Home&Harvest Sept/Oct 2022

My dear readers, it is with a heavy heart that I dedicate this issue to my mother, Debbie Evans, who passed away on August 29th.

Many of you knew her as “Debbie from Shull Brothers,” or the beautiful, New York- accented lady around town. She was incredibly brave and private, and had battled ovarian cancer for the past year and a half. I had the distinct honor of being one of her caregivers till the very end.

In my heart I’ve written 1,000 beautiful, perfect words. I’ve managed to capture her spirit and strength, her wisdom and legacy.

In reality, I cannot seem to find the words.

Special thanks to everyone who encouraged me to keep going. And all the love in the world to my husband, Tony, who swept in and made most of this magazine and made it his labor of love.

Please enjoy this issue and know this magazine exists because my mother believed in me and en couraged me to follow my dreams. I love you, mom.

Art, Suffrage, and

Sara Annette Bowman by Hayley Noble

This fall as the Latah County Historical Society celebrates the intersection of art and his tory at the McConnell Mansion, I wanted to highlight Sara Annette Bowman (sometimes referred to as just Annette). She is noteworthy for myriad reasons. Sara Annette Bowman was one of the first two women hired to teach at the University of Idaho. On the first day of classes on Oct. 10, 1892, Bowman, Nellie G. Brown, John E. Ostrander, and Franklin G. Gault were the University’s first faculty members. Secondly, Bowman was an accomplished artist. Hired to teach art at the University of Idaho, some of her works are in the University’s Special Collections and Archives and in the Latah County Historical Society Collection. Born in Illinois in 1855, Bowman was trained as both a teacher and an artist, studying under Johannes Gelert, a noted Danish sculptor. She attended the Illinois State Normal University and the Davenport, Iowa School of Design. Bowman taught in Illinois and in Washington State before she was hired as the University of Idaho’s art instructor, eventual ly becoming the acting professor of art and design. She was with U of I until 1901, having taught all aspects of art. She then stayed in the area teaching at other local schools. Not only was she a gifted teacher, but Bowman’s artistic talent is readily seen in her works. She was known for spending the summers sketching and painting the landscapes around Moscow. Her floral watercolors accurately capture the beauty and delicacy found in the re gion’s wildflowers. Not just her art remains in local collections. The University acquired her large collection of books to be donated to their student library, upon her death in 1931. One of her most famous legacies is the “Silver and Gold Book.” When Chicago was chosen to host the 1893 World’s Fair, the entire country wanted to contribute. Most states in the Union at that time were allotted space to construct one building representing their state. Idaho’s fair building was a log cabin, filled with treasures from Idaho. The Ladies’ Columbi an Club of Moscow consulted University of Idaho President Franklin Gault to come up with something to showcase the college town. Gault chose Bowman and Moscow jeweler R.M. Crockett to design and create the book for inclusion in the Idaho fair building. The silver and gold book is actually a jewelry box, shaped to look like a book. It is adorned with scenes from Idaho’s mining, lumber, hunting, and agriculture history, with a center engraving of the University of Idaho Administration Building. The book was handmade in New York,-

-then shipped to Moscow for Crockett to add Ruby Creek rubies and opals from surrounding mines. The Columbian Club fundraised to pay for the book and displayed it for Moscow residents to view after the fair. They then donat ed it to the University. The book was in the President’s Office when in 1906, the Administration Building burned. The book was one of two items saved from the flames. It remains in the President’s Office in the “new” Administra tion Building.

Bowman was also a staunch supporter of women’s rights. While living in Moscow she attended a state convention as the Latah County delegate, organized by the Idaho Equal Suffrage Association, held on Nov. 20, 1895, in Boise. The Idaho Equal Suffrage Association, formed with help from the National American Women’s Suffrage Association, per suaded Idaho’s political parties to adopt women’s suffrage as part of their platforms leading up to the 1896 election. Additionally, she was chosen to be the Moscow representa tive on the Suffrage Association’s advisory board, working with the club’s officers. On September 18, 1896, Governor William McConnell signed a proclamation amending Ida ho’s constitution to allow women to vote. Bowman’s work paid off; the measure passed in the election a few months later and women were granted suffrage in Idaho. Some of the other details about Bowman’s life are fuzzy, but we do know that she never married, although her nephew, Frank, lived with her for a while. We also glean from newspaper articles that she had a strained relation ship with the rest of her family. In 1900, when Bowman’s mother died, her brother accused her of influencing their mother and changing the conditions of the will, leaving out the brother. He brought these accusations to court, and the family drama played out in papers for all to see for years. The family found themselves in the news once more when Bowman’s father died and issues arose with the division of his farm between Bowman and her siblings. She died not long after that on July 24, 1931, in Wallace, Idaho at age 76.

She is remembered for her historic position as one of the first teachers hired at the University of Idaho, for being a talented artist, and a suffragist working for Idaho women to gain the vote. Her legacy of activism and art lives on in a county filled with artists and activists. Looking at Mos cow alone, there is a thriving art community, evidenced through the city’s events like ArtWalk, artist vendors at various community markets and festivals, public art around town, multiple galleries, and groups, such as the Palouse Watercolor Socius. And that is just to speak of visual art. There are countless other organizations and communities surrounding performing, literary, culinary, and craft arts. The town’s motto is quite literally “heart of the arts.”

Art and history go hand in hand. Art is one of the many ways people can learn about the past. Art often depicts historical events and knowing the history of those events can shed light on the impacts, context, and answer ques tions. By looking at a work of art’s symbolism, colors, and-

-materials, we can learn about the culture that produced it. Art is a reflection of the society in which it was produced, allowing viewers to learn about that society. Moreover, depictions of similar events, when compared, provide vary ing perspectives that inform our understanding of the past. Lack of artistic expression or prevalence of only certain kinds of works also informs on censorship, prejudice, and other oppressive measures taken against artists or who commissions pieces. Understanding art and culture of the past helps us understand society in the present. Bowman’s art is on display this fall as part of the “Art in the Archives” exhibit at the University of Idaho Library. LCHS also has a few of her works that you might see on display at the McConnell Mansion from time to time. Additionally, LCHS has tasked the county’s residents with creating art in spired by the McConnell Mansion. Those works will be part of the “McConnell Mansion Masterpieces” community art show on display in the McConnell Mansion from September 27 to December 16, 2022. Stay tuned for news of accompanying programming related to art and history this fall.

There are an overwhelming amount of things to talk about when I try to de scribe this White Spring Ranch Museum. In the future, I will cover other aspects besides photography. But this family in Genesee, Idaho was remarkable in their ability to document daily life with their much loved Eastman Kodak and Argus cameras. So in this issue I’m writing about this 3rd generation. Dan and Jim Lo rang were sons of Henry Lorang, grandsons of John and were also very talented photographers.

Dan’s older brother Jim was studying photography quite diligently and learn ing to take very high quality closeups of his brothers, sisters and friends, when he was called into service during WWII. Jim had also studied radios, built his own radio/record player and then became a Radar man, serving aboard ship in extremely dangerous situations in the Pacific, Leyte, Iwo Jima and Okinawa and more. He was called back during the Korean War. We have two photographs of Jim in the service when he handed his camera to his friend and they are each remarkable. Later Jim Lorang was given a citation for his work with the team which designed, tested and constructed the terminal descent and landing radars for 3 Lunar missions—the Lunar Surveyor, Lunar Apollo and Mars Viking. Then there is Dan.

I have written previously about the younger brother, Dan Lorang and his introduction and marriage to Janet Shollenberger; but before all this Dan was a playful, but shy guy in Genesee High School and he took several photographs, starting Sophomore year, 1945. One of his first photos was inside Genesee High School of sister Lois studying. A copy of this is now up at the High School thanks to school librarian Heidi Waisanen.

Dan took photos of his friends in class and also outside one day, on the Novem ber “Sadie Hawkins” Day. It was a popular dance where the students dressed up like cartoonist Al Capp’s “Li’l Abner” characters. Wikipedia says “The idea took off in real life in November 1938, when the first recorded “girls-ask-boys” Sadie Hawkins Day dance was held. In 1939, Life magazine reported that more than 200 colleges had held Sadie Hawkins Day events.” The girls would also have props of wooden paddles that were signed by classmates. If you see one of the many of these paddles around the Palouse area, they were not used for punish ment. These were just friendly props for classmates to sign.

Dan Lorang entered the service immediately after High School in 1948. He wanted to go with his buddy Donnie Carbuhn and the two young men signed up. Dan ended up on the 2 year old aircraft carrier, the Valley Forge. Classmate Donnie served elsewhere and wrote to Dan.

“United States Navy, Aug. 1948

I got back down here all right but am a little homesick now. The Navy is treating me all right I haven’t been in trouble yet, but there is always a first time. You won’t get in trouble as long as you do as you are told. The hardest part of it, the beginning when you first get here and it gets easier as you go along. The food is pretty good and you get lots of it so you won’t go hun gry. Our outfit just got on schedule three days ago and so far there hasn’t been much work to it, about all we do is practice marching which is easy if you pay attention to his commands. We have a damn good C.O or Chief. He lets us go to the movies about twice a week. The only place you will have trouble is being a non-swimmer, but they will teach you pretty quick so there is nothing to worry about. The companys are coming in pretty fast so we might get only 8 weeks boot training.

Your Pal, Donnie

P.S. Write soon and tell me about whats going on up especially about any new stuff in the territory if you know what I mean. Down here we haven’t seen a girl in 2 weeks.”

Dan wrote to his family soon after,

“United States Navy, Sept. 5 Dear: Dad & all Well here I am again, I finally found time to write again. O boy, what a time? If there were anyone that gets homesick here they sure the hek haven’t had time to yet. I have never been so busy in all my life. Boy I sure been lucky in the last week the rest of kids all have had 2-3 watch and I just drew my first one, it is 02000400 so not much sleep tonight, as if a guy could over sleep in here from 10 P.M. to 4 A.M.

I never thought in the Navy one would learn as much about marching as I have. I know that grinder inch by inch. Doing right flank to left turns. I took my swimming test the other day. Boy that pool didn’t look 10 feet deep when I jumped in, to make a stab-at learning how to swim. Boy am I glad that life guard was on the “ball” with that pole. I have been rolling clothes every second that I have off. They tell me that that rolling clothes is some good to you in the future in the navy. But who is going to spend 20 years in the Navy so you can become a C.P.O. so you can be a Co. comander.

How is the work coming at home? Did you get the peas cut? huh? Is Jim & John going to WSC. this fall? What is Stan doing and what is his adress. Is Joan still home? How is every one? I had to go to muster it is 8:45 P.M. now. I got checked out on my duty to my self, the Navy in general & my ship mates, from fire & theft. We have a 2 and half day holliday in which we can-

-roll the rest of our clothes and wash our dirty ones and lear(n) the 11 general orders and morse code over Labor day.

In our Co. of 90 there is 9 from the north and the rest are stricly souther(n) with all of the “You all” and the slow speech. I caught up with Carbuhn the other day. Everywhere

I went I ask about him, every Co. I asked if he was in their Co. and final found out he was in Co. 366 and (I) was about to sneak out for a five to find him, and one night from chow I had a feeling that he was wateing for me at the Camp, and behold when I got there, there he was. As for as I can see all this Navy adds up to is hurry up and wate. I sure miss home but tonight was the first night to feel a little lonely. Hope I get some mail soon, the mail calls are just another thing as for a I am concerned.

Love Dan”

Dan served two years on the Valley Forge and took some wonderful photographs. He then returned home and was called back again for the Korean War. The next two years were spent on the island of Guam in the Construction Battalion or CB’s. Here in 1951, he began to photograph in color. So the daily lives of the Guam CB’s or SeaBees were then recorded.

Dan Lorang recorded history of this Ranch for another 50 years after graduating high school, before passing in the Fall of 1998. He wrote down what his father, Henry had told him; the list of trees originally on the Ranch, the dimensions of the walls of the blacksmith shop and cellar which are no longer here. He tried to record this site as a Century Farm, now done. He recorded his life after re turning home and preserved all of his father’s and grand father’s collection. So we continue to preserve this site in Dan’s honor as something he tried so hard to do.

Check out our building archive at: www.WhiteSpringRanch.org and see what we’ve found.

Flank to Flame

by Tony Niccoli

Sear that Seafood

Welcome back grillers! If you have been following along with our continuing series of articles for 2022 you already know that each one has a focus on what I call the 3-T grilling technique. That is the focus, and planning before you start to cook, addressing the Taste, Texture, and Temperature that you want to produce for any type of protein or side dish that goes on the grill. These three ele ments are always going to be interconnected – the temperature you cook to and serve will partially dictate the texture, just as a dry rub that caramelizes to produce texture will also change the flavor. When you begin with the 3-T concept in your plan it’s much easier to take on new challenges and cook items you have never tried before while making up your own recipes and predicting before hand how they will turn out.

So far, in this 6-article series we have covered steak and veggie skewers, amazing burgers, master ing veggies, and making perfect blackened chicken or fish. Today we are going to take some of you a bit out of your comfort zone, but trust me – it’s worth the price of admission. Today, we stare scallops in the eye and don’t flinch. Well, technically speaking a scallop doesn’t have eyes, but we still ain’t backin’ down!

So how familiar are you with a scallop? Order them occasionally at a restaurant, scared to even imagine how they taste, or already a pro at cooking them quickly in a pan or on the grill? I’m guessing that for most people, the scallop will be a new challenge and an exciting new delicacy for a few as well.

Imagine those shells you loved to find as a kid. I mean the really pretty ones with a saucer that pulls to a little point near the end. It has those two tiny wings that stick off just a little by the bulged point, and redish-pink coloring on the shell and little fluting near the edge. That’s the home of a humble scallop. Or really, that’s half its home. In the ocean they would have two connect ed shells and live peacefully between feasting on phytoplankton and helping to clean the water around them. That shell stays shut when they aren’t eating with the pull of a strong muscle. All those workouts produce amazing flavor, and that round cut of adductor muscle is exactly what we are going to grill.

They should look about the size of a golf ball but a little smaller and flat on the top and bottom. Purchased fresh they will hold well in the fridge for several days, have no sour odor, and be free from any slimy texture or dull coloring.

These little beauties are going to cook really quickly and already have an amazing and succulent flavor all on their own. I often like to pair them with shrimp when I’m grilling and use the same flavoring for both – I think they make a perfect complement and go exceptionally well with the same sides. If this is your first time doing the scallops you might just want to do them alone, but more experienced grillers will have no problem getting the shrimp to cook at the same time as long as your grill is hot enough.

To make the flipping faster and more precise, a flat-bladed or spiral-bladed skewer really helps. You can even put shrimp and scallops on the same skewer to impress your guests, but separately they give you a little more wiggle room on getting them cooked at the same time. Avoid a round skewer because they are very likely to spin when you flip and would be easier to handle alone.

So lets look at the plan for our 3-T cook. For taste, we could keep them plain and just add salt and pepper. They come from the sea bursting with all the flavor you need. But for anyone a little unsure about trying something so unfamiliar, lets add a little sauce while we grill. Measure out a half cup of olive oil, and add the juice of one lemon and one lime, and 3 cloves of finely chopped garlic. With this simple base, you can add some heat with a little dash of pepper, or deepen the flavor with something like parsley or paprika. You will also want to use plenty of salt and pepper directly on the scallops and shrimp as I always recommend with nearly anything that goes onto the grill. Make it your own, but keep it simple enough to respect the delicate sweetness from the scallops and shrimp. I can already picture that first bite now. So we have the flavor in mind, what about the temperature and texture?

When perfectly cooked, a scallop should be completely opaque through. They start with a very slight pink color, and that should be completely gone. Other than the sear marks from your grill, they will be a colorless white hue. It should be just a little springy to the touch, if they start to go hard you are definitely overcooking and that will be the key here. Those shrimp will also have a great set of grill lines, but the rest will be a nice pink color and the inside will be com pletely opaque. Both are delicate proteins and we don’t want to create a lot of crust or texture to the exterior, so avoid seasonings that will quickly carmelize. Safe cook temp on the scallops will be lower than the shrimp. Take them to 130, while the shrimp need 145. But it’s im portant to remember that those scallops will be thicker and much more dense, so they will be what we need to watch as they finish cooking after the shrimp. Take too long on the scallops and you get rubbery shrimp. Take too long on both and the meal is inedible. Undercook, and you get to meet the friendly staff at your local hospital. So we want to get this just right!

With a hot grill, and a well-oiled grate, I usually find that 3 minutes per side works perfectly to hit the balance of cooking both on time. If that grill is to low, you will definite ly overcook the shrimp waiting on the scallops. Again, this is why separate skewers can ease up the process if it’s your first time working with new ingredients.

At the three minute mark, when you go to flip, they should release easily and have nice grill lines on that first side. Easy as can be. Just close the lid and wait another 3 minutes. They come off hot, and will only cook for a few extra seconds after leaving the heat, unlike a steak or thick piece of chicken that will continue to cook several minutes after you stop the cook. I usually let them rest about a minute as I’m plating and expect to be sitting to eat without much more delay. Served with fries, rice, as tacos, over salad, or simply as an appetizer – these are guaranteed to please, impress, and delight anyone lucky enough to make it to your next cook out. And suddenly, something daunting like a grilled scal lop becomes second nature when you just focus on the 3-T method before you grill.

A new home to create more memories.

Adult

Huckleberry Battle -2021-

Fall is here, and that means going out to the county fairs! Heather and I look forward to this every year, and get so excited as Sep tember approaches. Partially because we love getting to see the animals that kids have been working so hard to raise over the last year. Partially because we enjoy all the crafting and exhibits. Definitely because we love hearing the music, eating that carnival food, and running into friends that we haven’t seen in a long while. But mostly, yes mostly, we look forward to the annual Huckleberry Battle at the Latah County Fair.

For years we have been astounded by all the incredibly creative and delicious entries, and my mouth is actually watering as I write this just thinking about getting to judge again this year. By the time you are reading this article, the 2022 battle may have already been waged – the winners crowned – the huckleberry cupcakes de voured. But just for a moment, lets travel back in time to reminisce on last year’s winners.

For 2021, the challenge was huckleberry blondies. As always, the main rule was that huckleberries had to play a starring role in the treats, and creativity, flavor, presentation and unique use of huck leberries would be noted in the judging. To our delight again, this year the table was full of decadent treasures just waiting for us to sample them on the first day of the fair.

In the end, Sara Raquet won the adult division in a very close ly fought grouping, where several of the entrants were so close together that it was almost impossible to call the winner. As soon as we finished the judging, recorded the entrant numbers and registered it with the fair, we opened the tags to see who had won and just started laughing when we saw Sara’s name on the winning blondies. If you aren’t familiar with her work as a baker, and are wondering where she bakes, just flip a few pages to find her most recent work. Sara has been a contributing writer for the magazine for a long while now and always astounds us with her top-notch baking and recipes.

In the youth division there was magic again this year. As often hap pens, the top few youth entrants could have actually held their own up in the adult division. For 2021 the youth winner was a 12 year old named Lana Lenssen who took first place with huckleberry white chocolate chip cheesecake blondies. They had a bright, fresh flavor – and the most creative use of huckleberries in any thing we tasted that day.

Congratulations to both of the 2012 winners, and know that I’m counting the minutes until I get to try the 2022 Huckleberry Battle contestant’s cupcakes!

Who me? Sample all those baked goods?

Well, I’ll be your Huckleberry!

Gluten Free Pumpkin Chocolate Chip

WHOOPIE PIES

With Cream Cheese Filling

KITCHEN: SARA RAQUET

INGREDIENTS || PIES + FILLING

PIES

2 cups brown sugar

1 cup melted butter

1 15 oz can of pumpkin

2 eggs room temperature

1 teaspoon vanilla

3 cups Gluten Free Flour blend ( I use Namaste Brand)

1 teaspoon cinnamon

1 teaspoon nutmeg

1 teaspoon ground cloves

1 teaspoon ground ginger

1 teaspoon baking powder

1 teaspoon baking soda

1 teaspoon salt

1 cup mini chocolate chips

FILLING

3 cups confectioners’ sugar

1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, softened

8 ounces cream cheese, softened

1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

STEPS

PIES

Preheat oven to 350 degrees

Cream sugar and melted butter

Add pumpkin, eggs and vanilla – mix well

Sift dry ingredients together and mix into wet

Fold in a cup of mini chocolate chips

Drop by tablespoon full on ungreased cookie sheet

Bake 10 to 12 minutes

Cool on wire rack and fill

FILLING

Put butter, vanilla, and cream cheese in a mixing bowl. Combine well, and add in the powdered sugar, one cup at a time. Pipe and serve!

HARVEST

apple pumpkin bread

KITCHEN

sara raquet

INGREDIENTS

3 cups flour

2 teaspoons cinnamon

1 teaspoon nutmeg

2 teaspoons baking soda

1 1⁄2 teaspoons salt

3 cups granulated sugar

1 (15 ounce) can pumpkin puree

4 large eggs room temperature

1 cup melted butter

1⁄2 cup apple cider

1 large apple peeled, cored and diced

1 cup chopped walnuts ( optional)

STEPS

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Grease and flour two 9 x 5-inch loaf pans. Combine flour, cinnamon, baking soda and salt in large bowl. Combine sugar, pumpkin, eggs, melted butter and apple cider in large mixer bowl; beat until just blended. Add pumpkin mixture to flour mixture; stir just until moistened. Fold in apples. Spoon batter into prepared loaf pans. Bake for 65 to 70 minutes or until wooden pick inserted in center comes out clean. Cool in pans on wire racks for 10 minutes; remove to wire racks to cool completely.

BLACK MAGIC CAKE HERSHEY’S

|| CAKE + FROSTING

CAKE

2 cups granulated sugar

1 3/4 cups all-purpose flour

3/4 cup unsweetened Hershey’s Special Dark cocoa powder

2 teaspoons baking soda

1 teaspoon baking powder

1 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon cinnamon

2 eggs- room temperature

1 cup buttermilk room temperature

1 cup strong black coffee, cooled

1/2 cup melted butter

1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

FROSTING

1 cup unsalted butter

1 1/3 unsweetened Hershey’s Cocoa Powder

6 cups powdered sugar

2/3 cup milk

2 teaspoon vanilla extract

STEPS

CAKE

Heat oven to 350°F. Grease and flour two 9-inch round cake pans.

Stir together sugar, flour, cocoa, baking soda, baking powder, salt and cinna mon in a large bowl. Whisk together eggs, buttermilk, coffee, melted butter, and vanilla. Add to the dry ingredients; beat on medium speed of mixer 2 min utes (batter will be thin). Pour batter evenly into prepared pans.

Bake 30 to 35 minutes, or until a wooden pick inserted in the center comes out clean. Cool for 10 minutes; remove from pans to wire racks. Cool completely.

FROSTING

Melt butter. Stir in cocoa powder. Alternately add powdered sugar and milk, beating to desired consistency for spreading. Add vanilla at the end.

AND CARDAMOM MUFFINS ORANGE

KITCHEN emory ann kurysh

INGREDIENTS

2 1/4 cups all-purpose flour

2 tsp baking powder

1 1/2 tsp baking soda

1/2 tsp salt

2 tsp ground cardamom

1/2 cup granulated sugar

1/2 cup packed brown sugar

1/2 cup unsalted butter (plus more to grease), room temperature

2 large eggs

1 tsp vanilla extract

1 zest of orange

1/3 cup orange juice

1 cup chocolate chips

STEPS

Preheat oven to 350°F. Butter 16 muffin cups. In a medium bowl, combine flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, and cardamom. Mix well. Set aside.

In a large bowl, add the sugar and butter and whisk for a few minutes until fluffy. Next add the eggs, vanilla, orange zest, orange juice, and chocolate chips. Stir until just combined and lump-free.

Drop batter evenly into muffin tins. Put in oven and bake for about 18 minutes or until a toothpick comes out clean. Remove and enjoy!

HALLOWEEN

Fries in Aioli Sauce

My husband and I have been in love with sweet potato fries for over one decade- ever since our days of dating. We would often go to a restaurant for our dates and one or both of us more often than not ordered a side of these delicious fries with our meal. When we got married, our dates were less frequent and once we had children, well they became yearly instead of weekly. Thus, we started making sweet potato fries at home. There are several different recipes for them, but they all basically include the same ingredients. One sweet potato, then oil, salt, and garlic. That’s it! They cook faster than homemade fries made from regular potatoes and are hard to mess up so long as you slice them thinly and cook over a high heat. Serve with aioli sauce to elevate their flavour! It only takes a few minutes to prepare and it tastes amazing!

INGREDIENTS || FRIES + SAUCE

FRIES

1/4 cup oil (any kind)

1 large sweet potato

Salt Pepper

Garlic powder

SAUCE

3/4 cup mayonnaise

2 cloves garlic, minced

2 tbsp lemon juice

1/2 tsp salt

1/2 tsp ground black pepper

STEPS

KITCHEN

emory ann kurysh

Preheat oven to 425°F. Pour the oil onto a large cookie sheet. (If not using non-stick, you also may want to line with parchment paper as well.) Cut sweet potato in half, and begin to thinly slice using a large knife. Place fries onto cookie sheet and coat evenly with salt, pepper, and garlic powder. Place in oven and bake for approximately 30 minutes or until fries start to crisp. (They may require more or less time depending on your oven.) Prepare the sauce. Add all ingredients one by one into a measuring cup. Stir well, and place in fridge until fries have baked. Once fries are done, remove them from the oven. Then serve still warm with the chilled aioli sauce. Hope you love them as much as we do!

SPOO

OOKY

and simple dirt cups

(For the cookie cups) 1/4 cup butter, softened 1/2 cup granulated sugar 1/2 tsp vanilla 1 large egg 1/4 tsp salt

(For the filling and topping) 2 Instant Pudding Cups 1/2 cup milk or dark chocolate bar, grated 12 gummy worms

STEPS

KITCHEN emory ann kurysh

For the cookie cups: Preheat oven to 350°F. Grease 12 muffin cups and set aside. Cream butter and sugar together in a medium or large bowl until fluffy. Then add vanilla and egg and mix well. Next add flour, cocoa, and salt and stir until well-combined. Remove batter from bowl and divide into 12 balls. Press down the balls into the muffin cups ensuring that they fully cover the bottom and halfway up the sides. Place in oven and bake for 10 minutes. Remove from oven, let cool, then remove them from tray. For the filling: Fill each cup with equal amounts of pudding. Insert worm into cup and top with grated chocolate. Keep cool until ready to serve these spooky treats.

Mobile Fire

In the fire service, one thing you can generally count on is there being a location for whatever type of event you are responding to. A structure fire, vehicle fire, car crash, etc. You will get dispatched to a location of the event. Sometimes, you will get “in the area of”, but it usually results in the passerby just not know ing what the address is. Or “across the street from” is another common update as we are given the location. Twice now, I’ve responded to a call out for a vehicle fire while that vehicle was still moving. A passerby sees the fire, calls it in, and we are dispatched to “last seen coming into Moscow from the north”. It was a cold winter morning and as I was getting ready to walk out the door to work, we were dispatched for just that type of call. Well, I lived on the north end of town so I hurried up to the highway to see what I could see. Nothing. I took off into town and as I approached the area of D and Main, traffic was almost at a standstill. I figured the reported vehicle must have stopped at this point. Of course, it happens at one of the busiest traffic times of the day. I cut through the Rosauers parking lot and around by the recycle center. I thought if I could cut around all the stopped cars, maybe I could find it from an other angle. Sure enough, there it was. A chip truck stopped in the right-hand lane. I grabbed my radio and called it in.

“We have a chip truck, now stopped, heavy fire showing from the engine com partment. Battalion 1 will have Main Street Command.”

The driver had noticed the fire as he went through the light at D and Main. He was trying to get to the St. John Hardware lot to get out of the roadway but came short as the truck died before he got there. He safely exited the truck, and we now would go to work to stop the fire. One big difference with truck fires, is what’s in the trailer they are pulling. Wood chips are obviously a big fuel source when it comes to fire, so my first thought was trying to separate the truck from the trailer.

One of our other Battalion Chiefs was on scene and he knew trucks. As I had our initial attack crew work on extinguishment, I had him working on trying to disconnect the trailer. I wasn’t sure how we would be able to pull them apart not having a power unit, but I thought it was a least ready to go, we could possibly use another vehicle to yank on it in order to keep the fire out of the trailer. The fire was spreading into the cab. I didn’t feel like it would get to the trailer at this point, but I was wanting to be proactive and be prepared for it. What could be a fairly short event, could turn into an entire day event if that trailer got involved. Fortunately, the engine crew did some quick work and got the fire knocked out. Any type of vehicle fire can take a little extra work as you get so much heat in those confined spaces mixed with fuel, hoses, wires, and plastics. In this case, it wasn’t too bad, and we were able to clear the scene for the wrecker to come get the truck out of the way and fully open up the roadway.

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The other call I experienced was another mobile event. That night, I was the on-duty Command Officer. We were dispatched to a pickup driving down the road with fire coming out from underneath the body. I had never heard of that before. I wasn’t too far away from the location, so I tried to hustle over in hopes of finding it before it left that area. No luck. I sped off in the direction given trying to find it. Part of me thought it was a prank call. Someone thought it would be funny to see us driving around look ing for something that didn’t exist. After a few minutes of searching, hope was lost, so we downgraded our response. I had the crew continue to search the immediate area just to cover our bases.

My worry was that the vehicle would park in a garage, not knowing about the fire, then we would have a much bigger and different event. I decided to head out of town a little way to make one last effort to locate the vehicle. I rounded the corner on Mix Road, just past the radio station and saw a pickup in a driveway with someone coming out from under it. Curious, I pulled in and asked him what he was doing.

He was instantly defensive and asking me to leave him alone. I explained to him what we were looking for and he again asked me to leave. At this point, I felt like this was probably our vehicle and whoever this person was, is try ing to hide something. I returned to my vehicle and asked for the engine to respond to my location and for police assistance. I usually don’t worry too much about people bothering us, but this just felt weird, and I didn’t want to take any chances.

Once the officer arrived, our driver became a little more willing to give out some information and be compliant. We could see flames dripping from under his truck, so I had the engine crew take off a small line and just give it a good dousing to make sure it was out. As the crew was spraying, debris was falling out from underneath. It was straw. The driver admitted he was out driving through harvested wheat fields “having fun”.

He didn’t realize that the straw was compacting up around his exhaust and once he got on the open road to home, the increased wind caused the smoldering fire to fully ignite. We got that fire all the way out quickly and there was really no damage to the vehicle. I still don’t know if he was cited or not, but I doubt he will ever do that again.

A word of advice, if you see these types of events, make sure you can identify a location or direction of travel. Get a good description of the vehicle (color, make, or model) so we can look for something specific. Be specific about what is happening.

If you are able, keep eyes on the vehicle and stay on the phone to give continued updates on the incident and location. These can help minimize the event and help us locate them quicker.

HEIDI’S REVIEW book

The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid by

heidi pederson

“When you’re given an opportunity to change your life, be ready to do whatever it takes to make it happen. The world doesn’t give things, you take things. If you learn one thing from me, it should probably be that.”

Evelyn Hugo is an aging and reclusive Hollywood icon who is finally ready to tell the world about her glamorous and scandalous life. Monique Grant is an unknown magazine reporter who is not exactly on top of the world. Her hus band has left her and her professional life is going nowhere. So Monique is just as surprised as everyone else when Evelyn asks for her specifically to interview her. Why her? Why now?

Summoned to Evelyn’s apartment, Monique listens with fascination as Evelyn tells her story. Evelyn starts with mak ing her way to Los Angeles in the 1950s to her decision to leave show business altogether in the 1980s. As Evelyn unspools her tale of ruthless ambition, unexpected friendship, her seven husbands, and forbidden love, Monique begins to feel a very real connection to her. But as Evelyn’s story begins to conclude and Monique learns the real reason why she was requested, specifically, it becomes clear Monique’s life as she knew it will forever be changed and she struggles with what to feel.

Jenkins Reid does it again. She writes with such detail and passion. I could not put this book down. Evelyn was such a real character to me. Her coming of age in this book, while simultaneously keeping the most real parts of her life hidden had me wanting to turn the page faster than I could read the one I was on. While I can’t say this is what Jenkins Reid was channeling while writing this book, I feel like she threw some traits of Marilyn Monroe into Evelyn Hugo. The acting, the bombshell beauty, the glamour. I couldn’t help but imagine Marilyn Monroe.

This book is very character driven. Jenkins Reid does an amazing job of not only telling Evelyn’s life but also allow ing for every husband to get their own chapter and part in the book. Each husband played a key role in Evelyn’s life and forever changed Evelyn’s character in some tiny part. There was even a husband you will find in another book of Jenkins Reed (Malibu Rising). Jenkins Reid did a great job of telling Monique’s story as well. By the end of this book I felt like Monique and Evelyn were my friends and I wanted to have a drink with them.

There are a lot of heavy topics in this book as well. I would not be doing you, as a reader of mine justice, without warning you. While I am open to any topics in a book, this book does have discussions of racism, homophobia, and sexism. All very relative given the time frame the book was set in. Jenkins Reid does an excellent job of weaving these heavy topics throughout the book and covering them in ways the reader can handle. But I want to warn you if you are sensitive to those topics.

This book left me with an overall feeling of WOW. I am not entirely sure how I felt at the end. Which is weird for me. I usually have definitive views. I have read numerous reviews on this book and see all sides of people various reviews. For me this books character development was amazing and I could not put it down. I loved it.

I rated this 5 books out of 5 books. If you love old Hollywood Glamour, Fiction, good character development and interweaving time lines this book is for you. Taylor Jenkins Reid has knocked it out of the park with this book. I have more of hers in my pile to be read and I cannot wait to delve into another great book of hers. Until next time fellow readers. Happy Reading!

A Reading For You

by Annie Gebel

For this reading, I’m using a tarot deck called 5¢ Tarot, created by Madam Clara. Its imagery is reminis cent of the Victorian age and it includes lots of intriguing animals mixed with items that humans would normally use. I use it when I need to look at a situation a little sideways. Maybe all the traditional answers don’t seem to fit and I just need something to hit differently. I invite you to think of something in your life that might be along these lines - an issue you’ve been grappling with, an argument that you and your partner return to over and over again, or maybe just an area that needs some life blown back into it! Consider what topic you’d like the cards to inspire you about…and then choose the card that reaches out to you and give it a read.

One little note about these cards - all three are reversed, or upside down. Sometimes people think that’s a negative thing or bad news. I don’t think that at all. I believe that it’s a way for the cards to give us even more information! So, don’t be alarmed or worried, just trust yourself to choose.

of Matches, reversed

In this deck, Matches is the suit of fire, traditionally called Wands. This suit speaks to what sparks our passions, our creativity, and a path for expansion in our lives. The Four of Matches is about change and transition in our lives, in its inverted showing. The bees who have been gathering nectar and working the hive are leaving home for some reason. This feels to me not like a forced evacuation but more like a necessary change to keep heading down your path. Home might mean the physical place you live, a group or set of friends, or even a mindset that you’ve been resting comfortably in.

x b x

Whether life circumstances have changed or you’re just ready to move on - it’s time. You know that it is and you know that your anxiety over this choice is normal, yet you also know that the uncertainty can no longer hold you back. For you to survive - or to reach the next iteration of your self - you need to get to gathering nectar somewhere new. Be well. You are supported.

2 The World, reversed Card 3 Five of Cups, reversed

The World is traditionally the highest card in the major arcana suit of the tarot. It can speak to the completion of a project or reaching of a goal when upright. When reversed, however, it tells a more disappointing story. You might be tempted to get bummed out about that, and certainly with disappointment feelings come along with it. Feel them, express them, let them leave your nervous system having been dealt with. And know that this disappointing ending of a cycle is the beginning of another.

The snakes on this card represent the continuous birth-death-birth cycle. We are constantly shedding our skins, old ideas and beliefs, people and places that don’t support our current trajectory. Each time we do so, we begin again with a fresh sense of inspiration and determination, lessons learned from the last go-round, and possibly even with a slightly (or drasti cally) altered trajectory! So know that while you might be feeling empty or incomplete with the hollow left by something that didn’t end the way you anticipated, when you’re ready you can begin again.

The suit of Cups is connected to the element of water, which represents emotions, relationships, and other connections with family or co-work ers. The Five is the middle of the minor arcana numbers and speaks to a pivotal moment in each of the suits. Here, in reverse, it’s telling you that something you’ve been part of or tried to fix isn’t working out. All the bugs in the system have simply been gathered together and it’s time to move on from this headache!

Look around you for cups that are open, opportunities to switch gears in your work, or choosing to put your time and energy into a relationship that supports your growth rather than hinder it. This card is also telling you that bitterness and frustration aren’t a part of your processing the need to move on. Rather you’re doing so with a good dose of forgiveness (maybe for your part in things too) and acceptance of the fact that people can only meet you where they’re at and it’s okay that this connection has not played out how you wished it would.

Butts at the Varsity by Debbie Evans

In looking through the pages of the newly released Home&Harvest Magazine I came upon a picture of downtown Moscow with the paragraph below asking to share your memories. I thought yes, indeed.

Old downtown Moscow and I was fresh from New York in the early 70’s. Moscow felt so quaint and I enjoyed walking around and talking to everyone. One place in particular I loved was the Varsity Cafe!

My first time there was on a date, as a young handsome man had asked if I would like to get a cup of coffee with him. You bet, I told him. I can remember so clearly as we entered through the back door of the Varsity Cafe. You could see the old soda counter and the leather booths, just the right size for a young couple to snuggle in. The waitress asked, “What ca I get ya?” My date smiled and said, “We will have two butts and two coffees with cream.” My, I thought, what’s that? As we were waiting, I noticed the small jukebox tucked into the back wall of our booth and it was full of tunes. We put in two bits and made a few selections – what fun! Just then the smell of coffee filled the room and as I looked up I was being served a cup of coffee along with a round pastry with just the right amount of melted butter on it. The aroma was heavenly! As I enjoyed every bite of my butt (which I learned was the local lingo for butterhorn…) and never having one before all I could think of was yum!

We spent many wonderful hours and ate many meals at the Varsity, especially that winter, sitting in the round front booth overlooking Main Street in all of its Christmas splendor with snow falling so softly. That handsome man and I planned our wedding for that next spring, always enjoying our two butt and coffee. Yum! I miss that place.

p.s. That young man and I? We’ll be married 40 years this spring.

Originally published in the second issue of Home&Harvest Magazine, (Jan/Feb 2015).

“Dawn, I have a proposition for you.,” My father tells me. See at this moment my parents, husband and I were on a hunt in New Zealand. Dad pulled me aside to talk to me; “What’s up?” I asked. “Your mother has always been so incredibly supportive of me and my hobbies. She never really pursues anything on her own. So I am asking you to take her deer hunting in Texas, just the two of you, mother daughter bonding. Help her shoot her first big deer. Only one thing. It has to be YOUR idea. She won’t do it if it’s my idea.”

Well you didn’t have to ask me twice! “Of course I will Dad!” Wasting no time whatsoever, I immediately found my mom at camp and asked her, saying since Dad shot everything here, let’s go, you and I to Texas and get you a nice deer! Bigger than Dad’s! With a true mama smile, especially with that last addition, she agreed on our first, and sadly last, mother-daughter hunt together.

I got right to work researching hunting ranches. Texas doesn’t have public land like we do in Idaho, so I wanted to find a nice one that was as fair chase you can get with a lot of acres, but nice accommodations. Finally one stood out. The Ox Ranch out of Uvalde, Texas. Mom was definitely on board. We booked our hunt end of November 2020. We decided to drive there as we then can bring all the meat home and extend our adventure. The only obstacle was going to be the Covid restrictions as we went along but we agreed, we could handle it!

Time passed so slow. Every other day I was on the Ox Ranch site, checking out their cameras and showing mom all the animals. I even asked if she was cool with me bringing my bow to attempt to bow hunt too! She said of course! In addition to our hunt I booked with their sister company Drive Tanks for us to drive and shoot a British Scorpion tank! I know during all these months, Dad was teaching Mom how to shoot, kill zones and whatnot. Just before we went, Mom was able to harvest a doe with me by her side and Dad and my husband John not far off, which I think gave her the confidence she needed.

Finally we got in my truck and we were off! I was beyond excited to spend all this time with just Mama and I. We drove through Idaho, down into Utah and New Mexico. Mom, with an obsession for ice cream, especially Dairy Queen, broke our driving silence in the middle of nowhere New Mexico, saying “Dairy Queen could make a killing if they build one out here.” I laughed my ass off. So as soon as we rolled in Ros well New Mexico, I pulled into the Dairy Queen and Mom was happier than a kid in a candy store. Even with the Covid restrictions and being careful, we were able to make it to Uvalde pretty easy in two days.

I’ll never forget pulling into the ranch. Mom and I were both awestruck at the entrance. I had the key code to open the double gate and I felt like the richest fanciest person! As we slowly drove down the road following the signs that pointed to the lodge, we noticed an abundance of all kinds of animals around us. Blackbuck does, red stag, impala, and even a white buffalo to name a few! Upon arriving to the grand yet rustic check-in lodge, a fallow buck greeted us along with a kangaroo! The staff was so nice. They imme diately introduced us to our guide, Larry, who may I add is one hell of an awesome person, let alone guide. He’s about moms age but sadly just lost his wife to breast cancer. We had some formalities, and he prompt ly showed us our cabin and all it’s amenities, including our own in-house bar! Larry told us to get settled and dressed in our hunting clothes and that he would be back with the jeep! I said hunting already? I like this place! Mama was excited but quiet as she was taking in all these new surroundings.

We quickly put away our things and got geared up for the hunt. Larry pulled around in the most badass jeep I’ve ever seen. Fold down windshield, hood-mounted gun holder, game cart mounted to the front, gun rests all over, and safari type seating in back. We took off toward the range to make sure our weapons were sighted in. Mom made one shot, and dead center at 100 yards. She smiled so proud! And said, “Dad dy taught me, he said I needed a box of ammo and I told him I only need two shells!” Haha cocky good shooter she was. I shot my rifle and my bow and all was well. Larry looked at mom and said, “Let’s go get your deer!” Off we went over hills and valleys, taking in all the animals we saw along the way.

Larry pointed out the ones we didn’t see or didn’t know what it was! Finally we got to the spot where the blind was. Larry parked the jeep and we had to walk a couple hundred yards to the ladder blind. We got all cozy in the chairs up there and mom found her comfortable spot with her .243. Larry said this a popular water hole and crossing on the ranch so let’s hope a big one shows up. Mom couldn’t hear Larry and I was in the middle so I was the communicator as Larry has to give us the go ahead for what we could harvest. Slowly, a few little deer came out to at least help us with the boredom. A giant axis deer came out, but he had no eye guards. Then there was a humongous deer but mom wanted a normal looking buck and sometimes those ranch-raised deer can get crazy looking not to mention expensive. We sat for a long while, when a buck that we could harvest came out. Mom checked him out in the binos and scope many times before deciding she wasn’t liking this particular one. Now there was a few deer out there and out of nowhere this beauty shows up. Very symmetrical, handsome Texas buck. The only thing it was hard to keep eye on just him and he kept moving around his friends. Larry kept telling me to tell mom where exactly he was and when she could shoot. I had my .270 up and ready as mom asked me to follow up for her just in case. Truth be told, just like she asked me to do the same with her first doe, I could not see it in my sights like she could. So I kinda lied saying I got her back, knowing she can and will do this. She took her time hon ing in on the right deer. Seeing her focus and quiet for the shot was amazing. She whispered, “I’m gonna shoot,” and CRAAACK! The buck dropped. She reloaded immediately and I was on it with my crosshairs. Larry said “I think he’s down!” But we slowly got out of the stand and Larry said I’m gonna go get the jeep, Dawn, keep your rifle on him, and Mom and I walked over to his body. He was slowly leaving us, and Mom said, “Go home, its ok, just go home.” And I cried. We made sure he was gone and mom just stood there in disbelief. You can see that in her photos! I was like, “Mom, dad’s gonna be mad cuz this thing is giant.” And she beamed so proud. “See, all I needed was two bullets I told your Daddy.” Ok, Annie Oakley!

We took a lot of pictures and loaded the deer on the front game cart to clean him up. Larry said I’ll take care of it and meet you ladies for dinner! We asked to watch him clean it up and put it in the cooler which in a place like that, was fascinating.

That evening we dined on zebra burgers! We cheered to ma mas first huge deer and got ready to sit in the blind tomor row to hopefully get an an axis deer!

Now Larry informed us that hunting axis this time of year is very hard with a bow. That we would try but we may end up using a rifle. So we woke before daylight and headed to the blind. As we sat in the dark, we could hear the snorting of quite a few feral hogs surrounding us!

As daylight broke, slowly a few fallow does came to water, along with a few young whitetail bucks. Mom had a harder time sitting there as her knee was cramping up, and Lord love my mom, but she was starting to not hear so well and she was breathing so hard and rubbing her knee so loud, the animals kept freaking out! Haha!!! How can you tell your own mama, “Quit breathing so loud?” And, “Stop rubbing your pants so loud!” But man I laughed over that and so did Larry. He decided let’s go get lunch and gun-hunt axis in the afternoon.

Now, see on this trip, we didn’t do a ton of walking and they fed us over-the-top every meal, which will lead up to the final hunt story. After lunch we got in the jeep and away we went. Larry showed us the breeding animals, white rhinos, Cape buffalo, ostrich, warthogs, camels again to name a few. Then we spotted a huge axis buck waaay off in the distance. Trying to gain ground on that one was proven impossible. Mom was in the back seat pointing out animals as she saw them, but the most hilarious part was when she said, “Oh look! They’re having a family gathering down there!” I looked and it was a huge herd of axis deer! I was like “Mom! That’s the creature we are looking for!”

Larry laughed and laughed and told me he thought mom was hilarious! She was like a little kid in the back seat the whole way! I finally was able to harvest a beautiful axis that afternoon at 175 yards. And the meat is amazing!

Whew! We were on a roll and back at camp, we dined on wildebeest tacos. Thinking I didn’t want this to be done, I counted my money and had enough to try and bow hunt a black buck. So I brought this up to mom, and Larry and both agreed was could try in the morning, as check-out was around noon and our tank appointment was at one. One more hunting adventure! That evening, moms knee was act ing up and everyone was asleep, so we couldn’t find ice. We ended up using a frozen hot pocket!

The next morning came really fast and out at dawn we went. This time Larry said, “Your mom and I are going to wait over there in the Jeep, and if a shooter comes I’ll flash my lights at you. They usually don’t come here but we can try.” So I went into the blind. I saw so many females of different varieties as well as a small fallow buck. I was so close to them all it was amazing. They were just doing what they do- not having a clue I was there. Peacefully mingling... until this cocky full black, male blackbuck sauntered in. He horned the fallow, shoved the ladies around and made his presence. Hey! We were all peaceful until you came, I thought, so I looked over at the jeep and got the blinking lights.

“Whatever works.” She said.

He’s mine, I said to myself. I drew back my Hoyt, and thwack! Harpooned him right to the ground. Everything scattered but not far. Didn’t know what just happened to poor billy. I debated putting another arrow in him as he was still moving but didn’t have a proper angle. Larry slowly drove the jeep over. I met him outside and we walked over to the animal. Mom stayed by the Jeep 50 yards away or so. Larry and I chatted about how it’s going die, but no arrow shot, so let’s finish him quickly with the handgun, and just then we heard mom let out quite a toot. Larry asked, “Was that your mom?” and then fell to the ground laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe, rolling around in animal turds! I laughed so hard I couldn’t talk! Mom slowly walked over and whispered, “What’s so funny?”

I responded between catching my breath, “You, mama! We heard you! And you about killed Larry with hilariousness!” Mom laughed a little and said, “I didn’t think you heard! I had a little tummyache from those tacos!” Mom, I will always remember the farty blackbuck. Thanks for that. I’m sure Larry will, too!

We packed up all of our meat, antlers, horns and capes in our freezer for the drive home. We checked out and paid, and as I’m counting a wad of cash, my mother so profes sionally pulls out beautifully wrapped hundreds. Typical ex banker, I thought! We thanked the ranch for the best time ever and headed over to the Drive Tanks portion.

When we showed up, there was no one around I could find. So we went in and looked at all the full-auto weapons, tanks, cannons, and military stuff...I didn’t even know what it was. Mama exclaimed, “Your father would go nuts in here!” Then a young man showed up who in my opinion looked more like a super nerd than a weapon guru. However he knew his weapons! He took us over to the tank we were go ing to drive and gave us a run down. “Mom, you gonna drive this thing?”

“Nawww,” as she stuck out her tongue spitting a little, “You drive it, boss.” So down in the hatch I went and mom sat up top, surveying the obstacle course. Now, the tank was so loud I had to wear a headset to be able to communicate to the teacher as to how to make it go forward and how fast. Of course I had the tendency to hot rod the damn thing. Over steep hills, through deep water I went- anywhere my heart desired! Finally we arrived at this huuuge pit several hundred yards out. I parked the Scorpion Tank and walked around to see a carpet of brass shells inches deep all around the shooting area. There was a nice couple that was there to watch, and from behind the tank a gentleman came out with the projectile that he was going to put in the tank so we could shoot it. It was massive... probably a foot long and I believe weighed 12 pounds. Insurance says we couldn’t be in the tank to shoot it so they had a rope to pull the trigger from the outside.

I offered it to mama but she said she wanted me to do it. So I counted down, “Three, two, one, FIRE IN THE HOLE!” and pulled, and holy crap the tank lurched backward as it hurled that projectile into an old car down range. “Oh my God, that was awesome!” I yelled! Just then a herd of aoudad ran on the rim of the backdrop. “Ok gimme another round!”

Upon returning the tank back to the garage, I asked mom, “Do you think they have a flame thrower?” “I’m sure, you should ask!” she replied.

And sure enough, they not only had a flame thrower, they had a napalm one at that, and I had enough money for one full tank. They strapped heavy gas tanks to my back and a leather glove for my left hand and showed me the igniter. He said he would turn the gas on and tell me to hit the switch on and to brace myself. I instructed mom to video this as this will be the coolest thing I’ve ever done in my life. She didn’t know if she was doing it right so she asked the guy to make sure she was and he agreed she was. He turned the gas on an it was a loud powerful hissing and I hit the igniter. And let. Me. Tell. You! The flames that came out were absolutely insane!! Gosh, maybe 75 feet or more and about 20 feet wide. My eyebrow and lashes were toast. It was so incredibly hot. I felt so much power controlling flames of this magnitude! Sadly it lasted maybe a minute and the flames died. That’s it, sent my fun meter over the edge and now I am just a pile of buzzing mush. I went over to mom and she hand ed me the phone and I was sooooo excited to see the vid eo! As I looked down I realize mom had it on selfie mode. And now I have the most epic video ever. My mother’s reaction to me shooting a military style flame thrower. She was so so sorry, and I’m like no this is gold. You could never recreate this! How funny is my mom even!

So we sat in the truck after, just taking in all the awesome that just happened over the last three days. I said, “Mom I am funned the **** out,” and she gave me an Aaamen. We sat there for awhile trying to function again to make the long drive back to Idaho. Mom called dad very often. And on our way home I watched as she talked with him on the phone. How happy and in love she is with him still. So I snapped a picture and she didn’t know it. I sit here in my tree stand, writing this article, reminisc ing about that time, remembering my mom and how much I miss her, a black bear came. Not having the time to get my bow out from under my iPad, I let it go. You see, a little while ago that would have made me crazy. But having these experiences with my mom and dad and then experiencing the loss of my beloved mom, I see life a lot different. I GOT that experience. I am blessed with these times. I am honored that my father asked me to have that experience with my mama. Thank you for all you’ve taught me, mama. I miss and love you with all my heart.

Spearpoint Kansas ELR Match

by

Chad Kinyon

6/16/22 12:10am

As Joe and I pulled out of my driveway in what most would consider the middle of the night, there was excite ment in the air, along with a sense of dread. Excitement to attend the ELR competition at Spearpoint Ranch in Lincoln, Kansas, for the first time and yet the dread of the drive. We were facing a 16+ hour drive to one of the best long-range facilities in the country. A journey that would take us through Nevada, Arizona, Utah, Colora do, and Kansas, racking up 1,165 miles on Joe’s loaded down F150. We would drive through the night and most of the next day to reach our destination. As luck would have it, we arrived in Rifle, CO, at around 8am, just right to stretch our legs, gas up, and get breakfast. So when on a road trip to an extreme long-range shooting compe tition, how do you not stop for breakfast at Shooters Grill in Rifle, CO? It seemed like a perfect fit to us. I had a chicken fried steak not quite the size of a plate, country-style gravy, scrambled eggs, sourdough toast, and hash browns with a big glass of OJ to wash it all down. With our bellies full, we purchased a couple of T-shirts that were, shall we say, critical of Alec Baldwin’s firearm safety skills, and then back on the road. The next stop would be Lincoln, Kansas, not to be confused with Lincoln, Nebraska, when making hotel reservations. This was the point in our trip when we became aware of that fun fact.

We arrived at the only hotel in Lincoln a little after 5pm. We checked into The Post Rock hotel. Strange name for a hotel, right? Well, not really. As it turns out, they used cut limestone as fence posts in this particular part of Kansas. They are literally everywhere, and I would guess them to be well in excess of 100 years old. I think you make do with what you have, and they didn’t have trees to spare for making fence posts.

I will assume that none of you have been to this little town in the middle of the heartland so let me set the scene for you. Lincoln is a small town of about 1,100 people, so the streets kinda roll up in the evening and everything closes down. We went looking for dinner. As it turned out, the only place to get fed that evening was at this little cafe at our hotel. The owners of the hotel also owned the restaurant. I didn’t get exactly what country they were originally from, but the cuisine is described as “Himalayan.”

As a meat and potatoes guy, I ordered a double cheeseburger and fries instead of the more exotic fare which, I’m pretty sure included some part of a goat. It wasn’t quite The Double Pit with bacon from The Pit Stop in Boulder City, NV, but it was really quite good. Part of me wonders if it was actually goat. I’ve never had goat before but if it was it’s totally edible. With our bellies full once again and exhausted from the drive, we turned in early. We more or less had a free day tomorrow.

6/17/22 10:00am

After a slow morning getting up and around, we decided to take a short drive 60 miles back the way we had come to Hays, KS to check out Joe Bob Outfitters. At one time, years ago, I had purchased AR parts from them for a rifle I was building, and we were curious about what the large online retailer might have. As it turned out, they didn’t have much that either of us needed. If either of us had been building an AR, we might have had a different opinion. I got a couple of new work pocket knives that I needed since the one I had was only a knife by shape, not by function, and I got a smoking deal on them since they were on the clearance table.

6/17/22 3:00pm

After returning to Lincoln, we decided to make a run up the road from our motel to check out Spearpoint Ranch. Upon arriving at the ranch, I met Steve Wirth, the owner and operator of the ranch. Steve gave us the nickel tour of the facility, which is still in the finishing stages of a remodel but shaping up to be a first-class destination. The lodge has a massive common room that boasts big comfy chairs, couches, a huge flat-screen TV, a pool table, a bar, and a small kitchen area with a retail and office area that are still under construction, taking up one corner. The bedrooms were like a hotel room with two queen beds and a bathroom. The price of your room includes family-style dining, prepared by Steve’s wife Laura, and you won’t hear any com plaining around that table, just the sound of silverware moving the food. While visiting with the guys at the sight in range, it was made clear that you don’t want to miss or, for that matter, even be late for any meal made by Laura as she has skills when it comes to the culinary arts. We weren’t staying at the ranch; they simply didn’t have room for us because they were booked solid through the weekend. Next time this is where we will hopefully stay.

After receiving directions from Steve, we headed off to the zero ing range. The range had paper targets at 100 yards and a couple of steel plates at 1400 yards. We set up all our gear just like a regular range session so we would know how the environment (humidity) would affect our bullet flight. We each fired a few shots and were on target, so it became more of a social event. I met people that I “knew” but only from internet chats. I had never actually met them in person. I was disappointed to find out that a couple of friends I made over the years had to cancel at the last minute, and I wouldn’t get to see them again this trip. My old friend Bruce Baum was there, and it was nice to catch up with him. Early to bed, we would need to be back at the range for the safety briefing at 8:00am the next day.

6/18/22 7:00am

When we pulled into the range parking area, there were just a few other vehicles and about a dozen people milling around establishing their camps for the day. This involved setting up some sort of sun shade, folding chairs, and lots of coolers and cases. Once the base camps were set up, the attention turned to spotting scopes, tripods, and support gear. I don’t think I’ve EVER seen this much glass in a single location in my entire life, including Cabela’s, and not cheap glass either. One in particular sticks out in my mind. Brian Wink has a set up with 2 Swarovski STR80s mounted together like binoculars. The scopes have an electronic reticle in them that can be turned on or off. The left scope had a Mil reticle and the right one had an MOA reticle. This would be what I consider the top end of spotters. Most shooters or teams have more than one spotting scope as they perform different functions. For example, I have two, one for actual spotting that is equipped with a reticle inside, so when you call corrections to your partner, you are giving more in formation than your best guess. The second is equipped with a phone scope that allows a cellphone to take the place of your eye and look through the spotting scope to take pictures or, in this case, record video for review in case there is a discrepancy on whether a round hit or missed the target. It’s a little like having dash cam footage for the police in the event of an accident. Without the video, you have no case to appeal, and by the way, the appeal process works like this. You narrow the appeal to a-

-specific shot on a particular target. You then hand Steve a $100 bill. The tower will then review the video footage of the shot in question. If you are right, you get your $100 back and the cor responding points added to your total score. If you are wrong, Steve keeps the money and the points. This process keeps the protests to an absolute minimum while still allowing them.

Next came the rifles. As discussed in previous articles, these things are big and heavy, most being five feet or more in length and weighing in excess of 30 lbs. I find it interesting the different ways folks are addressing the same ballistic problems, and we all think we have answered it in the best way possible. People slowly opened up their cases and started reassembling their rifles from traveling to shooting configuration. Depending on how they travel, this could be as simple as attaching a bipod for someone who drove the whole way. Or a little more intense by remount ing the action into the chassis or stock, remounting the scope to the action, and then putting the bipod back on for someone who flew. It’s almost impossible to find a case that will house one of these big rifles without having to take it apart in some way. Sev eral folks had converted the back of a pickup into a rolling ar mory. Several had drawers that held their rifles and ammo, then case after case of support equipment. A full-sized pickup is just about the right amount of room for two shooters to transport all the necessary equipment for one of these weekends. A camper shell might be necessary if you are carpooling more than that.

As I strolled through the parking area visiting with people, I realized that yes, some of these folks are local to Kansas, but the vast majority are from out of the area. Joe and I came from Las Vegas, and just looking at license plates, I saw KS, NE, OK, GA, MS, AR, TX, TN, CO, KY, MI, NV, WA, FL, MO, and ID so when at some point I come to you looking for support for a match being held in the Palouse (once I retire and move back home) please realize that The Tribe travels. They bring their wal lets with them and, to a degree, leave the contents behind when they head home, the same as softball, basketball, trap shooting, or any other traveling sport.

I know we are in the heartland of the country, and things are dif ferent here in many ways. Not that it’s a bad thing, in fact quite the opposite. Immediately after the safety briefing, the entire crowd, with no exception, turned to the American flag atop the tower, took off their hats, placed their hand over their heart, and broke out into the pledge of allegiance which filled my lungs like a breath of fresh air. The range is now hot!

I had plenty of time to stew in my competitive juices as I was 22nd of 42 in the firing order. Trust me when I say that the pres sure was on, even if it was only in my head. A good portion of the top long-range shooters in the country call this their home range, and they are here in force. I know their name and who they are but hadn’t had the chance to compete against most of them. These are the guys with sponsor names all over their jer seys and their names on the back. I had a couple of hours to pass before firing my first shots. This isn’t the best position to be in since the wind in the early morning is usually at its calmest. The wind will slowly increase as the day goes on, generally peaking around 5pm.

-and 1669 yards), I moved my gear onto the firing line, unawarethat Team Cutting Edge and Safety First Tactical teams had unknow ingly taken up residency in my head. Watching these guys shoot was a lot like watching a NASCAR pit crew. Everyone has a job, and they do it like a finely tuned machine. This got into my head and really hurt me on the first set of targets. The single shot cold bore (CB) target was set at a distance between T1 and T2. For whatever reason, I forgot to adjust my elevation turret down after the cold bore shot. This caused me to miss the first 3 shots on the T1 distance. It wasn’t until I heard my buddy Bruce call out from behind me, “Did you adjust your elevation after the CB?” Once I made that adjustment, I managed impacts with the 4th and 5th shots, but the damage was done, and there were no do-overs. I then made my adjustments for T2 and managed to get impacts on the 3rd and 5th shots at 1669 yards. It was time to regroup and let the rifle cool off as the barrel was hot enough that I didn’t want to touch it. (Sorry about the barrel abuse, Klayt.) I would have roughly a half hour to get my mind right and cool the rifle down. When I returned to our tailgate camp, I put my rifle down in the shade, inserted my Chamber Chiller into the rifle action, and turned it on. This is a little fan that blows air down the inside of the barrel—an absolute must to cool down the thick metal walls of the heavy barrel in a timely manner.

6/18/22 12:10pm

When I took the line for T3 and T4 (1860, 1943), I was maybe a little more right in my mind but was still hung up on the mistake made in the last round. It was an 18,120-point blunder that had probably moved me halfway down the shooter’s list, but it’s time to suck it up and move on. By this time, the wind had accelerated to roughly 20 mph and was starting to be a pain. T3 yielded 2nd and 3rd round impacts, and T4 gave up 2nd, 3rd, and 4th round impacts. I felt a little better about this round but knew that the final stage could carry the points to move me up the leader board or drop me to the bottom. Time to get into the shade and cool me and the rifle down again.

6/18/22 2:20pm

T5 and T6 (2203, 2907) were putting shooters to the test in the after noon. By this time, the wind was playing around in the 20-30mph range. Why can’t we ever have one of these things on a calm day?

As I settled in on T5, the wind only had about a 10-degree left-toright influence. I failed to get a single impact on this target. I hit all around it thanks to the wind’s indecision on what it wanted to do when I squeezed the trigger. T6 compounded this problem with a 23-degree swing to the right, putting the wind at roughly 33 degrees left to right. The math says the two targets were approximately a mile apart, and the shooter needed to significantly shift their position to engage T6. Although I fired 5 times at that target, we still have no idea where they landed as the target area is a small opening in the trees. As I fired, I would make adjustments using my best guess trying to bring the impacts into the open target area, but neither me, my spotter, two other spotters, nor the cameras picked up anything. Only 15 shooters made any impact on this target, and those were, for the most part, early in the day. This put me in a finishing position of 24th in the heavy rifle division. Not a performance that I’m overly proud of but with so many of the top shooters in the country here, I was just happy not to finish last. My blunder on T1 effectively cost me 10 places. Had I made these shots, the easiest ones of the match, I would have finished right next to Brian Wink, who is genuinely a top-tier shooter.

Maybe I don’t feel so bad, but then again, perhaps it makes the mistake worse. Only time will tell. The next stop will be Raton, NM, at the NRA Whittington Center at the end of July for a week-long adventure that will host 3 matches with 2 different rifles. Watch for the return of the mighty 7 SAUM. If you have been following this series of articles, and I have sparked an interest, please drop me a note at chad.w.kinyon@gmail.com and relay your interest. I’m always happy to help if I can. With fingers crossed, in the next year I am hoping to bring at least one ELR match and possibly monthly medium-range matches to the Palouse.

• 31,343 pts Best of the West

• 25,392 pts Spearpoint Ranch June

• 56,735 pts Season Total and 162nd in KO2M rankings

• Current Global ELR Ranking 167th and holding.

Spirits by Jacqueline Cruver

Looking out across the Palouse region from the top of Kamiak Butte, nature’s rest less spirit overwhelms me as it orchestrates the change of the seasons. The native plants, shrubs and trees transition from vibrant life to an encore of colors to close the show. The crops that have burst into life from the hand of man have provided and signaled the time to reap their bounty. Slow and steady and unstoppable, na ture demonstrates her strength. I am perched upon a large quartzite rock that was once part of an ocean floor so I have much respect for the source of such power. I entertain memories of the times in my life that my own restless spirit unveiled a strength in bringing requisite changes, on a somewhat smaller scale.

I drag my sleeping bag past my discouraged mother and head out to the backyard. She does not support my safari when she has provided me with a perfectly good bed and clean sheets. I feel as though I cannot breathe in the house and curiously desire a new habitat. A desire bordering on desperation. Making it across the yard to my premeditated destination, I enter an opening in the old grape arbor. It is shady inside and about the same size as my twin bed. I push down the tall grass to make a nice soft mattress for my bedroll. I zip myself in, lay on my back and watch the summer evening sunset through the leaves and tiny clumps of baby grapes. I like how the dainty tendrils wrap themselves around and around anything they can grasp for support. At an awkward eleven years old I feel like that. Puberty is be ginning to pull me into tangles with my thoughts and I am feeling like my tendrils have nothing to grasp. Only the watchful vines of this secret shelter (and my mom) know I am here. I find calm in the sweet smell of the grass and drift off to sleep.

It is ten years later and I am desperately trying to reach adulthood through doors of chaos and confusion. I feel as though the big city I am trying to exist in has swal lowed me. I have pursued an associates degree, several different kinds of employ ment, hangovers, depression and some questionable relationships. If I am in charge of this spaceship I call my life, I need to set a new course to find some balance. I fill my rusty Ford Comet with as much courage as I can find in my soul and the gas tank with as much money as I can find in my apartment. With a scribbled address of a rental house and an unfolded map on the bench seat, I head east.

Two hours after leaving the congestion of the Greater Seattle area, I see milepost 42 and a green sign announcing the town of Baring. I signal left and I’m off US Route 2 and up and over the raised railroad tracks. A single row of five houses lines one side of a pot-holed gravel street, hidden from the highway and noisy traffic. One of those must match the address I have crumpled next to me but I am not quite ready-

-to confirm that as my mission. I continue instead, up Forest Service Road 6024 for a few bends and park at a wide spot. I hesitate turning the car off. What if it won’t start? What am I doing out here by myself? That was my cautious voice that kept me safe. But that was the voice that kept me stuck. I had something pushing me. Our spirits are so powerful that fear can even be made submissive. So what if the car wouldn’t start? There was a little store out on the highway. There are people there. Maybe I would try hitchhiking if I had to. I turned the key off with a determined twist. I walked away from the old car and took a breath of the for est-filtered air. The sound of a nearby robin drew my attention away from the distant highway. A large dark green cedar tree beckoned. Its long draping branches reached nearly to the ground like a gentleman inviting me to a Minuet in a grand ballroom. I curtsy and part the limbs to enter the cool and fragrant shelter. I am transported to my grape arbor. This secret shelter surrounds a raggedy reddish-brown bark cov ered trunk. Tall and straight, it is the base of an old wise soul quietly offering to listen to me. I am shy at first. I look down at the soft dark earth beneath my feet. It is a record of many seasons of wet green growth turning to brown and repeatedly returning to the rich, porous floor of the forest. I place my jacket on the ground, sit down and let my heart tell him things that he already knows.

About a year later, my heart would break upon seeing the only remains of this beautiful tree: a pile of chips around a careless ly cut stump after the area had been violated by cedar bandits taking trees illegally during the night to sell to the local shake mill. The truck had to have emerged loaded with its confiscat ed cargo ever so slowly as I slept, because I lived in the corner house in Baring for that rotation of the seasons. The house was unremarkable but an adequate shelter and it felt like the right fit for my new chapter. The wood heat made winter comfort able and I spent many hours in the small kitchen cooking from scratch and creating what I still rely on today as my healthy eating habits based on whole foods. There was a small greenhouse just a few steps from the back door made of old wood framed windows. When the winter temperatures began to warm, I filled the old rickety benches with seeds to get a head start. As the mountain rains continued, I found it to leak profusely, so watering simply required a manual rotation sys tem of the flats. The large garden area had not been used for ages. I was able to coax a few things up but the growing season was very short and the soil was, well, mud. Rodale’s gardening publications had suggestions for soil amendments to increase drainage but I decided what was needed was less rain clouds. This was not the best gardening experience in my life, but it WAS a time of much emotional and spiritual growth. What began as a summer of enlightenment, continued as a ten year period of growing into myself. I encountered a very diverse group of people. I found community and developed very close friendships with folks of various ages, backgrounds, talents and aspirations. Some were from the immediate area but most had wandered there from everywhere else. I discovered com monalities in these restless spirits that helped me to recognize my own as I became more balanced, content and somehow more fulfilled in my autonomy. Our paths intertwined, we were enriched, then the paths separated. I found a curiosity that drove me to try on many hats and fill my adventure card. I lived off the grid and across a river,-

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-sailed in the Virgin Islands, rode thousands of miles on the back of a touring motorcycle, heard jazz musicians from a balcony above the heart of New Orleans, slept on the beaches of Hawaii and bartered for beautiful fresh fruits in Costa Rica.

I learned practical skills, self sufficiency and self respect. I tried things that were dangerous and stretched my limits. I took risks that took me out of my comfort zone but made it clear where my boundaries were. I cannot say I ever “found myself” because I feel like I continue to be different versions of myself. By the end of my twenties that same restless spirit led me to my next chapter of wife and mother.

Parenting is not for the weak. Raising sons gave me an even better view of the restlessness of the young spirit’s quest for self. I think a person’s journey to finding peace and purpose begins in those tumultuous years of our early development. If our parents are available for gentle guidance in addition to their protective, well-meaning parental pressure, it is easier for us to find and understand our unique spirit. I think when our soul rebels out of curiosity, our spirit, like love, can move mountains when it needs to. This is what creates our personal journey as our spirit remains constant, seeking its source. I cannot honestly say I completely understand that. I am still searching. I do see in hindsight that when I felt like things were not right for me I rebelled because my spirit needed change. The behavior that frightened my parents was just me looking for myself, and not meant to be the disrespect of a rebellious teenager, or a wild daughter who ran off to the woods. I also think that girls were a bit more challenging than boys when I was young because it was still even harder for our gender to gain independence and the parental guard was maybe dialed in a bit closer. This only caused the struggles to intensify. I turned my music up loud to make it mine, because my parents’ music was not mine. Metaphorically and literally. Oh, and yes, I still like my classic rock turned up. In my years of pre-adolescent childhood, I was not taught about religion but I know I developed a connection with something greater than myself. I felt a comfort, a safety from my fears in connecting to nature at a very young age and this empirically derived spirituality has always been a part of me. Without spiri tual awareness I think I would have felt rudderless and easily led by unfavorable outside influences. The rough road through ado lescence is difficult to navigate and as we are going through all of the crazy rapid changes emotionally, intellectually and physical ly, we are also searching for explanations to the meaning of life. There have been monumental advancements in the science and awareness of spiritual development in the past two decades that reveal the critical impact it has on a young person’s path to find ing meaningful work, personal confidence, determining right from wrong, and pursuing healthy relationships. In making that point, I want to approach the word spiritual carefully and clarify my meaning. Spirituality as I understand it, is seperate from religion but both have the power of leading one to the other. I have no intention of addressing the deep intricacies of either in this writing.

The indigenous Elders of countless tribes speak of spirituality as the connection to each other and all things. It is a powerful source of strength and an invaluable tool if we can sense it early in our development. It is the part of us that helps us make better choices in our youth as well as guides us as adults as we make our way through difficult times. The right answers bring peace to your heart. That is where our spirit speaks to us, often-

-without words.

Like the visually changing landscape below me, I know my spirit becomes restless in its need for change. Just like the urge that took me out into the yard that summer evening, and the whim that led me out of the crowded city, there have been many other times I have heeded this unseen rumbling from my soul through my years. My image in the mirror has changed, but my restless spirit never has. In fact, it served me well in my most recent rebellion, retirement.

Gravity and repetition can wear a deep hole and gradually I had become stuck like a log in wet sand at high tide. I no longer had motion. My work day seemed to drag. The tasks assigned to me had changed so drastically over the years, the elements I had enjoyed about it seemed to be a distant memory. As my supervi sors would confirm, I had become irritable and spent more time complaining than seeking solutions. I had lost my smile. I was not recognizing the gentle nudges of my spirit until one day it just escorted me out the door. I took the bold step and entered the final date of my employment on the proper forms and retired. I must also give credit to my sons for knowing my spirit was needing some help. They convinced me that there were still more chapters waiting for me and I continue to thank them.

I did not go through the stages following retirement the experts warn you about, like an intense sense of loss or depression. I did not struggle to reinvent myself. The search for a meaningful purpose was no mystery to solve. I know my spirit so I know my passions and priorities: Nature, nurturing, and gardening. Now mix in maintaining some healthy, loving relationships, which includes time for solitude and self-nurturing, and you have the contents of who I have always been. The tendrils are braided to gether to form my strong, unchanged spirit that has let me swing through treetops and towed me through dark waters.

As I start down the path on the shady side of Kamiak Butte my steps are slow and steady. I again compare my life cycles with nature. The descent takes less effort than climbing the sunny rocky side of the ridge, and now I am enjoying the bounty of my working years at a slower pace as I wander down the shady side. I am right where my spirit led me. I have peace and purpose. I spend blissful hours and days in the vastness of the outdoors, appreciating the natural world, my temple. To use the nurturing part of my spirit that was evident as a toddler putting worms to bed in a shoebox, which has been resting since my sons have grown, I am delighted when offered a chance to care for little ones. I can offer time to read to them, encourage that endless curiosity, show them new things and let them teach me with that pure and innocent spirit they have arrived with. My gardener’s hands are always happy tending the soil and growing plants that sustain, heal or bring color to life. Instead of a gym bag, I travel with a garden bag equipped with a kneeling pad, seeds, twine, tools and gloves and find my way to various gardens to weed when I have run out of weeds of my own. I house sit or pet sit for friends and clients when they leave their home to travel. I keep their routines while they are away and enjoy a break from mine. This opportunity to look at life through different windows and meeting new neighbors continues to accommodate my restless side. I take road trips to see points of interest, visit dear friends I have missed or simply stay home for some soothing aloneness. I am so grateful. My days are my own and the only thing I have had to really work at in my new freedom is how to feel worthy of it. Knowing that my spirit has counseled me to seek this “freedom to be me” all along my path, comforts me. It continues to be a very good guide.

Herman Hesse, a German-Swiss author wrote many works about self-knowledge but my favorite quote is, “Whoever has learned to listen to trees no longer wants to be a tree. He wants to be nothing except what he is. That is home. That is happiness.”

people

OF the palouse

Let’s get to know our neighbors, those like us and those who are different from us. Please send any introductions to: Heather@homeandharvestmagazine.com

by gayle anderson

Lisa French

Just as ripples spread out when a single pebble is dropped into water, the actions of individuals can have far-reaching effects. ~Dalai Lama~

This quote captures the true essence of two amazing people who are the face and transfor mation of Deary, which is now a “must go to” destination. Like many small towns across the USA, the remnants of vacant buildings, often on the edge of decay, sit quietly as testaments to a once vibrant business. This is a story about how one couple, whose hard work and passion coupled with their dedication to injecting new life into old structures all while seeking the good for the community is a recipe for success. And with that, let me introduce you to Webb and Lisa French.

When I arrived at the French farmhouse located a few miles outside of town, I was warmly greeted by Lisa and the first thing I noticed was the large dining room table that seats at least 12-14 people. Lisa explained that they have 10 children, 8 boys and 2 girls ranging from 14 to 32 years of age. Four are still living at home, 5 are married there are 9 grandchildren. And on Monday evenings they all gather for dinner except for 2 sons who now live in Texas.

Lisa went onto explain they and 15 families are part of a Christian community and that there are 130 members living in and around Deary. When I asked if there was a religion that they identified with, she said they were Ana baptist, which meant that they believed in adult baptism, that occurs usually between the ages of 18-20 years of age. Their community which has a mission statement on its website says: “Heritage Idaho is an agrarian and craftbased intentional Christian community. We aim for sim plicity, sustainability, self-sufficiency, cooperation, service and quality craftmanship.”

Lisa explained that for the last 20 years they had been in a larger community based in Texas. And 14 years ago with the desire to escape the heat of Texas summers along with the desire to expand their agricultural school outreach was the catalyst for taking a 2 week tour of this area looking for piece of rural heaven. Webb and Lisa French found just what they were looking for when they arrived in Deary, Idaho. A perfect farmstead with ample acreage was ideal and the French’s became Idahoans. Webb explained that Northern Idaho has the feel of being about 30 years behind the times in the way that the area is safe, laid back, that there are multigenerational families living close together, and it is a great place to live and work.

Lisa recalls at first the residents of Deary were a bit leery of the family of 12. She explained that there were concerns about their intention to replicate the Christian Homestead Heritage which sits just outside of Waco, Texas, wherein self-sustainable classes are taught and can often draws up to 100,000 people each year. And while that was never the intent with the French’s, they only wanted to repli cate the self-sustainable classes, definitely not the crowd. Webb and Lisa are very sensitive to the impact of the rural community, and they, as well as the locals love their rural location along with the peace and quiet. After the French’s had been in the area for 3 ½ years, other Anabaptist fami lies began relocating to Deary from Texas and other areas. Lisa describes their community as very close knit where in they help each other out with chores and enjoy close friendships.

Not long after the French’s settled in, Lisa began making cheese and selling it. Soon she outgrew her creamery at home, and they began to look for a building in Deary in which to house the cheese operation. Webb’s occupation is a contractor and he loves rebuilding old structures. When the French’s (along with 4 other families) bought the old vacant Mobile gas station building, it was in near ruins. Webb and his sons who work with him, restored the build ing, along with assistance from their community. Webb & Lisa’s daughter and daughter-in-law both loved to bake, so the bakery was started in the newly renovated space along with the creamery plus an area to showcase local artisans.

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And today the bakery business is owned solely by their son, John. When starting this business venture, Webb and Lisa felt this would be a wonderful way to interact with the Deary residents as well as being a bonus to the town by adding another business. Through word of mouth, they quickly gained the reputation of mouth-wa tering baked goods and delicious cheeses. And today Lisa noted that the members are very involved in Deary by sharing their skills through teaching classes that range from making cheese to quilting to blacksmithing. Mem bers now either own and operate businesses in Deary or work in town. Many volunteer on the local EMS and all are committed to keeping Deary a vibrant town. Sol id friendships between locals and the Heritage Idaho community have flourished. When I asked Lisa about outside members attending their religious services, she said many people regularly attend, some for years, some not so much. Some locals have joined their community, while others choose to only embrace the Christian com munity friendship and fellowship. Either way is fine and as Lisa mentioned, she and her community strive to cre ate a common ground with others where friendship and community closeness is valued along with sharing how to live a more wholesome sustainable lifestyle. I also had reached out to a local with long time roots in the Deary township, and she confirmed that the general feeling of the community is that they love what the French’s, along with their community members have done to promote new life in Deary. Enough success for businesses to flourish without losing the small-town homey appeal.

And as their culture is based on skill and old-world qual ity craftmanship, the home-schooled children’s educa tion, aside from the basic requirements, will also receive special attention on promoting their natural interests and talents. During the school year, their class schedule is Monday-Thursday and whatever aptitude is of interest to the child, that every effort will be made to seek out the knowledge and training, which sometimes includes col lege on-line courses or apprenticeships. As an example, one of the sons was interested in building boats, so Lisa found someone who was skilled in that trade in order to provide the best education possible. As a result, each child hones their interest in order to support themselves when reaching adulthood.

As the interview concluded, Lisa personally gave me the tour of other business ventures that were created, such as restoring the old train station that now is the home to her quilt/hand-craft store that also has 2 Airbnb suites in the back of the building. And for the train enthusiasts,-

-there is a train caboose that was relocated and restored and is also an Airbnb next to the train station building. And outside of town is a fully restored train car which is also available on Airbnb. (These spectacular renovations on the train cars can be viewed on the Magnolia network & www.visitdeary.com) And the tour concluded with the newly refurbished farmstead home and barn that will fo cus on “farm stays” for the urban folk. Overall, this down home, unassuming couple stays true to their dreams and find ways to revive structures from our past and makes them into unique business opportunities. And this leads them to connect with others to share their love of agriculture, nature and teaching us the lost art from what our grandparents knew and practiced.

Once again, I came away from the interview revitalized by the inspiration and innovation on the positive aspect that each person can make when we utilize our talents. We all benefit, and in the end, it makes a beautiful dif ference in the world, as Deary is living proof. That each of us has a natural God given gift and how we choose to share that with others depends on us. I often wonder where I would have ended up if as a young adult that I had focused on what interested me, rather than just tak ing a job in order to support myself and family. My take away was about following your passion and honing that talent, as you will be living your dream and making your little corner of the world just a bit better. Maybe this will be your wakeup call and give you the courage to take that next step. And the million-dollar question is…. Are you living your best life? And I truly hope that we all take a page out of the playbook of Webb & Lisa to find what inspires each of us and to pursue that goal whether it is big or small. And in the end, I’m confident that your small ripple of doing something good will have some wonderful long reaching effects just like the French’s.

P.S. Rod & I attended one of the weekly home group ser vices and it was a lively and beautiful gathering wherein it centered around, faith, family, food and friendships. We enjoyed it and I have a feeling that we will make the drive and attend a few more every now and then.

Sometimes it’s difficult to see the road that leads to a particular vantage point. From where your feet are currently planted, and looking out on the horizon it’s nearly impossible to imagine all the twist and turns, each needing to happen at precisely the right order to get to this exact moment in time. One of my favorite parts of history is looking at the different pressures and opportunities that exist within a certain culture, period of time, and level of advancement that all work in harmony to produce something special or unique.

This summer, I spent a lot of time thinking about the American love of the RV and travel trailer. It hard not to when you drive any of the highways or byways here in the Pacific Northwest. Go more than 15 minutes without passing a car and you would think nothing of it. Go more than 10 cars without seeing at least one trailer attached and you start to wonder if you accidently slipped into a parallel universe. Its always been that way around here, since Heather and I made this area our home, and it seems that the RV traffic grows by leaps and bound every summer.

With our majestic scenery, abundant National Forests, breathtaking wildlife, and pristine rivers and lakes it’s easy to understand why so many people would want to camp around here. But it still staggering to see so many trailers and driven rigs out on the road. My favorite is when we are coming around the bend of a moun tain pass and exchange a quick wave with a passing caravan of 3, or 5 or as many as 10 trailers all in a row. I love to try to look at the types and cars towing them and like to guess as to whether this is just a coincidence caused by a slower driver in the lead and lack of passing opportunities on a windy road, or if they might just all be out there on the highway together – a caravan of family and friends off on a shared adventure.

So what got this all started? How did we suddenly decide, as a group, to take up the life of a turtle or snail on the weekends, and travel around with our house metaphorically on our back? When did the hitch become the most important accessory for so many motorists, and when did that first bed and toilet get added to the inside of a motorized vehicle? What series of seeming unconnected events had to unfold in order to get so many of us out on the open road, towing what essentially amounts to a small hotel behind us?

Well, first there came the car. Sure, people were towing livable trailers with horses for hundreds of years before the first steamers or combustion engine vehicles hit the roads, but it was the automobile that kicked off the revolution. Romani popu lations have been traveling Europe and Asia Minor for more than 1000 years, but that iconic round-top caravan known as the Vardo didn’t seem to appear until the 1800’s. They had a curved top, four wheels, could be steered from the front, and were pulled by horses. Inside was an ornately carved, and well-furnished home complete with anything a family might need. These were like tiny, gilded mansions – complete with many of the comforts that might be found in a wealthy home of the era. Showmen and traveling preachers were using a similar design by the late 1800’s and a few were even commissioned for wealthy families that had plenty of discretionary time.

But travel in a heavy wagon, behind a team of horses was slow and uncomfortable. It was best suited to a life on the road but with longer stops at each location. This made it completely im practical for someone just wanting to get a way for a few days to enjoy an area not easily reachable from their own home. Once the car arrived, and quickly began to take on the power necessary to haul greater numbers of people and heavier ar rangements of gear, the timing was right for someone to take that next logical step and create the camper.

But in the beginning cars were expensive and rare. And even once normal families could afford one, time was precious and there just wasn’t a collective consciousness focused on leisure and recreational pursuits – let alone the time to indulge in such idle play. But the outlook of an era changes, and even tually Americans found them at the perfect cross-roads of disposable income, discretionary time, and the means of easy travel.

Since the start of the industrial revolution, people’s work hours had been rapidly changing. While farmers might follow the sun, and make hay while it shines, factories were changing the way that people in city centers worked. Still, before the electric light, many had to operate at the mercy of daylight and close once it was too dark to clearly see the work at hand. Around the same time – the very end of the 1800’s the car arrives on the scene, the electric light is invented and quickly put to use in factories and offices, and labor unions around the country were pressing hard for the 8 hour work day that had only recently been enacted for government works.

For factory owners and office managers the timing was per fect. Using shifts, production could continue on seamlessly as new waves of workers arrived to replace those who were just finishing their 8 hours. The freedom granted by having 8 hours to labor, 8 hours for family and hobbies, and 8 hours to rest took hold, and quickly became the new standard. And many factories, especially in competitive labor markets, began the practice of half-holiday Saturdays. Now, armed with a day and a half off each week, disposable income, a burgeoning system of roads, and a need to get out of busy and congested cities to fee a bit of peace, all the element were falling perfectly in line. Just in time for the car to arrive and whisk families out to the country side for an afternoon of enjoyment.

Farmers selling fruits and vegetables on the side of the road for much better prices than in the crowded city, fresh breath able air away from the pollution, a chance to reconnect with nature, and endless adventures where some of the best adver tising for early car dealerships, and America was ready willing and able to catch a quick ride on their newly found free days. And drivers began making modifications to cars as soon as at home and ready to be tinkered on. From canopies to cover the seats, to simple sleeping mats in truck beds. The race was on to add more wilderness comfort to the car and press the bounds of where you could travel. In those early days, hotels were often spaced too far apart, or simply too expensive for the every-day weekend travelers. Sleeping in tents just off the side of the road, or even on the car became commonplace.

And since the average adventurer only had a day or two to get away from home, that worked out well. But America was quickly entering a new, more progressive era, where the aver age worker would have vacation time that was simply unimag inable just a generation before. It was time for the dedicated recreational vehicle.

By 1910 there had already been several custom-ordered and home-made attempts at the RV or travel trailer, but it was Pierce Arrow that took that first national spotlight with their Touring Landau. First show in Madison Square Garden in New York, the Touring Landau was the first truly purpose built recreational vehicle and camper. It had a sink that could fold down behind the driver’s compartment, a couch that act ed as the rear seat and could become a bed, a chamber-pot toi let, and even telephone connecting the passenger and chauffer compartments. And it looked…well, it looked like a classier version of the Beverly Hillbillies vehicle. But at the time, it was an absolute revolution in design and thinking. That same year, across the country dozens of companies began making custom conversions for vehicles and camping trailers. There was no more need to set up a tent, and do without creature comforts when out on the road. Everything you needed for days at a time could now travel with you.

And as families got out there, tested what worked and what didn’t, the desire to get out there longer was continuing. Just like today, passing a vehicle towing a trailer today and noticing license plates from the east coast all the way out here in the Pacific Northwest, thinking to yourself about how much fun this trip must be. Well, once the race was on, it didn’t take long to see incredible improvements.

In 1915 the Conklin family in New York made the national news, traveling in their custom build, double-decker RV bus all the way cross country to San Francisco. The country could be crossed. The automobile had become dependable, the National Parks and National Forests were all the rage, and no luxury of modern living needed to be left behind. The roads were now calling to souls ready to wander.

At this same time, a group that affectionately called them selves the Vagabonds took their first annual camping trip. The four men, Henry Ford, Thomas Edison, Harvey Firestone, and John Burroughs began getting together each year, and heading out into the wilds in specially designed vehicles that Ford had created just for this outing. Their annual trips continued for more than a decade until the popularity eventually created too large a following and they had to call it quits. By 1922, Denver had a campground with 800 spaces, a golf course and full ser vice hair salon. The nostalgia of camping in a simple a-frame tent was still available to those who wanted it, but the days of roughing it by necessity were certainly over. In 1928 Ford produced the Model A House Car – with an interior that re minds me of many of the popular van conversions seen today. And it was in the late 1920’s that Wally Byam used a Model T chassis to build his first travel trailer. For five dollars you could buy the plans and build your own, or Wally would make one for you. Known as the Torpedo, it was the first trailer by the company that would become Airstream.

As the depression faded, and troops eventually came home from the Second World War, America had another great surge. Fam ilies moved quickly out into the suburbs, jobs became far more available, the economy was booming, and leisure time was again on the rise. Families often had a discretionary week or even two each year. Full weekend, and national holiday also added extra chances to get out on the road. The factories were expanded coming off of two round of war-time production, and the pro duction of automobiles, travel trailers, recreational vehicles with their own engines, caught that perfect timing of people having both the money to buy them and the opportunity to use them. Again the industry surged.

In the 1950’s Wally Byam came up with a crazy idea to take a group of friends on a trip all the way down to central America. A magazine ran a story on the planned adventure and over 60 families showed up in time to embark with them on that first epic journey. This would become the first trip of the legendary Wally Byam Caravan Club. The members, all in Airstreams would go on to paint big red numbers on the front and back of their trailers as identification. They started with the number 1 for Wally and his wife and continued upward for each new member of the group in the order that they joined.

And while Heather and I normally camp alone, I always look at the faded numbers on front and back of our vintage Airstream and wonder just how many people had been in camping groups with the previous owners. I’ve seen pictures of that Wally Byam Caravan Club camping out in front of the Great Pyramid with a long line of pristine Airsteams and families that had all made the trek together. I’ve seen them forming a parade around the Coliseum in Rome, and even read about trips to South America. And though our trailer was built in 1960’s, the numbers were already 5 digits long. Thousands of families all hitting the road together.

As the car progressed, so did the camping trailer and recre ational vehicle. The ability to pull ever increasing weight lead to stunning breakthroughs. Once you could haul a large water tank, showers and flushing toilets became easily included. With canned propane lines, refrigeration and cooking stoves became a must have. Now, most families have a television, and even an ability to hook into cable when they are at a sight with full con nections, or even a satellite for when they are not. We even have the toy hauler class, which allows all the amenities of any other trailers, along with the space to park 4-wheelers or motorcycles right in the camper so they can always go along with you.

Coming back around full circle, the Tiny House movement even has people returning to the origins of travel trailers and building their own custom designs. There are more factories now than ever before, and production just continues to increase. Hundreds of models, and thousands of floorplans guarantee that there is something out there for everyone.

So maybe it isn’t crazy to imagine that when I see a long line of trailers coming over a mountain pass, they could all be out there on the road together. Ready to create new favorite memories and cherished jokes. Tin can tourists out to see America together. Or maybe that guy in front just really needs to get to the right at the next passing lane.

The only Halloween costume I remember from my childhood is the year I was a ballerina. That sticks out because I lost my ballet shoe in a snowbank and had to dig through the snow to get it and run to catch up with my friends! Brrr! As I started getting older though, in college and beyond, I do remember several of the costumes I pulled out of my closet - a fortune teller (more than once), Professor Trelawney (the Divination teacher at Hogwarts), a goddess (a favorite go-to), a queen, and one year I was a mummy (an ace bandage and pregnant belly make for a lot of fun!). Aside from the mummy, you might sense a bit of a trend…and maybe there’s a reason for that.

Sometimes our costumes are just for fun. Some are based on characters or time periods we enjoy. Sometimes we take the opportunity to try on a persona we usually wouldn’t. And often, our costume choices can tell a little something about what we desire in life, feel about ourselves subconsciously, or consciously believe about our authentic personalities. We can sometimes express ourselves in costume better than words, especially if we’re just having a good time. The party atmosphere of Halloween lets us let loose and not hold quite so tightly to the rules we normally live by in everyday life.

For me, that has meant that for years I have expressed my mystical, sovereign self even when I didn’t realize that’s what I was up to! Our soul selves are pretty powerful and when they have the chance to come out and play - they’re going to take it! I only realized this a few years ago - one of the times I dressed as a god dess and was playing with titles or labels that fit the changes I was feeling in my life. That fall I was really exploring my spirituality and learning about various forms of healing, some old, some new, some new again. Putting on my goddess robes felt less like a costume and more like who I actually was. At the party I went to that night I talked with friends about spirituality, divinity, energy work, and more - all things I’ve always been curious about but never looked into because I felt like I shouldn’t or thought people would think I was weird. It felt a little like something in my armor had cracked, just a little, and putting on that delicate gold headpiece reflected light that was seeping out from inside…some energy that I’d denied for almost four decades!

What sort of inner light have your costume choices let shine in you?

Do you explore your dark side by pulling out the vam pire teeth or dressing as your favorite movie villain? Do you let your inner child play as a fairy tale character? Do you let your wise inner voice come forth as a teacher? Does your sensual self stand up as the flirty nurse or a sexy maid?

Wait! What did I just say? Did I lose you there? That seems to be the line people are divided by when it comes to Halloween costumes. There are a whole lot of sexy versions of things in the pop up costume shops, aren’t there? And I’ve known a lot of people, over the years, who question why that is. I’ve been one of those peo ple. Recently, though, I’ve come to the conclusion that wanting to play with this side of our personalities is no different that wanting to explore the magical side or the fun side or the innocent inner child side. None of us are one thing, even when it seems like we’re supposed to be. And when we deny or shut down some part of us, it doesn’t mean it’s gone…it’s simply hidden. Sometimes hidden things want to be found!

So, again, some of us might make an intentional choice to buck the system we live in day to day and throw on a costume that seems out of character. Others might be drawn to a costume idea and not notice that it’s a part of them that is trying to be seen more. Either way, though, what if we tuned into this idea and explored it more thoroughly? What could happen? A more authentic you? Let’s do it!

In general (and I’m not saying always or for everyone), society tells us that certain rules apply to the roles we take on. Societal influences could be religion, media, culture, family, or any number of other things. Some times rules change, but rarely without super uncomfort able situations happening first. Let’s take a less serious one as an example - you can’t wear white after labor day. Could you imagine the gumption it took to be the first person in some high-class circle to step out for brunch with white on well into the fall? The looks she must have received! The whispered comments all around her as she held her head up high and walked to meet her friends at a table across the room. The sideways glances all those friends shared wondering if they should say something to her or try to ignore her faux pas, wondering if maybe this was just one step too far?

That example might sound silly, but think about the woman who wears a suit by day and is a team mom for her kids by night and just wants to feel flirty again dress ing as Marilyn Monroe in that classic white dress, -

-walking into a Halloween shindig with her head held high while everyone around her whispers and gawks and wonders if she’s lost her mind. Is it that different? Why can’t we wear white after labor day? Why can’t we be professional and motherly and sensual and smart and fun and and and….? Why?

The why is that we’re afraid of being judged by all those societal norms. Those norms and that judgment is made up, though. It’s not factual. It’s not a law of physics like gravity or the truth of the matter as declared by law. It’s a social agreement that wearing white is a summery thing to do and, therefore, we shouldn’t wear it after the holi day that traditionally marks the end of the summer. It’s the cultural notion that when women become mothers they shouldn’t be sexy anymore. Or when women are in the workplace, they shouldn’t show emotion. Or that men shouldn’t show emotion at all. Or that pink is a girl’s color. Or that sports are more important than the arts. Or that kids need to learn to read by first grade.

Okay, I’m getting a little off topic, but it’s all so con nected. The fear of being judged by our friends, family, neighbors, even strangers is what keeps most of us from falling out of line for most of the year. But when Hallow een rolls around…sometimes we throw caution to the wind and pull out the sparkly eyeshadow and a sheet or dust off our witch’s hat or let ourselves be seen through the fog machine fog as something different than our obedient normal selves.

What if we did so more often? How more full could our lives be if we connected with all the parts of ourselves on a regular basis rather than only yearly? How glori ous would it be to express our magical, serious, playful, scarred, anxious, silly, sexy selves authentically? How freeing would it be to simply wear white whenever you want to?

Something to think about. Maybe something to play with and lean into. Definitely something to applaud and appreciate in others. In fact, next time you see someone holding their head high and wearing something, doing something, or being someone other than what’s expect ed, don’t be the person who whispers or gawks. Be the ally who smiles and nods or high fives or compliments or simply doesn’t mention that anything is odd or weird and chats about the weather and how fabulous it is to feel fully alive!

“Hand me my spyglass,” Otis ordered.

Clark handed Otis the spyglass—a cardboard core from a roll of paper towels wrapped in aluminum foil—and asked, “What do you see?”

Otis took the “spyglass” from Clark, held it up to his right eye, and closed his left eye. “See there in the distance?” He pointed. “A ship. And not just any ship. A pirate ship.”

Clark and Fertis looked in the direction Otis pointed.

“There’s a boat coming toward us, filled with scoundrels,” Fertis warned.

“They’re only about thirty minutes away from the shore,” Clark surmised.

“Based on the ship’s flag, they’re the Black Bart Gang. They’re go ing to take all our ammunition, guns, and food,” Otis declared. “They may even kill us. We must defend ourselves!”

“Prepare the cannons and battle stations!” Fertis bellowed.

Fertis grabbed his BB gun and a slingshot and dove behind a bale of hay. Clark seized his BB gun, an empty soda bottle, and a large plastic bag filled with bottle rockets and jumped next to Fertis. Otis held his BB gun in his left hand and a cherry bomb in his right. He crouched behind a large rock near his comrades.

“Men, we’re going to have to get them before they get us,” Otis ordered. “If they get out of their boat, we’re goners!”

Clark placed a bottle rocket in the empty soda bottle, aimed it toward the rock pit about twenty yards away, flicked his lighter, and lit the fuse. The rocket flew into the air, and a small “pop” emitted as it blew itself into tiny shreds of paper. He set off sev eral as Otis and Fertis shot their BB guns toward the scoundrels, a.k.a. the rock pit.

Pew, pew-pew, pew…

“Our light weaponry isn’t enough! They’re only minutes away from landing!” Clark yelled.

“Prepare to launch the cannon!” Fertis screamed.

Otis whipped out his trusty lighter, expertly flicked the lid open, and ran his thumb over the flint wheel, creating a flame. “Com mence to bombing?”

“AFFIRMATIVE!” both Fertis and Clark shouted.

Otis lit the fuse on the cherry bomb and cried, “BOMBS AWAY!” The incendiary sailed through the air toward the rock pit and landed in a pile of gravel. Within seconds, a tremendous BOOM filled the air and sent rock shrapnel in all directions.

Clark lifted the spyglass to his right eye and declared, “A direct hit!”

By Temple Kinyon

The three boys shouted and cheered the victory over the das tardly pirates.

“This calls for a celebration!”

Fertis announced.

Otis scrambled to the fort situated behind them—a square of castoff lumber from Grandpa Ed that stood about three feet high. There was an opening for a “door,” and Otis grabbed the snacks Mavis had sent that morning—a bag of jerky, three bottles of soda, and a bag of potato chips. He presented them to Fertis and Clark.

“And now, we feast to our victory, Warrior Brothers!” he pro claimed.

The three chowed down on the jerky and chips and took large swallows of soda, which resulted in long, loud belches only young boys can produce, peppered with fits of giggles after each. Burps were always funny.

Fertis and Clark were staying the night with Otis, but this type of battle scene had played out several times at Otis’s fort located at the edge of Marvel and Mavis’s pasture 300 yards away from the house. The family rock pit sat near the makeshift garrison, although this time the boys were not pretending to be in the military. They’d decided at school the week prior during a plan ning session to be Warrior Brothers of some ancient clan located on a remote island in the warm and dangerous waters of the Caribbean. They’d also decided to dress the part.

Otis had swiped some hair bands, styling gel, and a tube of bright red lipstick from his sisters’ bathroom, Clark had dried out a pile of chicken bones from his family’s Sunday supper, and Fertis had snagged some brightly colored bead necklaces from his grandma’s house.

When they arrived at the fort that Saturday morning, they immediately stripped off their shirts to metamorphose into the Warrior Brothers. Using the lipstick, they painted odd shapes and markings all over their chests, arms, and faces. Otis pulled his mop of curly hair into a waterspout ponytail on top of his head and stuck a large chicken leg bone in the hairband. Fertis slicked back his hair on both sides, creating a mohawk of sorts, and used hair bands to hold several chicken bones in place around his wrists. Clark had always sported a perfect mullet, so he took his long, “party in the back” mane and made three braids with bones hanging from the ends secured with hair bands. They wrapped the vibrant beads several times around their necks to complete the ensemble. They were a clan, a frater nity, fighting pirates and the unknown elements of their island world. They’d been at it all day and determined they would dress up as Warrior Brothers again on Halloween, which was three weeks away.

“Boys, it’s almost time for dinner!” wafted Mavis’s voice from the house. Otis stood and saw his mom waving her arm from the back porch.

Mavis walked into the house, indicating she’d heard the long-dis tance response.

“OK, MOM!” he yelled back.

“Time to head back, guys,” Otis said as he picked up the rem nants of the day. He put his shirt on and slung his BB gun over his shoulder as Fertis and Clark did the same. They quickly ran their fingers through their hair, dislodging bands, braids, and chicken bones, and removed their beads.

As they sauntered toward the Swan house, Otis asked cautiously, “So, did you guys get it?”

“Yep,” Fertis smiled like a Cheshire cat.

“Me, too,” Clark smirked.

“So did I,” Otis beamed.

Their Warrior Brother celebrations would continue later.

***

“Oh, Otis!” Mavis shrieked when the boys trudged in the back door. “What do you have all over your face?! And arms?! Is that LIPSTICK?!”

“Oh, that,” Otis nonchalantly waved her off. “It’s our tribal war paint. I borrowed it from Gladys and Doris. We’ll go wash up.”

“I highly doubt you asked your sisters for their lipstick, as I’m sure they would’ve said no,” Mavis barked. “And you can wash up all you want, but you won’t get it off. Lipstick stains!”

The boys looked at one another, silent. They hadn’t thought their plan through that far. Their faces, chests, and arms were covered in all sorts of squiggles, lines, and shapes. They’d gone to great lengths to fully “tag” any uncovered skin.

Mavis stifled a giggle. No sense in scolding them; they’d wear their punishment in front of everyone at the dinner table. “Let me get you some old washcloths and towels to scrub up,” she said. “Do not use the towels in the bathroom.”

The boys noted Mavis’s stern warning, grabbed the towels she found in a cupboard in the laundry room, and raced up the stairs to the second-floor bathroom Otis shared with his brothers. Soap removed some of the brightness, but the crim son marks remained, now inflamed with washcloth burns from rubbing and scrubbing so hard. Their worry about stained skin dissipated quickly, however, as they ended up in a small water fight, which abruptly halted only when Mavis yelled that dinner was ready.

Other than Otis’s oldest sibling, Otho, who was stationed at Grissom Air Force Base in Indiana, the entire family sat around the large dining room table—Mavis, Marvel, Otis’s five siblings, Grandma Helen, and Grandpa Ed. When the non-Warrior Brothers took a look at the three boys still sporting their lipstick ornamentation, a burst of laughter erupted, and the teasing commenced.

Marvel finally told everyone to calm down and said to Otis, “Son, you and your friends need to make better choices.”

It was after 10 p.m. when Otis, Fertis, and Clark settled into bed in Otis’s room. Otis’s brothers, Cletis and Deanie, were normally his roommates but fled to Chuck’s room for peace away from the noisy boys.

“Ok guys, we gotta wait until the house is asleep,” Otis whis pered. “But lookie…” He reached under his bed and revealed a lone can of Heidelberg beer. He shifted his eyebrows up and down, causing Fertis and Clark to bury their faces in their pillows to cover their impish laughs. The digital clock on Otis’s nightstand slowly inched toward 11:00 p.m., then midnight. The house offered an occasional pop and creak, but no other sounds were detected.

“Everyone’s asleep,” Otis whispered. “Let’s roll.”

Otis put on a baggy hoodie sweatshirt and put his can of beer in the big front pocket. Fertis pulled a can of Schlitz out of his overnight bag, and Clark produced a white can with BEER em blazoned on the side in black letters.

“Generic?!” Fertis hissed. “That stuff’s nasty!”

“How do you know?” Clark hissed back.

“I took a sip of my dad’s one time,” he whispered. “It almost killed me!”

“All beer tastes nasty,” Clark murmured. “People don’t drink it because they like how it tastes.”

Otis crammed the three cans into his massive sweatshirt pocket and stealthily opened his window. He’d done this dozens of times; his brothers taught him how to sneak out a few years ago. Otis had never actually gone anywhere when he snuck out; he just sat on the roof and looked at the stars. But not tonight.

They climbed out the window silently. Fertis and Clark scootched down to the edge of the roof, rolled over on their bellies, and stealthily inched themselves down until their feet touched the massive propane tank sitting on the ground below. They stood on the tank and then jumped off. Otis then scootched down to the roof’s edge, but when he rolled over onto his stomach, he forgot about the beers. One slipped out. Before he could grab it, the can rolled off the edge of the roof and land ed with an earthshattering BOOOOOONNNNGGGGGG as it smacked the propane tank and then landed in the grass.

Fertis and Clark ran into the barn, leaving Otis hanging half on, half off the roof. He knew the sound had awakened his parents, probably his grandparents at their house, and everyone in town it was so loud. He threw caution to the wind and let go, hop ing his feet would hit the propane tank. Luckily, he stuck the landing and managed to keep the other two other beers nestled in his sweatshirt pocket. He immediately jumped to the ground, picked up the rogue beer can, and dashed to the barn.

“Guys?” he whispered as he walked into the darkness.

“Over here,” Fertis whispered from the back of the barn by the stalls.

Otis scampered over. “That was close!” he breathed.

Click. Clark’s pocket flashlight lit up, and he rested it on its end. A ten-foot circle of light engulfed the trio but left the rest of the barn dark.

Otis pulled out the BEER, and the three giggled in excitement as he grabbed the tab and pulled. Their overzealousness at opening the libation worked against them, however, and it sprayed foam in their faces.

“Awww, man!” Fertis exclaimed. “You shook it up, Otis!”

“I didn’t not!” Otis shot back. “It was the one that fell out of my pocket.”

Otis took a long pull off the beer, then swallowed. The golden fizz burned as it made its way down to his belly full of spaghetti. The taste was wretched, but he felt compelled not to complain. He’d never heard any man complain about the taste of beer. He handed the can to Fertis.

“That’s some nasty brew,” Fertis said after he swallowed.

Clark took a swig, swallowed, and immediately burped, then started laughing. “Let’s hope the other stuff tastes better.”

The three imbibed over the next thirty minutes, quickly down ing all the beers with very little complaining. Then the giggling and teasing began.

“You look ridiculiculousss, Otisss,” Fertis slurred. “You haff those libstick marks alllover your face.”

“You do too, bucko,” Otis replied. “And Clark! Clark issss the biggest dork cuz he even put it on hissss FORE head.”

The fits and tee-hees echoed throughout the barn.

“Heeeyyy,” Otis piped up. “I got something elssse we can try. My grammpuh’s sssecrettt ssssauccceee.” He jumped up, raced over to a bank of cupboards above the workbench, and started rummaging around.

“You’re the ssssaauuccced one, Otis,” Fertis sniggered, which resulted in even more hysterics.

“Here tis!” Otis was standing on the work bench on his tiptoes, reaching far back into one of the top shelves. He pulled out a glass canning jar half full of clear liquid. He jumped down to the floor and waltzed over to his friends. “Taaaa daaaa!”

They each took a mouthful of the liquid of unknow origin and coughed and sputtered it down.

“Wow, that ssstufff carriesss quite a P-unch,” Clark said, empha sizing the “p” in punch.

“You do not hafff to sssspit in my faccce, dear fellow Warrrrior rorrior Bro,” Otis said with his face inches away from Clark’s. Clark put his arm around Otis, laughing, and said, “You jusss-

-ssspit in my face, too. Now we’re sssppittt brotherssss. Kinnna like blood brothersss…but not.”

They started howling, and Fertis jumped in. “I wanna be a sssss pittt brother!”

Clark and Otis obliged with huge, spit-producing raspberries, drenching Fertis’s face.

“Thasss reallllly grossss,” Fertis said as he wiped his face. “Bu from now on and alwaysss and foreverrrrr, Imma call us Warrri oorrorr Bro Spitheads.”

The joke sent them falling in a heap, laughing to the point of crying and side aches. When they caught their breath, they passed around the jar one more time, agreeing that sip didn’t sting as much going down as the first one.

“Man, thissss issss the besss day EVER,” Otis shouted. “I love you guyssss.”

“We love you tooooo, Otissss,” Fertis and Clark exclaimed.

“Warrriooorrrorrrr Brotherssss forever!” Otis declared.

Suddenly, a low mmmmmmerrrrrrr sliced through the darkness outside the lit circle. The boys froze.

Mmmmmmmmmerrrrr.

“Oh, hell, thassss jusss Besssssie, the milk cow,” Otis said mat ter-of-factly.

Without saying a word, the three cohorts jumped up, scooted over to Bessie’s stall, and started lovingly petting and hugging her.

“Bessssie, you’re the besssie cow EVER,” Otis said. “I love you ssssooooo much. An I love your milk, toooo.”

Mmmmmmmmmeeerrrrrrr. Bessie grouched and shifted her weight as if to say she was already annoyed at the late-night visi tors. Clark had brought the flashlight and shined it in her face.

“Your eyessss are ssssoooo biiiig and brooownnn,” Clark noted as he leaned close to kiss her.

Bessie responded with another mmmmmmerrrrrr, and then quickly flicked her pink ham-like tongue into her left nostril, then her right, cleaning off the ever-present drizzle of clear snot she wore.

“Thasss ssssoooo coooool she can do that nose thingy,” Fertis marveled. “I cannnnot put my tongue in my nossstril.” And he proceeded to show his band of merry Warrior Brothers he was right. Otis and Clark had to give it a try too, and soon the three were having a competition on who had the longest tongue.

nbeknownst to the three fully spirited boys, Marvel stood spying through the cracked-open barn door. When the beer can hit the propane tank, Marvel had indeed woken up. When he went to inspect the situation, he’d watched from the unlit back porch-window as Otis dropped off the roof and scampered to the barn. He’d waited a beat, then quietly made his way to the barn door, witnessing the beer and “sauce” drinking. He imme diately decided they were liquored-up enough—whether it was real or just the heady excitement of getting away with some thing—and walked into the barn.

He clicked on the overhead light and said, “Just what the Sam Hill is going on here?”

Startled, the boys jumped and whirled around. “Uhmm, errr, wellll,” they all stammered.

“Ok, fellas, here’s the deal,” Marvel said. “I know what you’ve been up to, and I’m wondering how to deal with you.” He walked over to the boys and inspected them by bending down to eye level, giving each a long, stern look. “Why don’t you sleep out here tonight with Bessie, and I’ll come and get you up in the morning?” He wasn’t really asking.

The boys “agreed” to sleep in the loft above Bessie, made their way up the ladder, and settled into their bed of straw. Marvel threw three horse blankets up to them and told them to go to sleep. He shook his head as he turned off the light, closed the barn door, and heard unmistakable rounds of giggles. Unable to contain his laughter, he chuckled all the way back to the house. The boys, with their marked-up faces, messed-up hair, and tipsy giggles, took him back to a time of exploration of elixirs during his childhood with his Warrior Brothers, who were his three best friends to this day. Warrior Brothers forever.

***

At six o’clock straight up the next morning, Marvel burst into the barn, clicked on the light, and hollered, “Rise and shine, Warrior Brothers!”

Otis, Fertis, and Clark sat up, bleary-eyed, looking dazed and confused, hay in their hair, faces still tagged with red tribal markings.

“I brought you breakfast,” Marvel smiled. “C’mon down and eat while it’s hot.”

The three boys grudgingly came down the ladder from the hay loft, blinking from the bright overhead lights. Marvel put a large tray of food on the workbench, but one look at the slimy sunny side-up eggs and greasy pork sausage sent the Warrior Brothers scrambling out the back barn door to throw up in the grass.

Marvel laughed and decided that a good stall cleaning for Bessie and the rest of the animals, the warpaint on their bodies that would still be visible the next day at school, and the potential repeated retching was punishment enough. He wouldn’t dole out further penalties. Warrior Brothers of all generations had to stick together.