch. As a teen in that small town, I was absorbed into the pack, and it offered me a safe haven to thrive. But in a large city, I could not find a place to fit in. I am not certain if that was because I did not have things in common with those around me or because it just takes longer to locate a needle in a haystack. Perhaps something can not be acquired if it is not offered. Remember that hammock?

As life transported me to new places, I became a part of, and passed through a variety of unique communities, like the crew of seasonal employees at a ski area, a co-op of mothers of toddlers, a small niche of researchers of a university, the small farm vendors attending the local farmers markets. It is even possible to find a community that extends across miles, like the rural librarians of the dozen small outlying branches or throughout several counties, as I found with the Asotin, Latah, Garfield and Whitman County Master Gardener programs. All of these clans opened the door to me with a smile and a greeting and made me feel welcome. We did not have similar appearances, backgrounds, education, or income but there were commonalities that allowed us to develop a closeness and created a community which in turn nurtured our genuine connection.

In today’s eclectic and ever increasing population, similarities can be hard to find but our invitation to include each other could begin with our common ground as human feeling beings. A “community” is a place and its inhabitants. A “sense of community” is a treasure. I will be traveling to Bridgeport this summer for the 50th class reunion. I am looking forward to thanking them all for sharing their treasure with me, unknowing of its worth. If you are in possession of this good fortune, I hope you will also share it.

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smile

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FARMERS

Photography

by Diane Conroy

In the last issue of Home&Harvest I also described how Dan Lorang of the 3rd generation at the Ranch; decided one day to simply spray the entire 1873 section of the Farmhouse, the washroom and kitchen, with foam. Two or more inches of foam that we had to remove before painting the Farmhouse.

It was quite a chore and not so sure we shouldn’t have left it, because I have a woodpecker hole to repair today on the washroom wall.

Why? Why did these 3 generations of Lorangs work so hard to preserve everything on this Ranch? The first is that every person in 3 generations, almost 30 people; were very serious historians. Then the second reason is that they were very serious photographers and preserved and labeled each and every photograph. The third reason is that they were very serious writers and preserved and labeled thousands of letters and journals for over 160 years. I wanted to write about the 2nd reason today.

Photography was a passion for all 3 generations here and also for the scattered descendants who help preserve this site. Each photo is described on the back; the photographer, date and a short note of the reason for the photo.

1

2 5 3 6 1. 1898, Thomas, Brother of John 2. 1910, Brindisi, Italy 3. Genesee 1916, Ballpark 4. Genesee 1916, Main St 5. 1916 Genesee Tug of War 6. 1916, Genesee Band and Rosensteins

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John & Mary Lorang were the first, with John taking most of the pictures. But Mary stepped in when John asked to be in the photos. He photographed the Ranch in the 1890’s, Genesee in the 1900s and took over 300 photos during his trip to Europe in 1910.

He then came home to take hundreds of 1910’s Agricultural photos. Men harvesting and working in the fields. He took pictures of the children at play and at work and instilled in them the appreciation of this art that carried on throughout the following years.

When John had built his fountain, son Henry Lorang was exploring working in California. In 1914 he writes to Henry, “I wrote you all the news I know in the letter and put in the two postal pictures of the fountain.”

----John Lorang John Lorang went out of his way to get interesting photographs.

He would take a close up of a crowd of people or climb a building, hill or pole. One time it looks like he could have been run over by horses in a finish line photograph of the horse race at Grangeville Border Days in 1916. But he made it, and lived for another 10 years, taking photos of daily life on the Palouse.

In 1898 John took a photo of his wife Mary trying to help Peter ride a bicycle. My grandfather Barney Lorang is helping push the bicycle, but unfortunately, they don’t realize yet that trying to bicycle on the grass is not the best way to get started. Then John turned to his younger brother Thomas Lorang and had him riding a racing buggy. Thomas had taken the first photo of Genesee in 1890.

In 1910 John was in Brindisi, Italy hoping to find the right photograph. He stood in front of the villagers gathering water from the town pump and you can see the looks of wonderment on the faces of people trying to figure out what he was doing there. This worked out very well, so John found another well in Brindisi and tried again. This group of men had the same look of wonder on their faces. Now preserved for 122 years.

In 1911, John was experimented with developing his own photographs and left some glass negatives with us. One shows the Genesee Horse Show and how much the town had grown in 21 years.

In 1912, John took a photograph of the young Genesee High School students just finishing a rehearsal for a play. Young daughter Martha Lorang is on a middle step, holding onto her braids.

He also took several dozens of very good agricultural photos, planting, harvesting and casual photos; which I will describe in another issue. It’s quite a lot to keep up with.

In 1916, John climbed to a roof of an early building and captured the line of the new fangled automobiles driving West in the Genesee 4th of July parade. Then he made a hurried run to the opposite end of the street and up the steps to the roof of another building and photograph the automobiles from the other direction.

A “Tug of War” game had started with the men of Genesee and John handed his camera to one of his children, so he could be in the photograph. He is standing on the left side of the game, sporting a nice long beard.

John captured the Genesee Band taking a break after the Parade.

Again their reaction has been preserved for 106 years.

Also after the parade was over, the baseball game had started. So John went to the field and recorded a batter in a 1916 game with Genesee and Lapwai teams.

For these and several hundred more photographs that we are trying to record and share, you can check our Facebook page or our website at www.WhiteSpringRanch.org and of course stop by in Genesee for a visit of this amazing historical site.

Hate your old mattress?

The Oh! Otis Shenanigans

Episode 11

The O Bros

By Temple Kinyon The sun slid behind the rolling, green wheat fields, and its light hung on to the last minutes of the day. The dusk air felt soft, filled with a touch of warmth and the sweet smell of springtime blooms. Otis sat on the porch swing as a spectator on the sidelines, observing the whole scene in front of him. The extended Swan family sat circled around the fire pit in Marvel and Mavis’s yard, relaxing, nursing drinks, and reminiscing.

Today had been packed full of family, friends, pomp, and circumstance. It was Commencement Day, and Otis’s older brother, Otho, was now an official high school graduate. The fanfare was like a holiday in the small town; there weren’t many locals not in attendance. The gymnasium was packed, every bleacher full and metal chair set up on the floor filled. With all those bodies, the cavernous space became stuffy and uncomfortable; in its 60 years of existence, the school had never received the gift of air conditioning. Everyone used their graduation program to fan away the stifling air. Following the ceremony, the graduates formed a big greeting line in the parking lot for all the well-wishers. After, family and friends converged at the Swan house for Otho’s party, with overloads of food, beverages, gifts, and giggles. He’d brought home a handful of scholarships and even the American Legion Boy of the Year award, which was a big deal in the small town.

Now, Marvel, Mavis, Grandpa Ed, Grandma Helen, the Swan siblings, aunts, uncles, and cousins sat around the fire pit in the calm aftermath of the day’s events. Otis liked that he was alone on his swinging perch. He was feeling something unusual—contemplative and melancholy. He pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapped his arms around them, and the soft night breeze moved the porch swing ever so slightly.

There’d been a lump trying to form in his throat all day, and he again swallowed hard, holding it at bay. He didn’t understand why he was so emotional about Otho graduating but suspected it was because his eldest brother would leave in two weeks to go to Air Force basic training.

Otho was ten years older than Otis and knew a lot about a lot. He was always willing to share his smarts with his youngest sibling. He was the patient brother. He’d taught Otis how to bait a hook and not bloody his thumb while doing it, ride a bike, shoot a BB gun, and catch frogs and tadpoles at the Water Hole. He didn’t harass Otis like Deanie, Cletis, and Chuck did. Not even close. Otho never gave Otis a purple nurple or a wet willy. No, Otho and Otis had always shared a certain camaraderie, a kinship and fondness for one another. Maybe it was because they were the start and finish to the Swan brood; maybe it was because everybody knew them as the “O Bros.” No matter why, Otis just knew it was and always had been. But now, things were changing.

The entire group around the fire pit erupted in laughter, pulling Otis out of his thoughts.

“And remember the time he saved Otis’s life when Otis crashed his sled into the Water Hole and almost drowned?” Deanie voiced above the din.

Otho hooted. “Yes! Hey, Otis, you remember I saved you from drowning, but then we both almost died of hypothermia!”

Immediately, Otis’s thoughts swung to that moment five years ago. “Yeah, I remember,” he chuckled. It was funny now but sure wasn’t that day.

It had been a sunny but biting cold day in February when Marvel and Mavis demanded all their kids go outside and play until dark. Of course, that translated into seven Swans a-sledding.

The troops—Otho, Doris, Deanie, Cletis, Gladys, Chuck, and Otis—piled on layers of coats, boots, hats, and gloves necessary to be out in the 30-something weather all afternoon. The thickly clothed youths tumbled out the door, leaving their parents alone in the seldom-quiet house. Chuck raced ahead and scooted up into the shed loft, tossing down the red toboggan, the yellow plastic “banana peel,” and the runner sled. The crew hauled the paraphernalia up the sloping field behind the house toward the sledding run in the orchard.

The sun shining on the diamond-like surface that afternoon had created a glossy, speed-inducing run. The Swan siblings took turns, zipping first through the shaded trail under the plum trees and then rocketing out into the open and glistening snow.

Dashing down the hill, the fun ended when the slight incline at the bottom served as a “brake” for the speeding sleds.

After about an hour, the children took a break. Doris had brought a huge thermos of hot chocolate and a stack of Styrofoam cups, so everyone had a little warm elixir to subdue any chills. Otis gulped down his chocolate and decided to take the opportunity to get a trip down the hill by himself; he was too young to do that, according to his siblings and parents. He casually wandered over to the pile of sleds. Before the elder brothers and sisters could say anything to stop him, he hopped on the wooden slats of the runner sled, grabbed the steering rope, shoved off, and quickly positioned his boots on the front pegs.

The momentum scooted him down the luge-like tunnel under the plums, and he could hear his siblings hollering after him.

“Be careful, Otis! It’s really slick!” Doris shouted.

“Bail off before you get going too fast!” Cletis advised.

Otis snorted that they always treated him like a baby. He could manage just fine on his own without their coaching. And he did.

Until he didn’t.

He’d been fine until the sled runners seemed to have a mind of their own. Otis tried to lean and steer to no avail, his weight not registering enough to change course. The metal skated on top of the crusted snow, veering him off the worn-down path. Usually, that wouldn’t have been a big deal, except he was headed directly toward the Water Hole. The spring was ancient; Grandpa Ed and Marvel farmed around it as every Swan generation had before them for eighty years. It didn’t seem opposing, with a diameter of about 20 feet, but its depths reached up to 12 feet, making it no place for a four-year-old on a runaway rocket.

That day, bailing off the speeding sled hadn’t even crossed Otis’s mind. He remembered closing his eyes and thinking he’d crash into the frozen thicket of grasses surrounding the hole and stop.

Instead, he hit the berm of grass and hurtled into the air, then plummeted toward the awaiting pond. For a split second, he thought the ice covering the hole would save him, but momentum broke him through the thin layer of frozen water. The weight of his winter garb quickly pulled him down as he flailed and tried to kick in his heavy snow boots to breach the surface. His lungs burned for air as he furiously tried to propel out of the icy depths. Suddenly, he felt a force hoist him out of the watery abyss and land him on the snowy ground. He sat up coughing and sputtering as Otho smacked him on the back a few times.

“Are you ok, Otis?” Otho breathed.

“Guess there’s no actual line to stand in,” Ed observed. “Otis, you better grab your dad’s hand because when that door opens, people will start shoving.”

Otis coughed a few more times and blinked in shock. “I thth-th-think s-s-s-so.” His teeth chattered violently, and every muscle in his body tensed with shivers.

Otis absentmindedly reached for Marvel’s big, paw-like hand as even more people crowded in behind the Swan group.

Suddenly, the garage door creaked up, inch by inch. The excited cluster started to surge forward into the long hallway toward the stage area.

Otho immediately scooped up his little brother and ran for the house, he himself, wet and shaking with cold jitters. After both received a steamy shower, scolding from Mavis, and hot cocoas next to the fireplace, Otis had sheepishly looked at Otho and muttered, “Thanks for saving my life.”

“Try to stick together,” Ed shouted over the din.

“That’s what O Bros do,” Otho had winked.

But his warning was futile, no match for the crazed fans lurching forward. A hurried shuffling pace quickly morphed into the pack speeding up into a slow jog. Otis lost sight of his brothers and Grandpa Ed and held tight to his father. But it was hot, and his sweaty hand slipped out of Marvel’s grasp when the frenzied crowd switched gears from the jog to a run.

Another round of jocular laughter pulled Otis out of his thoughts.

“And remember when Otis almost died trying to meet The Fonz,” Cletis shrieked in merriment.

Now that memory flooded back to Otis.

Otis tried to keep up, but his short legs couldn’t. He felt himself start to fall forward as throngs pushed against him.

All he saw were legs and feet as he hit the ground. Someone kicked him in the head, and another stepped on his hand. He tried to crawl away from the free-for-all but couldn’t. Panic exploded through his body; he wasn’t getting out of this alive.

To the Swan males, the Auto/Boat Speed Show was THE non-farming spring event. Every March, they would take a “guys day” and trek to the arena in the city an hour away to ogle over an array of restored jalopies and souped-up cars, sleek racing boats, and long and low drag racers. There was always someone famous to help draw a crowd; the attraction that year, especially for the boys, had been “The Fonz” from the sitcom Happy Days.

But suddenly, he felt a force grab his coat collar and yank him from the sea of insanity. He was thrust up against the wall as the masses raced by him in a blur. He turned to see who lifted him from certain trampling.

Otis remembered that he could hardly contain himself that day. His favorite character from his favorite show was going to be where he was, and he would get to see him. Maybe even meet him! But first, his dad and Grandpa Ed had to take an excruciatingly long time to look at every refurbished fender and door, every piece of chrome, and every set-up under every hood. Then they had to take the time to eat a hot dog and slurp down a soda. Then Ed and Marvel forced the boys to look at every piece and part on the speed boats and dragsters.

Otis had tried to be patient but finally had enough.

There Otho stood, smiling at a shaken Otis, “You know, O Bro, meeting The Fonz better be worth it.”

It wasn’t.

“And then remember when Teaberry bucked Otis off because he kicked her in the flanks?” Chuck snickered, which jerked Otis from The Fonz to the horse.

Like an old western movie trick rider, Otho and his horse, Folly, had raced over at lightning speed to where Otis had landed underfoot of a bucking and kicking Teaberry. Instantly, Otho had ridden into the confusion and, in one fluid and perfectly timed motion, effortlessly leaned down and grabbed Otis’s t-shirt to lift him to safety.

“Dad, if we don’t go stand in line to the auditorium, we’ll never get in there to meet The Fonz,” he’d whined.

“Oh, Otis, relax,” Marvel laughed. “You’ll get to see your Fonzie guy.” He looked at his watch. “He’s not scheduled to be on until three o’clock, and it’s only one-thirty. I’m not standing in line for an hour and a half for some actor.”

“Remember when Otis tried to swing from a rope tied to the rafters in the hay-mow,” Cletis started.

Otis tried to focus on the drag racers but knowing he would see Arthur Fonzarelli live and in-person distracted him. He’d never met a famous person before. Maybe he’d shake his hand and get his autograph. They’d laugh, and Fonzie would probably mention in the next Happy Days episode that he’d met a cool kid named Otis.

“And he’d tied the rope around his belly, and when he jumped, the rope tightened because he’d tied it in a slipknot?”

Doris interrupted, laughing so hard Gladys had to finish the story.

“Otho grabbed the big ladder and set it up under Otis,” she explained to the snickering group. “He scrambled up those rungs faster than a cat and hoisted Otis up enough to loosen the rope.”

Finally, Marvel and Ed started to mosey toward the large, closed garage door that would open for the throngs of the superstar’s fans. Hundreds of people had already congregated in a mass at least fifty people wide and thirty people deep.

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The family cheered, “Otho! Otho!” and continued regaling over the many Otis shenanigans where Otho saved the day.

Otho waved off the accolades and walked over to join Otis on the porch swing. The two O Bros sat and listened to several more stories.

Finally, Otis leaned over and whispered, “And remember all the times you got me out of fistfights with Deanie, Cletis, and Chuck and all-out hair-pullings from Doris and Gladys?”

Otho chuckled. “That’s what O Bros do.”

“What’ll I do when you leave?” Otis asked. When Otho left, Otis wouldn’t see him for eight and a half weeks. It may as well have been a lifetime.

Suddenly, Otho jumped up, ran into the house, and came charging back. He tossed one of his basketball sweatshirts at Otis. “Put this on and c’mon,” he grinned as he jangled his car keys.

Otis jumped off the porch swing. “Really?” he squealed. “Where’re we going?” Otis’s elation over getting to wear his brother’s prized sweatshirt was only slightly overshadowed by the invitation to join his big brother on some adventure.

“Mom, Dad, I’m taking Otis for a ride,” Otho announced.

“I wanna go!” Doris started to get up.

“Me too,” Deanie chimed in.

“Nope,” Otho stated. “Just the O Bros.”

Otis couldn’t believe it. On such a momentous occasion, with family at the house, Otho was going to take him for a ride, just the two of them.

Otho waltzed over to the driver’s side of his ‘65 Ford Falcon. “C’mon, little O Bro, get in! We’re going to cruise main for chicks and then go to The Confectionary for a milkshake.”

Otis jumped in the front seat and gleefully slammed the door as Otho leaned over and clicked on the radio.

“Cheeseburger in Paradise” by Jimmy Buffett blasted through the speakers. Otho looked at Otis, and they immediately belted out the lyrics as they drove out of the driveway toward town.

With windows down and the cool night air swirling around them, Otis looked over at his big brother. Awe and respect for Otho flooded over him. Otis couldn’t predict the future, but he knew Otho would continue to save him in many ways—he’d already done it again tonight, pulling Otis away from sitting alone on the porch swing, removed from the raucous family, feeling isolated and sad. They were goin’ to town!

“Say, Otis,” Otho grinned, “you wanna know something really cool?”

“Yes,” Otis immediately answered. Otho always knew cool stuff.

“Everyone was talking about all the times I saved you over the years,” Otho shared. “But you saved me a lot, too.

Think about it; you always reminded me to drive safe or be home by curfew because Dad would ground me, or not to drink beers while hunting, or not to kiss too many girls. Believe it or not, you were that voice in the back of my head that usually stopped me from doing something stupid.”

Otis smiled. “It’s what O Bros do.”

The shenanigans in this story were based upon actual events; in particular, The Fonz (Henry Winkler) appeared at the Spokane Auto/Boat Speed Show in 1976.

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