Mar/April2020

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Photography by: Courtney Ranck-Copher Photography | www.clrcphotography.com | (509) 218-2476

I have never been more excited about my community and the promise of spring. Remember last year, when I announced that Tony and I would actually be enjoying life by taking days off and most importantly, “enjoying our own backyard?”

“Our own backyard” is a term Tony actually made up, inspired by his father who sat outside on his patio everyday, enjoying the fireflies and a cold drink, just celebrating the simple things in life. It reminds me of when I myself was growing up, as my parent’s deck was the place to be- pop in hand, race around the yard, tend to the garden, just hanging out with my family without a phone in sight to “check.” It was a treasure I never even knew I was living.

Since I posted we’d be enjoying life more, we’ve been to concerts, community gatherings, auctions (one where I scored a 1960’s HOMECREST PATIO SET for… wait for it… my own backyard!) and trying so many new restaurants. We even went to a musical! It’s always hilarious to me that as a musician, I think nothing of a show, but as a wife on a Friday or Saturday night- I feel so special donning a dress and stepping out of my routine to have a date night with my husband. I love that in the quad cities, our own backyard is our community of wonderful things to experience. The more we invite people into this conversation, the more I learn of things not to be missed. Did you know that the PNW is an excellent place for bird watching? It is! I never knew how fun it could be to hit a trail with your honey and some binoculars and try to identify our cheerful, chirpy friends. Living in the moment and being open to new things is such a gift.

Sometimes I feel like we’ve traded social media for all of the wonderful, hands-on, simple things in life. In my grandmother’s free time, she was always sewing, canning, cleaning and fixing. I’m so grateful that she taught me these things, though I can’t can worth a damn. Many of my friends do, and I would really like to venture into that and maybe write about it for you all! I don’t know about you, but growing up, many of my summers were spent peeling apples for my mom and her friends as they gathered around to make applesauce. How cool is that? And the best part is mom would whip out some of her classic cinnamon applesauce in the fall to go with deer cutlets and I’d feel such pride that I was a part of creating it, and summer didn’t seem so far away. That’s the kind of retro “enjoying your backyard” that I’m the most interested in. I wonder what special memories you’ll be inspired by, too. I always feel like putting down the phone and getting outside or trying something new is so much like running through the sprinkler as an adult. You know you are going to get a little wet. The water is going to be cold. You wonder, should I jump in? But then you run through, laughing, and it’s like the stress just rolls off and you feel free.

I can’t thank you all enough for the positive feedback to “People of the Palouse.” And thank you for all of the suggestions! I am delighted to go through each of these letters and emails. I truly, truly cannot wait for you to read the next one, and the most spoiler I’ll give you is that it’s such a heroic tale of triumph. I’m looking forward to this series becoming a staple in the magazine.

This issue is perhaps my favorite yet, and I can’t wait for you to dig in. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate all of the calls, emails, letters and just stopping by the floral shop to say hi. I truly love and enjoy this community and it’s so cool to think that we are all making memories together- at the same time. And I can’t wait to hear all about how you’re planning to enjoy your backyard- your projects, all of it! If you have anything fun to suggest to our readers, please let me know!

I hope your spring is lovely. I hope you feel the renewed spirit of the sun and fall in love with all your community has to offer. Thank you for being the reason I publish this magazine, the reason I smile every day.

Thank you for always encouraging me to run through the sprinkler.

Love,

Heather Niccoli Editor-In-Chief Home&Harvest Magazine

editor|design|sales heather niccoli heather@homeandharvestmagazine.com 208.596.5400 | 208.596.4434

publisher

tony niccoli tony@homeandharvestmagazine.com po box 9931 moscow, id

talent gayle anderson zachary wnek joe evans virginia colvig keith crossler diane conroy cydnie gray ginger rankin annie gebel emory ann kurysh temple kinyon mary reed tony niccoli Cover Photo Credit: Lori Clary

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10 Remembering St. Helens 16 An Old Stopping Place

tents 20 30 36 39 44 50 61 62

Protecting Precious Pollinators Introverted Mama, Extroverted Daughter Easter Ricotta Pie Pineapple Coconut Bars Palouse Watercolor Socius The Fire And The Onion Souls Of Sojourners’ The Oh, Otis! Shenanigans

Remembering Saint Helens:

A Once in a Lifetime Experience

By Virginia Colvig

Cleaning files recently, I discovered the hand written pages of a letter drafted May 27, 1980, nine days after Mount St. Helens erupted. It contained a very long excuse and a whole lot of memories.

Dear Ruth, the letter began. I meant to get this note out last Monday, but the post office was closed and things were a little strange around here… Did you get any noticeable ash from Mt. St. Helen’s?

I remembered Ruth’s reply from her home on the East Coast. A little more digging into the old file uncovered this response: “We experienced something unusual that we think came from the Mt. St. Helens eruption: fine coating of ashes on our car after a spectacular sunset on Martha’s Vineyard.” She’d replied. “How far-reaching are natural disasters!”

Belief came easily from the ash shrouded hills of the Palouse. The mountain blew three hundred miles to the west and completely altered our reality. The letters, exhumed from a muddle of papers, released memories and thoughts from that experience. My letter continued.

We had an inch (of ashfall) here. What a mess. I was out planting in my garden about 2:00 (p.m.) when the black cloud approached. It was like the approach of a very bad thunderstorm.

Except that you couldn’t see any rain. Otherwise there was some of that same potent quiet.

I recalled the oddly straight line of gray clouds stretched completely across the western skyline.

No sign of lightening or rain. No sound of thunder. Very still. Yet the cloud advanced steadily.

Nearer and nearer. I hurried to finish seeding before this strange storm arrived.

Then, a door slammed open and the neighbor’s dogs ran barking toward our fence. Edie McDonald, the Albion Town Marshall’s wife, followed purposefully in their wake.

“The Mountain blew.” She called out in greeting.

“Mount St. Helen’s blew?” I rose and walked toward the fence separating our yards.

“The radio says that cloud is ash from the volcano” Edie replied pointing to the gray western horizon. “It said we should get inside.”

Research reminded me that the mountain erupted at 8:32 a.m. that morning. It’s difficult, now, to comprehend that dire warnings of natural disaster could take five and a half whole hours to spread. We’d just gone about enjoying that beautiful spring day, and missed out on all that time for worry, speculation, and preparation. Instead, my husband, Greg, arrived home shortly after Edie’s warning, and we began to experience the event unfold in real time above us. The letter continued to describe the event.

It was awesome to watch dusk approach from the west and not real surprising when everything got gray. We (k)new the Easterly winds would bring the ash our way. Then the street lights came on and the only light came from the East. And soon that was gone. It was 2:30 in the afternoon of a bright warm Sunday and it wasn’t just dark. It was pitch black. Darker than the darkest night because there weren’t even stars out. And nobody knew how long it would be dark. It was sort of an exciting experience.

Exciting? My memory displays a more slow-motion event. It didn’t seem like darkness struck as quickly as the letter states.

I later came to believe that the sun appeared to set in the East at around 4:00 p.m. that afternoon. There was, after all, time for our small flock of chickens to chuckle their way into their house and roost for the night beneath the dusky sky of what had been a sunny spring afternoon. Time to watch from our big East facing kitchen window and experience the last vestige of sky disappear as the cloud of ash laid a cloak between earth and sunlight. A period when reality shifted. Time slowed. But is it possible? Did that surreal Eastern sunset really take only a mere thirty minutes?

We did step out onto the front porch and experienced the ash drift downwards like a soft gray snowfall. Our young son’s afternoon nap did stretch out beneath a darkness that felt like night. And his parents did settle in to watch news reports on network television.

We heard experts explain what they thought they might know about the ash. It might be dangerous. It might be okay. The particles wafting from the sky held mystery. unknown. Masks were recommended. Driving was not recommended. They gave dire warnings and contradicting predictions regarding the ash falling all around us. And then, I think it may have been the Spokane County Sheriff, provided a speech clearly prepared for emergency situations. A speech to comfort the masses during times of crisis.

“We have everything under control.” He stated. Greg and I looked at each other and laughed. We were not reassured.

Mother Nature spoke with pure authority all around. Humans were clearly not in control.

My old letter continued: But the novelty and excitement didn’t last long. The next day the sun was lightening the gray windy day of a different planet. Everything was covered with light gray ash. You know how snow makes a blanket over the world?

Above Photo Credit: Everett Hope: Ash piles on Shawnee Rd (S. G St.)

|| Below Photo Credit: Virginia Colvig

Well this was like that, only more so. Being lighter (than snow) it sifted through the fir tree and settled evenly on each branch, …The day before had been green and blue … snow days are many shades of gray. This day was just sandy gray brown.

But the worst of it is that this stuff doesn’t melt.

I recalled watching an occasional vehicle leave town surrounded by high clouds of ash thrown thirty feet into the air. The billowing particles rose more readily than dust and returned to earth very reluctantly. Like gray talcum powder.

Greg, and several other volunteer firemen, went to work, using the Town’s trucks to hose ash from main streets. I remained inside, working to keep our little boy entertained indoors and restraining him from heading out to his swing set.

There were no children playing outside. None walked from house to house to visit a friend. A few days later, even after a little rain and a lot of work on the streets, outdoor play was not yet deemed safe. Kids and caregivers were going stir-crazy. I helped organize a town wide play date in the community building and we all drove the few blocks to the old brick school house. Finally, our children had an opportunity to run off some energy in a big space, together. What a relief!

The letter described an event not concluded so easily. We’ve been battling the stuff for a week. It’s better, but not licked. You wash something down, it looks clean. It dries, it looks dusty. Over and over again. We had a lot of rain Sunday and yesterday and things seemed almost normal. Now things are drying and cars are raising dust again. It’s really something living in a disaster area. I’m ready to move!

They still don’t know if the stuff ’s dangerous or not. One report says it’s perfectly okay, another says it’s 70 percent glass and will cut up your lungs. Those are just the latest. Last week there was fear of the acidity, then the possibility of silicosis (a miner’s disease like emphysema) ten or twenty years down the road. I don’t know what they’ll finally decide but in the meantime most everybody’s keeping their kids indoors and more and more people seem to be getting religious about wearing face masks outside.

And it’s not the long-term effects which are convincing us. My husband’s been working on cleanup crews a lot. Friday, he coughed all night. Saturday, he stayed in and only coughed half the night, and since he’s been okay. The guy who works for the city spent Friday night coughing and vomiting.

It’s discouraging, frustrating stuff…

I remembered my Dad’s take on the same situation. A farmer, his spring work interrupted, his livelihood at stake, chose to speak with his daughter on the phone. The fifteen miles between our homes being far too distant for social calls at that point in time. I’m sure he listened to his daughter’s concerns, but one sentence burned itself into my memory.

“This is a once in a life time experience.” He had said. Not to reassure, but out of awe. My father focused on a natural wonder we had been privileged to encounter during our life’s journey.

But then, I thought at the time, he wasn’t worried about a toddler who might have his lungs destroyed. And he certainly wasn’t carrying another child who might be damaged by their mother’s exposure to something in the ash. What did he know?

Turns out, he knew a lot. Worry and discouragement fixed nothing. Human effort improved our circumstance, but only rain truly cleansed the earth. How we appreciated blue skies and clear air when they finally returned! Children survived, and even thrived. I recall a small baby boom nine months later. The volcano blew trace nutrients eastward and farmers harvested bumper crops. We experienced Mother Nature’s power and gained a deeper understanding of the process which formed these Palouse hills.

Then, slowly, over years, the ash compacted into a thin line of memory in those places where soil remained undisturbed. Like the recollections of those of us who lived through that truly once in a lifetime experience. I hope.

Homestead in Genesee, with cousins and friends

An Old Stopping Place, Then a Homestead by diane conroy

When we traipse up the Lewiston Hill today or even the old Hwy, it is so much more convenient than it was for the determined pioneers of 140 years ago. Before the old Hwy. was built in 1915, there was the Silcott Rd. The Silcott Rd. was the first white settlers’ road, easier for the wagons than the Native American trail which went almost straight up the hill and had been in place for centuries.

At the top of the Lewiston Hill in 1884, there sat a stopping place called the Ruddy/Collins Stage Stop. Here travelers could get a rest for the horses or oxen, a hot meal and night’s rest for themselves before continuing on.

According to “Early Pioneer History” in the May 1, 1936 Genesee News that we found here at the ranch, “the home was used as a Stage Station from 1871-1885 where travelers could get lodging and meals. Mail was also left at the home to be called for.” The Ruddy/Collins stop and home was listed on the Historical Registry in 1966, but after years of sitting just beyond an overpass bridge of Hwy. 95; it has just recently been torn down.

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Mar/April 2020

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After we left John and Mary Lorang in the last “Home & Harvest” they, along with their group from the train trip West; finally made it up the hill to the Ruddy Stage Station. After a good rest for the oxen and horses and ready to move on, the families traveled toward Uniontown, where a Catholic community they knew was trying to build a church; later the beautiful St. Boniface church.

John and Mary Lorang and their traveling companions, Sebastian and Mary Dahm, joined forces and rented an old cabin with a loft next to St. Gaul’s Church in Colton, Wash. Both Mary Lorang and her friend, Mary Dahm, were pregnant at the time and there was only a ladder in the old cabin to the loft. The two families drew straws to see who would get the upper loft and have to climb the ladder. Mary and John Lorang lost that one and their first child, Peter, was born in this cabin in the winter of 1884.

Mary Dahm had a daughter Rose in this same cabin. Now these two young families were looking for a homestead to settle, in the surrounding area. John Lorang had been earning money for the family by traveling to the Moscow mountains and making wooden rails for the railroad.

Right Side Photo: Sebastian & Mary Dahm Bottom Photo: Cabin in Colton, WA

He would take off with the only wagon they had, the same one they used to climb the Silcott road and spend some days in the woods chopping rails. After delivering his rails, John would camp near Genesee, Idaho at the William White residence, which had a spring. He became good friends with William and Mary White, who had patented their Idaho homestead in 1871. While camping and enjoying the company of the White family, John saw that just north of the White homestead there was a very small beautiful home with a bay window. It had been lovingly built by an experienced boat builder, William Dillingham. The house had just been finished and was for sale.

John Lorang was excited of the prospect of buying this little homestead, but Genesee was booming. According to Mary Gesellchen Lorang “in the Genesee Proper, ‘There were tents all over the place and all was blooming.....it was thought Genesee was going to be a big city. ...” Someone else was able to buy the small homestead before John could and the homestead went to a pioneer by the name of George Jameson.

John continued his trips back and forth to Colton, with his hand hewn railroad ties. But in just a few short months, he heard that the little homestead was for rent. The current owner George Jameson was a blacksmith by trade and had built a shop on the homestead. But when he took to breaking the sod in his field, he had realized just how difficult it was to plow the tough ground cover for the first time.

Home&Harvest

Jameson ended up unhitching his horse and leaving the plow in the field, then moving to Genesee to become the town’s blacksmith. John and Mary Lorang immediately rented the homestead and then bought it the next year. It was now 1886 and young Peter was 2 years old.

John continued to hew or square rails for the railroad in the Moscow mountains to support his new family of now four, with another son born the summer of 1886.

Here in their new homestead, the journaling and photography began. John and Mary Lorang started the documentation of almost every day of their lives, as their young family grew up. The photographs are quite artistic and the writings are full of stories. The most amazing thing is the quantity of journals and photographs that were found. John was also a little dismayed at the lack of trees compared to his Wisconsin childhood. He planted his first trees and didn’t stop planting for 40 years. The homestead still exists, with its pretty bay window. Two doors from the old cabin in Colton, Wash. have been found and preserved. My great grandfather John Lorang was very seriously interested in history. He saved the abandoned plow, the oxen yoke and the seat from their only wagon; which can be found at the Lorang homestead, now the White Spring Ranch Museum and Archive Library in Genesee today.

More information can be found online at www.facebook. com/pages/White-Spring-Ranch. (To be continued….)

Mar/April 2020

18

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Protecting Precious Pollinators By

Tony Niccoli Every spring, Heather and I plant and care for a flower garden that runs the length of our yard in front of the house. It’s something we have been doing for years, and a real joy. We carefully weed, and take care of the perennials as they start to show just after the last frosts of winter. And then we trim and support rose bushes when they begin their yearly expansion. And finally we fill the open spaces with cheerful annuals. It’s a lot less work than you would expect and the results are breathtaking.

One of our favorite things to do in the morning while having coffee is sit on the front porch as our cat Meow-Meows grazes in the lawn and rolls around scenting and enjoying the morning sun. And as we are out there, an industrious swarm of ladies is quickly tending to pollination and helping themselves to plenty of nectar with each stop. They buzz about – almost colliding at times – and often creating a queue of 15 or more flittering around a single flowering bush or cluster of blooms, taking turns stopping in for a treat.

Some of these ladies are honey bees that are kept by a neighbor that enjoys tending her hive. Others are native varieties that have made the Palouse their home for more years than any of us could count. And mixed in with them is the occasional moth, butterfly, or hummingbird seeking some breakfast of their own.

You can hear the hum of excitement every time we stop talking and listen, and though we normally have anywhere from 50 to 100 bees within a few yards of us we have never had a kitty or human stung. Just chased about every once in a while by ornery yellow-jackets or dive-bombed by a frantic dragon fly that can’t decide where to go. And as we have been enjoying their daily dance so much we have decided to create a little more space for them in our lives, and specifically target some local nectar-producing delicacies for them to enjoy throughout the spring, summer, and fall.

In flowering plants – angiosperms – pollen is needed to produce seeds and flowers. And that pollen needs to be transferred from the male part of the plant to the female part for fertilization to occur. In other plants – gymnosperms – that lack flowers (like all the evergreen trees around our region) the seeds are exposed or arranged in cones. Because they don’t rely on pollinators visiting their flowers for a taste of sweet nectar, these gymnosperms need to spend a ton of their energy creating tiny seeds that can be blown on the wind for fertilization. By using a flower or fruit and enclosed seeds, the angiosperms have an advantage. They can still pollinate on the wind, but they also have a wonder symbiosis with bees, moths, butterflies, and other friendly natives that are drawn to the plant for the sustenance it provides. As they jump flower to flower they are stepping in or brushing up against the plant’s pollen and it sticks to them to catch a ride to the next flower where it can rub off.

These flowering and fruit bearing plants tend to be seasonal, so they provide an excellent meal for animals and insects during the spring and summer, then go dormant or die off during the fall and winter.

With the seasonal balance in mind, one of the first considerations for creating a bounty for your local pollinators is to try to find a variety of plants that will flower at different times. This guarantees the most offering for your local bees, bugs and birds throughout the entire spring and summer when they are also becoming much more active and out looking for food. A honey bee hive for example is an amazing display of timing – as well as efficiency, teamwork, and industriousness. The population will naturally decrease in the fall and become its smallest as they weather the cold of the winter. But as soon as the temperatures are rising, the bees are hard at work expanding, and growing to meets the needs of spring and summer when a hive can have over 50,000 bees.

A colony of bees will have only one queen, and then a division of workers and drones. The drones are the males, and they don’t have a stinger. Really they only have one job, and they only do it once. Nice work if you can find it, unfortunately for the drones they die after their job is complete. If you ever see a giant swarm of bees all flying in a tight ball that could a colony heading for a home, but most likely, it’s all the drones dancing with the queen. After she returns to the hive she will have all the fertilized eggs she needs, and will be able to lay up to 1,500 a day when the hive needs to expand and grow. When she lays a fertilized egg it will be a female – a worker bee. If she lays an unfertilized egg it will become one of the male drones. And when a hive knows it needs another queen, the queen will lay the fertilized egg in a vertical cell instead of the horizontal combs and that contain the drones and workers. And the workers will recognize they vertical cell and they will feed this larvae royal jelly for a much longer period, causing her to become much larger and grow into a queen. A hive may make a new queen when the old one is getting old, or slowing her production of eggs to grow the hive. Some of the female workers can also occasionally lay eggs when needed, but because they never take a wedding flight they will only ever be able to produce male drones.

Along with the queen using pheromones to signal orders to the rest of the hive, they just seem to collectively understand what work is most important, and whose turn it is to get each task done. That tremendous work effort falls entirely to the female workers. 3..2..1.. – okay I’m sure you are all back now from that joke about it being the same way at your house. But with honeybees it is entirely true. All those workers you see buzzing around your flowers with the stingers are ladies. And if you see them out collecting pollen and nectar they are older and getting closer to the end of their lives. At the start they do the safest jobs, like cleaning out cells in the hive and capping cells that have freshly laid eggs. Then they get their first babysitting job and they become responsible for feeding and checking the larvae.

Bees are definitely the original helicopter moms, they can check their young a thousand times in a single day!

After that they might move to feeding and cleaning the queen, or collecting packets of nectar that returning bees drop. Next they move to fanning the opening to regulate temperature in the hive, and then even begin guarding by standing near any entrance checking to make sure that only bees from their hive try to get in. Sort of like a bee bouncer. And after passing through all these jobs and getting older they take on the most dangerous job and go out collecting for the hive. The first time they leave they are already middle-aged but have never been away from the hive. They take a little while to study it and fly around the immediate area so they can recognize it on the way home. You may see them doing a little dance, or see several follow a strange pattern as they move around your flowers. That is a little scent trail that they have left to help the other workers follow a productive path to good pollen and nectar sources. It takes about 2 million stops at flowers to make a pound of honey so they really try to be efficient and resourceful. During her lifetime, a normal worker will only produce about 1/12 of a teaspoon of honey, so that busy bee you see circling your yard is more interested in work than stinging you. It’s good to be cautious if you have an allergy, but otherwise there really isn’t any reason to be afraid.

If she does have to sting you she will die, so that is always a last resort for defense. She might give you a quick flyby to check your scent, but its hard work and flowers that keep her attention if you just sit still. They are so dedicated to keeping the hive healthy and clean that they even remove themselves before they die so aren’t in anyone’s way when they pass.

And the reason those flowers you’ll be planting are so beautiful is not just from selective human breeding over the last few hundred years. It’s actually an incredible balance of trying to attract the local pollinators with both a color show and a scent they can’t resist. And just like humans, insects and animals all have their favorites!

Some butterflies prefer flat petal flowers so they have space to land while they snack. Bats look for flowers with scent first since they are searching in the dark. Flies are attracted to really stinky flowers. Many types of bees and bugs even have a color preference – some even and infrared color preference – and that helps them find their favorite flowers when there is an abundance of choice.

There are even some pairings know where a single insect is the only pollinator able to access a specific flower.

And all that hopping from favorite to favorite guarantees the best possible results for cross pollination. Having a specific favorite and a natural loyalty is good for both the plant and the pollinator.

longyou thearmssmiorlenot,youwe'dream d likeof,totoo.give

Running Double Running Double

by Keith Crossler

In our small community, it isn’t unheard of to run multiple calls at the same time. However, it isn’t that likely either. Sure we can get a 911 call for help while doing a transfer. Or, a fire alarm while helping a patient with a medical need. I do remember one night that ended up being much different than what we were initially dispatched to. Being the on-duty Captain, I don’t think I was really ready for the events as they began to unfold.

On a typical duty night, I never really slept that great because of the anticipation of the call, or the nerve of accidentally missing a call. I always slept with my pager and radio turned all the way up. This call came out not long after I went to bed that night. I must have really been in a deep sleep. The pager woke me up, but I was really groggy. I checked en-route for a one car crash south of town. The severity of the call didn’t seem that bad as the patient was out of the car and claiming non-injury. I remember thinking to myself, am I going the right way? Did I remember that location right? Then the tones went out again.

“Moscow Fire, Ambulance, and Rescue, respond for a chip truck crash into a building with a car under the truck”. Now I’m thinking, what? Did I just hear that right? I must really be out of it. Of course, this new update woke me right up. As I clicked on the radio to acknowledge there was a second call, I drove up on that crash. It must have happened just as I was starting to go on the first call. My initial thought was to keep going on the call I was already heading to, but with this severe of a call, I couldn’t just drive past.

The ambulance crew had already checked en-route for the first call, so I had them continue. As I started to check out the truck crash, I realized there was not only a person trapped in the car, but the truck was also leaking fuel. This was now becoming a bigger event than just a crash. I confirmed an update with dispatch and made sure we had all the appropriate resources coming.

One thing I love about this department, is the response from the volunteers. These folks have always amazed me with the ability to just come when needed. Another Chief Officer responded to cover the first crash. A Rural truck responded to the first crash, to then come to this crash to help when they were done. I had an abundance of people respond for this crash. One of our members worked for the city and he showed up in a front-end loader full of sand to deal with the fuel leak. I should mention that the patient from the first call was okay and it was a non-injury event.

First thing first. Let’s get the driver out of the car. Rescue went to work and got his door open. The car wasn’t actually under the truck. But, it was pushed underneath the side of the trailer and smashed enough that the driver couldn’t get out. The driver of the chip truck was out of the truck, but there was major damage to it and now we were starting to assess that. When the car hit the truck, it pushed it towards the building. After going through two trees, it glanced off the building and into a concrete staircase. When it hit the stairs, one of the axels ripped off the truck along with ripping one of the fuel tanks off. It was truly one of the most impressive things I think I had ever seen at that point. As we talked with the truck driver, I realized that he wasn’t feeling well from the crash. As his adrenalin was starting to wear off, he was starting to feel the pain. I immediately called for another ambulance.

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Simultaneously of this, we were also working to mitigate the fuel spill. We had estimated around 75 gallons was in the tank when it was ripped off the truck. Not all of it came out, but most of it did. The major challenge with the fuel spill was that it was pouring down rain. So the fuel was running fast.

With the sand there, we created dams periodically down the roadway and tried blocking all the storm drains for an entire city block. We knew we weren’t fast enough to just stop it there. So, with the help of Chief Button, we worked to deploy booms throughout Paradise Creek as it flowed west out of town. Chief and his crew worked for a few hours to set up the booms. Overall we felt really good with the efforts on the stop and clean up. The other thing we had in our favor, there wasn’t a continuous supply. Once the tank was mostly empty, there wouldn’t be any other spread.

So, now we’ve got all the patients to the hospital, the haz-mat situation is under control and being contained, so we began the plan of clearing the roadway. Representatives from the truck company were on scene and we all worked together to make a plan. First, we would have a tow truck pull the car out from underneath the truck and remove it. The crash was blocking two of the three lanes of the road. Fortunately, being in the early morning hours, we didn’t have to deal with much traffic. The trucking company had brought in their own tow truck and trailer to haul away the damaged truck.

Now, this was a loaded chip truck so their plan was to pull the trailer down to Lewiston and empty it before it would be repaired.

The “fun” thing of this next part was the crane that was brought in. The trailer was tipped against the building and the landing gear was damaged so it wouldn’t be able to be normally unhooked form the tractor. Bennett Lumber graciously donated the use of their crane and after it was unloaded, we closed the road and it went to work. The trailer was lifted by a sling of heavy chains, by the crane, so it was just up off the tractor. The tow truck pulled the tractor out of the way. With the crane still holding the trailer up, a new tractor was brought in and hooked up to the trailer. Just like it was planned, the crane set the trailer down and off it went down the road. I was later told that it didn’t take much to fix the trailer. Once it was empty, the shop was able to tweak the main ridge on the top, add some new landing gear, and it was back on the road.

Now that the trailer was out of the way, the crane moved over to the damaged tractor. They lifted it similar to how the trailer was done, and hoisted it up in the air for a flatbed trailer to be moved underneath. Once on the trailer, it was tied down and off to a shop of its own for repair. This kind of crash caused quite the mess on the roadway as well. The fire department could move back in at this point and help clean up any remaining oil and debris that was on the road.

This type of event is neat to see come together. The call for help turns into an array of folks from all sides of the situation coming together to resolve the event. Even through this story, I only touched on some of the folks involved. The knowledge, strength, and dedication from all involved was truly amazing to be part of.

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An Introverted Mama, An Extroverted Daughter: How We Find Balance byAnnie

Gebel

Recently I witnessed my nine-year-old daughter, Gracie, run into gymnastics and hug an entire group of girls, sharing stories about what had gone on the last week with lots of giggles and OMGs! She then excused herself to conduct a little business. Yes, really. She had to go chat up the receptionist to see if she sold any bracelets in the business she started with a friend. While she was at the counter she showed off the new styles she learned how to make, which she wears on her wrist to advertise. After all the oohing, aahing, and collection of 75 cents, she skipped off to an hour of cartwheeling fun.

It tired me out just to watch her. I gave a few half smiles and a quick hello to other parents and then sat down with my nose in a book.

She’s an extrovert. I’m an introvert. I strive for balance, although it can be difficult to balance the scales with such an active socialite. But try I do.

A mentor once told me that whether one is intro- or extroverted is told by where we recharge, where we go to reenergize when our fuel tank is low. Being an introvert doesn’t mean I’m shy, necessarily. It means that at the end of the day, when I’m tired, I like a peaceful bath or to sit at the keyboard and type a few words. Gracie, on the other hand, recharges with friends – new and old. She gets a little testy (kind of like I do if I don’t get a little alone time) if she doesn’t have people around her.

So, what’s a mama to do? This mama tries to take care of both of our spirits.

For me, I depend on my husband to give me time alone. When he’s not available, I lean on friends or pay a sitter – it’s that important. I use this time to grocery shop in peace, read a book at the park, or see a movie. I’m also honest with all three of my kids about mama needing time for mama. I let them know that I need time to myself to regroup, refresh, and be a better parent to them. They’ve all seen me at my wit’s end…harried and scolding for little to no reason. So, they mostly let me go off on my own without too much frustration.

But watch out when I come back through that door! It doesn’t matter if I’m alone for 20 minutes or four hours – the kids practically tackle me and smother me with hugs and kisses like they haven’t seen me for days! That’s ok. My tank is refilled with that alone time.

I also utilize the time after the kids go to bed to refuel. That’s often when I write letters and articles or take baths by candlelight. I enjoy some time in my own head, with my own thoughts, before heading to bed myself. It’s good for processing the chaos of the day, putting my dreams and goals into perspective, and planning for life – whether for the next day or year. Taking this time really helps me feel centered and stable.

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I do enjoy gathering with friends, too. Our family has been part of monthly game nights, weekly play dates, and other social getting together. And we like it. But I also need weekends that we don’t leave the yard or if we do it’s for a hike in the outdoors, just our family and nature.

So, that’s how I take care of me. How do I tend to my daughter’s gregarious, giving, energetic extroversion? Well, I let her fly. Since she could walk away, she’s been doing just that. She always runs back to shower me with love and share all that she’s discovered in the world outside - new friends, new ideas, more excitement than I can imagine.

So, I let her go and watch with wonder. And when she flutters back over with her reports about whatever, I do my best to be excited with her.

I encourage her ventures to have bake sales and collect donations that she then gives to charity – both ways she interacts with others in a positive way. I like these and other volunteer opportunities because she enjoys the human contact and I like that there’s a life lesson involved. Win – win.

I try to be the supporting cast to her starring role. I foster her ability and desire to meet people and make friends by letting her participate in sports, homeschooling groups, and other activities when possible. She recently had the opportunity to write and record a song and music video with a group of pre-teens at a music camp. How cool is that?

As a Navy family, we’ve moved a few times and Gracie has friends in several states - Arizona, New York, Washington, Georgia, and New Mexico. She keeps in touch by writing letters and sending pictures and small presents. We also try to connect regularly with the friends she has locally. I let Gracie spend time at friends’ homes after I’ve gotten to know the parents a bit and occasionally ask her friends to our home. The latter doesn’t happen as often, though, because it really does drain my reserves quickly. I feel like I should put myself out there more for her sake, but I am a work in progress.

We’re different, but I’m learning to enjoy the way she balances me without feeling overwhelmed by her exuberance or clipping her wings with my strong desire to look inward for gratification. One thing that enhances our relationship – not just taking care of my spirit or hers, but our lives together as mother and daughter – is our occasional girls days. We spend a few hours with just each other, doing things that the boys in our lives wouldn’t appreciate. This time together helps our relationship. We get to be with each other in a fun and positive way, which is great for balancing those times when one of us is starting to look at the other like they’re just too much, or too little.

My life as an introvert has changed a lot over the years, but no more so than with raising this incredible, extroverted daughter of ours. I don’t know if I’m doing it right or right enough, but I’m doing what I can. I think that’s all any parent can hope for. And we can always check in with Gracie in a few years to see if she’s still flying, still loving life, and still loving me. That’ll be the true test.

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flank flame

by tony niccoli

Enjoying Corn in Your Own Backyard

So here we are in March, spring has just begun, and summer already feels just around the corner. One of my primary goals for the next three seasons is to just enjoy my own backyard.

And I mean that on several levels. To find joy and rest in simple things. To take more quiet time without feeling the need to travel to “get away.” To appreciate the region we live in. To enjoy the numerous activities available right here. And to actually spend my time in my actual backyard. And spend a lot of that time grilling.

When Heather and I first bought our house it was a mess and needed a ton of work. And that was great for us – first because that’s why we could afford it, and second because we got to do everything our own way. We painted the outside. We painted every wall inside. We redesigned bathrooms and part of the kitchen. And finally, after we were nearly complete we went to work in the yard.

After months of landscaping, adding on to the deck, building an eating area, and creating a little fire pit area we were finally done and ready to relax. But I still feel like I’m always on to the next task and looking for new project instead of just literally sitting in my own backyard enjoying all the work we’ve done. And that feeling extends to work and relationships and many parts of life. And this year I’m slowing down, and taking that time to enjoy my own backyard.

I want to share with you one of my all-time favorite things to grill. Today we take a close look at corn! It’s simple, delicious, and a summer grilling staple. Almost any protein you can imagine cooking would be just a little better with corn as the side. It just screams cook-out bliss. But far too often I see it done wrong, or skipped because people thinks it more work than its worth on the grill.

First, let’s talk about the corn. You should buy it the day you grill or day before. Sure, you can get it with the normal grocery run and just keep it in the fridge – and I actually do this often in the summer – but if you really want to cook a great ear, get fresh corn picked and cooked within a few days of its peak. And then skip the water bath.

It won’t add moisture even if you brine, and it won’t delay char long enough to make any real difference.

Just gently peel back the husk to expose the silk and the corn itself, but don’t remove the husk. Just let it stay attached to the end like a banana. Then wash the corn and remove the silk before you butter.

And butter. And butter. And butter. Sure, you lose a lot of that to the grill, but it does help it steam a little as it cooks and really works in the flavor. Once you have the butter on, you can replace the husk and remove a few strands if you didn’t have any already fall off. I try to get a thin, one or two layer covering for most or all of the ear. Not the normal thick cover the corn naturally grows.

Then I throw them over direct heat on a high grill and turn every few minutes. I look for charring on the husk to spot when they are getting done. But it should take about 15 minutes.

Another option is to completely remove the husk to make that step easier in the end and just use aluminum foil. That was my technique for years and it keep the butter on the corn for more steaming with a little less grilling flavor made up for with more buttery richness. If in doubt, just try both to find your favorite.

The finished corn will less translucent and will get to a bright yellow shine. If you like a little char you can also peel back the husk with a good set of tongs and then cook another two minutes as you turn it. Allow a few minutes to cool before you peel back the husk or foil then butter and salt to taste. That’s it – simple as can be and a wonderful treat to enjoy in your own backyard this summer.

But if you do want to bump it up a notch, try some street corn. I have recipes here for both Mexican and Jamaican style.

Mexican Street Corn

½ cup mayo ½ cup cotija cheese (or grated parmesan) Chili powder and cilantro to taste.

Slather the corn with mayo after it rests then sprinkle on the cheese, chili powder and optional cilantro. You can serve them on wood stick with a lime wedge for the full experience, but at our house we just use those little plastic corn shaped skewers.

Jamaican Street Corn

1 teaspoon salt ½ teaspoon black pepper 1 teaspoon cayenne pepper ½ teaspoon paprika ½ cup mayo 2 cups toasted coconut flakes Mix the spices into your mayo and brush the corn after you let it rest. Then roll in the coconut flakes and hit it with a little lime juice.

You can also add a little curry powder, cinnamon, or grated ginger to the mayo mix

Easter Ricotta Pie Emory Ann Kurysh

Ingredients: (For the pie crust) 1 ½ cup all-purpose flour ½ tsp salt ¼ cup coconut oil ⅛ cup butter, cold 10 tbsp cold water (approximately) (For the filling) 2 cups ricotta cheese 4 large eggs ⅓ cup granulated sugar 1 tsp lemon zest Squeeze of lemon juice

Steps:

Preheat oven to 350°F. 1. For the crust- combine flour and salt in a medium bowl. Add the coconut oil and butter. Mix well. Then add water one tablespoon at a time. The dough should mostly form a ball, with some flakier chunks that don’t quick stick. (Crumbly over sticky preferred.) Transfer dough to floured surface. Using

a floured rolling pin, roll out the dough to just cover a 9” pie pan. Trim edges. For the filling- combine all ingredients into a large bowl. Mix well. Then pour filling evenly onto prepared crust. Bake in oven for 45-50 minutes or until surface of pie feels firm to the touch. Remove and let cool. Refrigerate until ready to serve. Top with powdered sugar or whipped cream if so desired!

Best Chocolate Chip Muffins Kitchen: Emory Ann Kurysh Steps

Ingredients

2 ¼ cups all-purpose flour 1 tbsp baking powder 1 tsp baking soda ½ tsp salt 2 eggs ½ cup unsalted butter, melted 1 cup granulated sugar 1 tbsp vanilla extract ¾ cup milk 1 tsp lemon juice 1 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips

Preheat oven to 400°F. Makes 2 dozen. Line muffin trays with 24 cupcake liners. In a medium bowl, add flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt. Mix well. In a separate large bowl, combine eggs, butter, sugar, vanilla, milk, and lemon juice. Fold in dry ingredients. Add chocolate chips and stir until just combined. Pour batter into liners, filling them half full. Bake in oven for 12-15 minutes or until toothpick comes out clean. Enjoy these soft and sweet muffins while they’re still warm, or keep in an airtight container for up to a week.

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Simple Plain Bagels Emory Ann Kurysh 1 ½ cups all-purpose flour 3 tbsp granulated sugar 1 ½ tbsp active dry yeast 1 tsp salt 1 ½ cups warm water 2 ½ cups all-purpose flour 16 cups water Oil, to grease

208.883.1525

128 E 3rd Street Moscow, ID

WWW.LATAHREALTY.COM

Makes 1 dozen. Combine first four ingredients into a large bowl. Slowly add 1 ½ cups of warm water. Beat for 3 minutes either by hand or with a mixer on low speed. Add the remaining 2 ½ cups of flour. Mix by hand, making sure to scrape the sides of the bowl. Transfer to a floured surface and knead until a soft dough forms. Then place dough in a medium bowl and let rest for 15 minutes. Divide dough into 12 balls. Poke a hole in the centre of each ball using your finger. Work into a nice, even, smooth shape of a bagel.

Repeat 11 more times. Cover and let rise for 20 minutes. In the meantime, boil 16 cups of water. Preheat oven to 375°F. Turn boiling water down to medium-low. Once bagels have risen, put a few in the water for 5 minutes, turning them over halfway through. Remove and put onto greased baking sheet. Bake for 30-35 minutes. Let cool before eating.

Pineapple Coconut Bars Kitchen: Gayle Anderson Ingredients 2 cups flour ¾ cup butter, softened ½ tsp vanilla extract 1 1/3 cup sugar, divided ½ tsp kosher salt, divided 4 cups fresh pineapple, chopped ½ cup coconut ¼ cup cornstarch 1 ½ Tbl lemon juice ¼ cup silvered almonds (optional) Steps: Preheat oven 375 and lightly ocat a 9” square baking pan with cooking spray. In a mixing bowl, beat flour, butter, vanilla, 1 cup of sugar and ¼ tsp salt till mixture resembles coarse crumbs, about 1 minute. Reserve 1 cup of crumb mixture in a small bowl for the topping. Press remaining crumb mixture evenly into bottom of the prepared pan.

Bake crust until golden brown, about 18 minutes and let cool 30 min. (don’t turn oven off) Meanwhile stir together chopped pineapple, cornstarch, lemon juice, coconut, 1/3 cup of sugar and ¼ tsp of salt until thoroughly combined. Spread over baked crust (top with almonds if desired). Bake at 375 for 45-55 minutes.

S F L

wheat arm ife

Gayle Anderson If you have been reading this wonderful magazine for a while and maybe tried one or two of my recipes, you probably already guessed that one of my favorite things to do is bake. And besides baking and cooking, I do like to host people in my home. For me nothing evokes happy times than gathering those you hold near and dear around the table. As my extended family grew, so did my dining table, which is now 96” and can hold about 12-14 and sometimes that isn’t enough.

I am also a planner. Sometimes I try not to be as I like spontaneity and unplanned events, which are often some of the most fun. But usually I’ll get some kind of crazy idea that sounds like fun and will then work to put things in motion. I just can’t help myself, and when I utter the words “I have a plan” it will often strike fear into my family’s heart, especially my mom.

But to give them credit, they are usually game and participate without too much complaining.

Every once in a while, though my adventures will crash and burn, like the time I took my mom to a horrid movie that I thought was a comedy and it turned out to be a violent weird movie.

Umm, let’s just say I forgot to read the reviews as I saw famous actors playing in it, and well, now I read movie reviews. For the life of me, I can’t imagine why that movie was nominated for an award, but I guess they forgot to ask me for my thoughts. Haha!

To give my family a break for the next planned event, I turned my attention to a few of my unsuspecting neighbors. Luckily for me there was wine and beer involved when I pitched the idea and they readily agreed. One of the things I love most about my Mr. Right (Rod), is that he is always a willing victim for whatever I plan and he is an excellent cook. The event that came to be was putting together a neighborhood progressive dinner for about 4 households, plus we added in a few other neighbors for good measure. During the planning, the women tasked the men with the opportunity to do the cooking. I assured my neighbors, “this will be fun, trust me!” Then I asked if there was a “theme for dressing up for the occasion” and I got blank looks…. So now I’ve decided that, of course, this must lead to some kind of “future theme party”. (Just the thoughts of a theme party has me thinking. Once I threw a polyester party… but there are soooo many options). Anyway, for starters- a progressive dinner is a good beginning and I’ll work on them for expanding into a bit more adventure. (I’m just happy there aren’t any neighborhood covenants in place where they could vote me out of the area!)

And here is what a neighborhood progressive dinner looks like. We started at my house for drinks and appetizers. And as I said, the men were tasked with the menu. My idea of hors d’ oeuvres is vastly different from Rod’s as I don’t like small detail work, especially when it comes to food. But as Mr. Right pointed out, he was in charge and he actually loves stuffing mushrooms, wrapping bacon around individual dates and other time consuming things. So I happily I surrendered the kitchen to him and let him create. The complete menu was: xoxo.

Next, the salad portion of the meal was at Dwayne & Connie’s home. And they served a scrumptious green salad I could have made a whole meal from. From there we had the main course at Sam & Debbie’s home where the creative Sam made seafood lasagna.

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Amazing, tasty and it was a favorite. Then we moved onto the home of Monte & Gail’s for coffee and dessert. It was lovely.

After that, we all wedged our fully stuffed selves into our cars to collapse in a food coma. Pure decadence.

Best of all, the neighbors were up for the adventure, the food was wonderful, the company was excellent and good memories were created. If you have never tried a progressive dinner before, they are the best and I can almost guarantee that some funny story will arise. And I’ll share a humorous insight from my world. A few years ago I convinced my family to do a progressive Christmas dinner and it ranged from Moscow to Genesee and took the whole day. I had assigned each of the family members a course. My brother Doug, who was single at the time, was given the task of appetizers. Little did I know that he had no idea what to do and that his cooking skills were limited. So bless his heart, he decided to do a vegetable tray even though he hates vegetables. We arrived at his home and he opens his refrigerator and places a (still wrapped) head of cauliflower and a large bunch of broccoli on the counter and opens up a container of ranch dressing: the “Doug version of a veggie tray.” Of course, my youngest daughter who was around 12 was a bit appalled at the offering says, “Uncle Doug, you are such a bachelor!“ And then of course, we all got the giggles, and after a bit of good natured chiding, my mom and I went into action, cut up the veggies, put them on a tray and all was well. In fact we enjoyed the progressive Christmas dinner so much that we did that one more time. And by that time, my brother had married Edie, a wonderful woman who is an excellent cook and had the appetizer duty well under control.

My Mr. Right was beyond excited to partake in the progressive dinner and had commented that people don’t seem to do that in larger cities such as Spokane where he lives. And like I mentioned before, he actually likes my planned events and has never complained once about anything I spring on him.

And hopefully by the time this article is in your home, that he and his dog will have moved from Spokane to join me and my crazy herd of dogs where we will be a blended family to some very spoiled pooches.

I think next on the horizon is a block party, although I haven’t yet sprung that on my neighbors. And when you live in the country, well the block party could basically be the radius of 7 miles. And I have a plan… to be continued and launched sometime this fall if all goes well.

My hope for each of you, is that you too will reach out to those you enjoy keeping company with and creating good times. Yes, hosting does take a bit of work and planning, but the payoff in the end is worth it. People and gatherings are what the spice of life is all about. You don’t have to possess spectacular culinary skills, (I certainly don’t) but if I can do it, so can you. Heck, just order a pizza, open a bag of packaged salad and gather your tribe over. Trust me, it will be fun.

Alfred Dunn, 1909 to 2002

by

Mary Reed

It all began with a watercolor instructor at the University of Idaho. Alfred Dunn, Idaho’s preeminent watercolor artist, inspired the founding of the Palouse Watercolor Socius as well as its continuation. Alf received his B.A. from the University in 1936. As a poor student he financed his education painting signs on windows and walls. After he graduated he moved to Seattle where he worked for an ad agency for five years. The experience greatly influenced his painting: “As a commercial artist you have to work fast. Watercolor is a quick sketch medium. You have to know what you’re going to say and say it in a hurry. You’re after something that can happen in a fleeting moment and you want to put it down as quickly as you can.” He taught those skills to his students when he returned to the University in 1941, with classes in commercial art and watercolor until his retirement in 1974.

His students remember him as an inspiring, enthusiastic, and gifted teacher. One of them, Linda Wallace, remarked: “We can never forget the generous way Alf gave us the love for the watercolor medium. He opened his home to us more than once, sharing his latest works and discussing art with us, not as a teacher but as one artist to another artist.”

Alf Dunn in his studio, 1999

Alf ’s retirement in 1974 sparked the decision of a few students to form a watercolor group. Linda remembers how it began. Learning of his retirement, “we were to say the least, all disappointed. He was a generous and inspiring instructor and we wanted more help! We wanted to continue to paint!” A small group of women including Linda, Penny David, Kay Montgomery, Rene Helbling, Jo Thompson, and Dorothy Shelton met at Penny’s home. “With hot mugs of coffee and munching cookies we discussed what we wanted the club to become. Our excitement was palpable. We put out ideas and must ‘haves.’ This was the day we decided to form the Palouse Watercolor Socius. We decided we wanted to paint on location and to meet in each other’s homes once a month to critique paintings and to share watercolor information. We haggled over the name of our group finally, deciding on Palouse Watercolor Socius. Penny said, ‘she liked this name socius,’ (a Latin word for companions) and that would make people remember us.” They made Alf an honorary member which pleased him very much. Their passion for watercolor and commitment to the art continues to inspire and influence PWS. Linda Wallace at the Latah County Fair, 2013

At first the members used only transparent watercolors. Later they experimented with other water media, as Linda explained, “stretch our creativity.

It gives us pleasure to be able to share our diversity in techniques and subject matter with the public.”

After gathering in each other’s homes for a time, they moved the monthly meetings to the United Church in Moscow where PWS still meets each month on the first Wednesday.

My admiration for Alf Dunn and introduction to the Palouse Watercolor Socius began when I was Director of the Latah County Historical Society. Having an interest in watercolor, I joined a group of students who met weekly at Linda’s house. Like Alf Dunn, Linda was an excellent and inspiring teacher who shared his enthusiasm with us. It occurred to me after learning about his reputation and qualities as an artist, that Alf ’s life story would an excellent topic for a project at the Historical Society. I started with an oral history interview, continued with an exhibit, and then wrote an article for our journal, Latah Legacy.

I met many artists at our 1999 reception to honor him. The Daily News joined the tribute with its own article.

Kay Montgomery, a PWS founder

Jan Vogtman

For 45 years, PWS and its members have become an important component in the artistic culture of the region. A current emphasis is outreach to the public to encourage the practice and knowledge of watercolor. This has been done through workshops, demonstrations at schools, libraries, and other sites and events. Members have participated in competitions such as the plein air paint out sponsored by the Moscow Arts Department last summer. Another commitment of its artists has been to support other organizations with donations of paintings for fundraising events. These have included Friends of the Clearwater, the Phoenix Conservancy, Prichard Art Gallery, the Artisans at the Dahmen Barn, and the 1912 Center. Others include Gritman Hospital, Latah County Historical Society, Artisans at the Dahmen Barn, Palouse Cares, Habitat for Humanity, Sojourner’s Alliance, and Moscow Day School. In February Jan Vogtman and Cheryll Root donated proceeds from their February 13 show of animal paintings to the World Wildlife Fund.

The coming year includes a show and sale at the Moscow Coop in April, participating in Moscow and Pullman’s annual art walks, the Center for Arts and History in Lewiston, and our annual show at Artisans at the Dahmen Barn. In April, the Moscow Co-op will host a show of small painting as a fundraiser for PWS. A new venue is a changing art exhibit in the Moscow Chamber of Commerce’s Conference room.

Bobbi Kelly with two young students

It was almost ten years later in 2008 that I joined the Socius. On a sunny day during Pullman’s Lentil Festival in Reaney Park, I found a watercolor exhibit of PWS artists. Jan Vogtman greeted me and answered my many questions about the paintings and the group. Over one hour of my browsing and talking with her, Jan convinced me that it was time for me to join the group and begin painting again. Now that our two daughters were in college I had no more excuses that I didn’t have time to paint. It was a slow process, beginning by relearning the techniques that Linda had taught me. Determined to bring a painting to my first meeting, I produced a somewhat clumsy one of our cat on a bench. On my way to the United Church, I began to feel much trepidation in meeting artists more experienced and skilled than I, and particularly in taking my painting to have them critique. To my relief, what I met was a welcoming group of artists who gave my painting a gentle review, pointing out its successful parts.

I drove home with my head buzzing, repeating to myself, “They liked my painting!” And in the spirit of Alf Dunn, they welcomed me as a fellow artist.

Left: Gabriella Ball explains her use of acrylic paints My experience in joining PWS was not unusual. Bobbi Kelly remembers how she was invited by two members to join after she moved to Moscow. “From the very first meeting I attended, I felt at home with this welcoming group of like-minded artists whose goals are to share information and ideas for mutual benefit.

PWS members are among my closest friends now, and I look forward to art activities and social activities with them.” Peggy Conrad joined PWS in 2004 to become a better painter. “What I have found in the group, then and now, is help in reaching these goals and, also, a support system of good people who are willing to help other members achieve their goals.”

Right: John Kirkland demonstrates a watercolor technique to PWS members Joyce Tamura and Ernie Weiss During this year and years to come, PWS artists will still meet, share ideas and skills, critique and share paintings, enjoy the company of each other, and continue to contribute to the cultural richness of the region. In short, they will continue to follow the principles handed down from Alf Dunn, just as the first members did in 1974.

Gabriella Ball, Boise River

Kay Montgomery, Latah County Larches

Jan Vogtman

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Linda Wallace: Kalediscope

Linda Wallace: Calling Spirits

Flip Kleffner: High Mountain Lake Bobbi Kelly: Casa Lopez

Mary Reed: Yellow Umbrella

Nick Bode: Lindsey Creek

For more information visit the website: www.palousewatercolorsocius.com, or contact PWS at pwsartists@gmail.com

Kay Montgomery: Lilacs

SPB 17 - 001: Moscow Fire Department’s “First Scrapbook.” 1927-1953

theFire

and theOnion

zachary wnek

History is a matter of perspective that is informed by the person who recorded it. Today I want to explore this idea by using a significant event in Moscow’s history to illustrate how different perspectives combine to shape the stories of our past.

I like to think of different perspectives in history as layers of an onion. Each segment covers part of the story of what happened and is told truthfully (ideally) from their perspective. However, as you are well aware, two people can have very different views of a particular event. The more people that record an event, the fuller the story becomes, and therefore the more substantial the onion is. When studying history, in this sense, I look for large onions in the archives!

Today I am going to peel back the layers of history with you. Hopefully, you can better understand how history is recorded and how that informs historical research.

Early in the morning, on January 31st, 1953, something wasn’t right. The O’Connors (who owned Shorty’s in downtown Moscow) went to check on the furnace. By 7:30, it was noticeably warm in the business. A. J. O’Connor went downstairs to check on the furnace, and nothing seemed amiss. The stove, an estimated 28,000 lbs of coal, was in good shape. Not five minutes later, the floor joists above the furnace had ignited. Within half an hour, impregnable smoke encapsulated the business and most of the city block.

At 7:45am the Moscow Volunteer Fire Department sounded their first alarm. First responders rushed up Main Street to the scene. Moscow Fire Chief Carl Smith quickly assessed the situation and called for all of their equipment to be brought to the site.

The smoke and fire spread quickly across the block. The calamity engulfed the Smoke Shop, Vet’s Club, Bock & Company Sewing Machines, Clarence’s Barber Shop, and the Estes & Felton Law office to the north. To the south, the smoke billowed into the Stag Shop, Veterans Administration, Maxine’s Apparel, and the Grill Cafe.

The fire wasn’t considered extinguished until 2pm. Throughout the inferno, there was an average of 35 firefighters working 2,800 feet of hoses coming from seven hydrants. Many community members came downtown to see the fire. City police were aided by the Washington State Patrol to keep the public out of the way of emergency personnel. The Firemen’s Auxiliary was also on-site to provide coffee and doughnuts to give the firefighters an extra boost of energy.

Wonderfully there were no reported deaths in the fire. However, ten firefighters were treated by medical personnel for smoke inhalation.

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LCHS archives: 01-02-034

LCHS archives: 01-02-035

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While some businesses were reported as ‘gutted’ by flames, others only had smoke damage and were able to resume operation with (relatively) minor repairs.

Maxine’s Apparel planned on re-opening only two weeks after the fire noting that they needed to receive new stock and redecorate the store.

The Grill Cafe was only to be closed for a week for renovations before resuming business.

As you might imagine, the newspaper (The Daily Idahonian at that time) was on-hand to capture photographs of the event. These images were taken from the street where firefighters can be seen battling the blaze and crowds gathered. Some of these images ended up in the Latah County Historical Society archives. Apart from photographs, the newspaper also reported on the event in depth, diving into the details of the fire.

The Moscow Volunteer Fire Department also captured images of the inferno. These images show firefighters battling the fire, the Firefighters Auxiliary, the tools used to fight the fire, and the resulting damage. These materials were organized into scrapbooks, which were later donated to the Latah County Historical Society.

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These three perspectives have given historians at the Latah County Historical Society all of our information about this historic fire, until 2018.

In 2018, 1,492 negative images from the 1950s were donated to the Latah County Historical Society. Ricker H. Jones, the photographer, was a local high school and later University of Idaho student. Ricker Jones provided images for the MHS Annual, Bear Tracks, and the University of Idaho Gem of the Mountains.

In 2019 the Ricker H. Jones collection was digitized, and we were able to better understand this intriguing catalog of history.

Ricker H. Jones captured this historical event and shared with us his unique perspective from behind the lens. Mr. Jones took photographs from the neighboring rooftops. Mr. Jones joined firemen on rooftops adjacent to the building that was ON FIRE to capture the event on film.

Using these collected materials, researchers at the Latah County Historical Society can now witness the blaze from the street level before, during, and after the fire. Historians can also see the fire and first responders from the rooftop of one of Moscow’s conflagrations.

Combining these perspectives allows us to better understand this destructive event in Moscow’s history. However, looking at the photographs, I know that there are other perspectives out there. Based on the size of the crowd, it is easy to see that there were perhaps hundreds of onlookers checking in on the fire throughout the day. Their perspectives could be valuable. Journal articles or recollections from business owners that were or were not directly impacted by the event could be relevant. You could look at every one of these images and find a new perspective that might shed more light on a given historical event.

Take some time today to begin (or hopefully continue), creating your onion. Write down your experiences. Organize your photographs so that you can easily access them. Please share your memories, experiences, and photographs with your local historical societies so that we can better understand what happened in the past. By documenting the present, we are all being careful guardians of history.

On Saturday, April 11th, at the Latah County Fairgrounds, the Latah County Historical Society will welcome Dr. Katherine Aiken, University of Idaho Emeritus Professor of History. Aiken will present Making Rules, Breaking Barriers: The Life and Legacy of Permeal French. Permeal French served as the Dean of Women at the University of Idaho for many years and was a fierce advocate for women’s education, as well as ensuring that female students followed a strict set of rules while on campus.

This fundraiser will cost $10 for members, $12 for not-yet-members, and admission includes your first beer (for those over 21) from Hunga Dunga Brewing Company. Hunga Dunga will also be on hand to sell food and additional beverages at the event.

The doors open at 4:00pm, we hope to see you there!

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by Joe Evans When all is said and done, it is the job of any bullet to reach the target, hit the target, and do whatever is required when it hits the target. To this we can add the requirement of no excessive penetration in a crowded defensive situation. I will not take up the problem of over-penetration in this article. In reaching the target, most modern rifles have enough zip to do this at normal ranges. Hitting the target combines a lot of different factors regarding accuracy but we need to remember that a good hit is essential.

After the bullet hits the target, a true multitude of tasks can be asked of any bullet. An incomplete list would include such things as making a visible mark, raising a cloud of dust, knocking a target over, penetrating and causing enough internal damage to cause the quick cease of activities of whatever it hits. This last will be the theme of this article with emphasis on Red Stag and Himalayan Tahr. My preference for cartridge and load for my New Zealand hunt was the 300 Winchester magnum with a 180 grain Hornady ELD hunting bullet at 2900 to 3000 feet per second. I reasoned that this would suffice for any shot at any reasonable angle on these valued species. The plot fell apart at this point. Due to a mass shooting in New Zealand, the resulting politics was decided not to try and bring any firearms into the country. That was wise. Our party used the guide’s guns and ammunition. I used a very accurate Browning in 300 Winchester magnum.

The ammunition was factory loaded Hornady 150 grain Whitetail, hunted at over 3300 fps. This was not exactly what I had in mind for this type of game, but when in Rome you do as the Romans do!

The shot that harvested the stag was at 380 yards as he quartered to me. The bullet entered in front of the right shoulder and went back through the lungs. Penetration was probably 12 to 14 inches and the bullet did not exit and was not recovered. No bone was contacted. I have never seen an animal dispatched as quickly as this stag was. The tahr was a little different situation. First shot was at about 200 yards angling forward as the animal moved away. This bullet stopped against the diaphragm short of the vital areas. I dispatched the tahr at 350 yards as it stood dead broadside. The bullet entered the lungs, it did not contact bone and put the animal down quite immediately. The bullet, however, did not exit. The estimated penetration of either bullet was 12 to 14 inches once again.

Both bullets were recovered and very much resemble a quarter. No shank remained though some lead remained on both bullets.

I asked a lot of this bullet and I feel it did quite well, all factors considered. The red stag is an elk-sized animal and is loosely related to the American elk. We Americans have pretty well gravitated to bullets of premium controlled expansion construction with a greater sectional density- ratio of weight to length for elk. The tahr is a goat and is blanketed with a great amount of thick hair. This bullet-resistant covering protects an animal which possesses typical goat-like toughness and will to survive. If you do not believe what I say about a goat being tough, chew on some of the meat and you will see what I’m talking about. Just make sure you have good teeth! In our country, we generally use a stiff bullet as well on goats. So why did our guide select such a light bullet? First, (and most likely) ammunition availability. Secondly, and more importantly, our guide Aaron is a man with vast hunting experience. The country we hunted is very open and shots tend to be at long to extreme range. Normally, you can wait until the animal is broadside and little penetration is required. The light, quick-expanding bullet works great under these circumstances.

After much thought and consideration, here are my thoughts: Your guide will almost always have a great deal of knowledge and experience in hunting game in their area. Follow their advice. They are not going to steer you wrong on any aspect of your hunt. Next, do not rely on information passed to you by your buddies attempting to impress you with their vast (!?!?) knowledge. You will probably receive a bunch of bad info. Most information found on the internet as well should be viewed with extreme caution. To close, our guide did not follow most conventional wisdom in a choice of bullets.

However, it quite literally was the best choice in his particular case. What does it all boil down to? Good hunting and great shooting!

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Take in the view.

The All-New 2020 Subaru Outback. ®

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

Photo Credit: Cydnie Gray

“I was alone and trying to get sober with no money, in a desolate trailer park that was being shut down due to lack of clean water, the power would be off in a few days and I would be evicted and homeless...”

In the Souls of Sojourners’ articles we have learned about the need for community and connection in a successful journey to recovery from addiction. Alienation invites hopelessness.

We need each other.

Always in Souls we have focused on the victims of addiction.

We make sure that though they remain in anonymity, their stories enlighten us and their courage gives us all hope to not only carry on but to work for more understanding and empathy in our own lives. We are truly in this together.

I was reminded of this as I shared a conversation with a Sojourners’ participant in Project Warmth which is financial assistance provided by Sojourners that includes counseling, and other services to prevent families and individuals from being evicted, losing their homes, or becoming homeless.

She tells me that as a young person surrounded by “functional” addiction it became easy to fall into drugs especially when she encountered the world on her own.

“I did all the wrong things. No job. Using and selling.

Friends who only wanted me for what I could provide for them. Living in Syringa Trailer Court, I ultimately lost my home and almost my life. When someone told me Sojourners was helping the displaced folks at Syringa I called Cliff here in the office.

Home&Harvest

I can’t tell you how everything changed after that. It just did.

I accepted the offer of an apartment with Project Warmth.

Having a place to sleep, a place that I could call my own, was the key. Now I am almost through Mental Health Court. I’m sober seventeen months and I have my incredible kids back.”

Her enthusiasm is contagious!

Do you have a plan in place in case things become overwhelming again?

“I’ve done everything I can to prevent that. I have a network now. I have plans for my future, I actually HAVE a future!

Since you do have a nursing degree, have you thought of...

“Not right now. That’s part of my thinking - too close to drugs and they would be too accessible. I don’t need that kind of job right now. I have other ideas.”

She is already a certified volunteer Peer Recovery Coach and now has decided to study to become a Substance Abuse Counselor. Soon she will not only be licensed to help others in our community through her academic studies but she also will bring her “expertise by experience” which always instills a mutual trust. “I’ve been there. Let me help.”

And here’s my point. When we are able to climb up and out of tragedy and turn around and give a hand up to those who need us, everybody wins. Everybody!

Mar/April 2020

61

The Oh, Otis! Shenanigans Episode 1: PRAYING FOR THE MANTIS

By Temple Kinyon

Otis squirmed to get comfortable on his grandma’s big floral couch. It wasn’t an easy task since she’d enshrined the velvety fabric with a thick plastic covering. Otis didn’t understand why people bought furniture and then covered it up with plastic that poked and squeaked when sat upon. The summer temperatures allowed him and his six siblings to wear shorts, which was an all-around terrific thing, except that sitting on the couch now meant the back of his little browned legs would stick to the unbreathable plastic. He knew getting up from the unforgiving covering would swiftly deliver a burning feeling of ripped-off flesh.

“Oh, Otis, quit wiggling!” his older sister, Doris, demanded. “Sit nice for the photo!”

Otis glared at his sister, but realized all his siblings were staring him down. Apparently they were sitting all nice and stiff, unmoving, but he knew their legs would meld to the couch just like his. He stuck his tongue out at all of them, prompting six sibling tongues to stick back out at him.

“Fine,” Otis relented. “But when this is over and you peel your legs off this couch and it hurts, I’m going to laugh at all of you!” And he would, too.

Otis was seven, the youngest of Marvel and Mavis Swan’s brood. He normally got along with his siblings as well as any kids get along. But sometimes being the baby of the family held a lot of weight. Sometimes all of them ganged up on him when he wasn’t in alignment with their thoughts or actions. There were times, however, his brothers, Otho, Deanie, Cletis, and Chuck, would help him gang up on their sisters, Doris and Gladys.

Boys versus girls always brought on a lot of punching, name calling, and hair-pulling (those girls went for the hair every time). Eventually, Mavis, would break up the melee and make all of them say something nice about each other. That little exercise inevitably ended up in fits of laughter, making Mavis the smartest mom in the world.

“Everyone say cheese,” Uncle Daryl hollered.

Twenty-seven family members belted out “cheese,” as Daryl snapped a succession of photos using his hand-held clicker attached to the camera with a long cord. He’d done this long enough to know it took at least twenty-five shots to get one good one.

Uncle Daryl had a huge case full of camera equipment and took the obligatory group photos at every Swan Family get-together, even if it was just a regular Sunday dinner after church, or, like today, the day before the busy haying season started. The calendar read June 14, 1975, and that meant tomorrow, the Swan family would swath the grass to dry out and eventually make hay.

“Good job,” Uncle Daryl praised. “Now, look at the camera and say ‘fried chicken!’”

That made everyone laugh as they all shouted “fried chicken,” and Daryl clicked several more shots. A few of these gems would eventually hang on the wall in his parents’ home—this home—along with the dozens of other captured family moments.

All you fools skedaddle out to the back yard so the women can bring out the fried chicken and potato salad,” Helen, the matriarch of the family, belted out.

All the grandchildren, seventeen in total, ran screaming and laughing through the kitchen and out the screen door, which only slammed three times before they were all on the other side of it.

‘Land o’Goshen,” Helen shook her head. “When those kids are together, they’re like a bunch of deranged lunatics.”

“Or Tasmanian Devils,” Helen’s husband and the grandfather to the posse, Ed, laughed and hugged his wife. “We started this whole mess you know.”

“Don’t I know it.” Helen kissed Ed on the cheek. “Now vamoose outta my kitchen!”

Ed, along with his sons, Marvel, Daryl, Clark, and Sherman, shuffled outside to sit in the Adirondack chairs under the 100-year-old maple tree’s shade. A large tub filled with ice and beer kept them occupied while they waited for the wives to set out the spread.

Helen, along with her daughters-in-law, Mavis, Beryl, Gail, and Patty, bustled around the large kitchen, getting spoons for the variety of salads—including Helen’s famous potato salad—and dishing up large platters of fried chicken. Outside, three tables covered with floral oilcloths would soon hold most of the food, minus the pies for later. All the family members would sit at the various picnic tables, card tables, and blankets spread out on the lawn to enjoy the pre-haying feast.

Like a rocket, Otis raced past the men and thumped up the wooden stairs to the screen door. As he landed on the top step, the screen door began to open, and he quickly pushed it closed so he didn’t get smacked in the face.

He saw his mother standing on the other side of the screen, arms loaded with food.

“Oh, Otis, what are you doing?” Mavis sighed. “You’re in the way. Now scoot and let me through!”

“Mom,” Otis breathed, “there’s three baby praying mantises out on the log by the fire pit.”

“You mean to tell me you’re holding up getting lunch set out because of some bugs?” Mavis sternly asked, although Otis thought he saw a smile twitch her lips.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” Otis insisted, “but it was just something I thought you needed to know. And by the way, praying mantises are insects, not bugs.”

“Oh, Otis,” Mavis laughed. “Move that scrawny butt out of my way, or I’m going to open this door and move you myself right off the steps into Granny’s rosebushes.”

Knowing his mom would make good on her threat, Otis scampered back down the stairs and raced out to where the other children were circled around the log. He felt light and spirited, like he could fly. Suddenly, a plan formed in his head to race full-speed to the log, land one foot on the end of it, and launch himself into the air. His siblings and cousins would stand in awe as they witnessed his epic flying skills.

But sometimes the best laid plans are a bust, and what actually happened was Otis landing his sneakered-foot on the end of the log and launching the baby praying mantises into the air, in the same fashion as the heavier kids did to the lighter kids on the teeter-totter at school.

Every mouth gaped open as they watched the tiny creatures fly above their heads as Otis stuck his landing some ten feet away. In a fraction of a second, every set of eyes glared Otis down, then focused right back on the tiny air-born creatures.

“Watch where they land so we can save them!” Gladys ordered.

Instinctively the group divided into three clusters, each attentive to where the baby insects might land.

“The impact could kill them,” Otis’s cousin, Buster, speculated.

The tiny specs came back to earth, with the three groups of children carefully making their way to each landing site.

“Here’s one!” Deanie shouted. The praying mantis clung to the head of a piece of grass. Cousin Claire tenderly nudged it with a finger onto the safe perch of her hand.

“Got one!” Cousin Bertie yelled. He, too, took painstaking measures to ease the tiny being onto his hand for transport back to the log.

Silence from the third group, however, hung in the air. Had they lost the third baby? Was it too late? Was it dead? Eager eyes searched and searched.

“Oh, Otis,” Doris lamented, “why did you have to go and mess things up?”

Every pair of eyes landed on Otis once again, and he felt the weight of what he’d done. A lump started to rise in his throat and a sting twinged at his eyes. He clenched his fists; he would NOT cry in front of his siblings and cousins. He swallowed hard, pursed his lips, and marched over to the third landing spot. He looked each child directly in the eye and then dropped to his knees, determined to make his wrong right.

The grass was tall—it would be swathed tomorrow—well above Otis’s head when on his knees. The task to locate an insect not more than two inches long in grass that was about the same color of the missing creature seemed an impossible feat. How in the heck am I going to find him? Otis thought to himself. Guilt made his chest feel heavy and tight. I pray I can find him. I have to make things right.

He focused in on the grass stalks in front of him, dead set on finding the little green thing that had suddenly become endeared to all the children. He methodically looked from ground-level to the top of each grass stalk to no avail.

“Kids! Food’s on!” Grandma Helen summoned the children.

And when Grandma Helen summoned you, you immediately obliged.

Deanie and Cousin Bertie carefully supervised the replacement of the two found insects back onto the log. Satisfied they had at least saved two, the children scurried to the back yard to dive into lunch.

Otis, however, stayed the course, and continued looking for the precious critter. He heard his mother holler his name, but ignored her. Baby mantis’s future was in his hands. Finally, after several more shouts of his name, and his father coming to see just “what in Sam Hill are you doin’ boy?” Otis spied a tiny green spec. Sure enough, it was the third mantis.

“Dad, STOP!” Otis commanded with as much authority as a seven-year-old could muster.

Marvel halted immediately. Completely oblivious to the situation, he listened to his son due to the urgent tone in his voice. Normally, this type of order from his youngest would earn a swift whoopin’ on the back side, but for the moment Marvel gave Otis the benefit of the doubt.

“I found him,” Otis breathed.

Marvel watched in wonderment as Otis conscientiously reached for the tiny praying mantis hanging on to a grass stalk swaying in the breeze. Marvel prayed that little insect would oblige Otis’s efforts and go onto his hand without incident. He held his breath as he witnessed his son skillfully nudge the being onto his index finger.

Otis stood slowly and turned to face his dad. “Look,” he whispered. “I got him.”

Marvel smiled and let his breath go, both oxygen and love for his son flooding through him. “Oh, Otis, what are you doing?”

Otis explained the situation as he carefully walked to the log and rested the third creature next to the other two. “There,” he smiled with satisfaction, “he’s back home with his brother and sister.”

Marvel reached over and patted his son’s curly, black hair. He wanted to say so much to him, that respecting all of God’s creatures was an admiral trait, and that he was proud of him taking responsibility to fix something he’d messed up. But all he uttered was, “Let’s go get you a chicken leg and some of your Aunt Patty’s baked beans.”

Otis walked close to his dad, arm draped around his waist. “I might need two chicken legs today. Saving lives works up an appetite.” Marvel laughed as Otis sprinted off to join the rest of the family.

“Guys!” Otis shouted. “I found the third mantis and put him back on the log with his brother and sister!”

“Oh, Otis,” several siblings and cousins laughed and teased.

“It’s about time you did something right.” *** Otis and his siblings were allowed to stay the night at their grandparents, promising to get up early the next morning to help on the farm. Otis sat on his Grandma Helen’s lap, his head rested on her bosom, as they watched “The Swiss Family Robinson” on TV. Otis wasn’t just the youngest in his family, he was the youngest of all the grandchildren. Grandma Helen favored him; she sometimes hugged him just a little longer than the others and occasionally snuck him a slightly bigger piece of cake. Otis knew he was special to her, but it was imperceptible to the others, and that was just fine with him.

Grandma Helen started his favorite after-bath-at-Grandma’shouse ritual, rubbing lotion on his small, chubby hands with her weathered and worn ones. She’d massaged lotion on all-

-his sisters’ and brothers’ hands right after they had their baths, but she saved Otis for last—during the hour of television she and Grandpa Ed let the kids watch before bedtime.

“Oh, Otis,” Helen murmured in Otis’s ear. “It’s pretty special you saved that praying mantis today.”

“I’m glad I found him, Grandma,” Otis whispered back. “It was my fault he got flung off of the log, and for that I’m truly sorry.”

His sincerity made her smile, although she knew he might be saying those words to get some extra bonus points with her. “As long as you admit when you make a mistake and take responsibility for fixing it, I think you’re still to the good with God,” she assured him.

“I hope,” he mumbled. “Can we go out in the morning and check to see if the mantises are still there?”

“Absolutely,” she softly replied. “Get up extra early, and we’ll go look for your insects before you go help Grandpa Ed swath.”

“Yay!” Otis shouted, causing his six siblings to turn around and “shhhh” him.

“Sorry, guys,” he giggled. He smiled up at his Grandma Helen, and she smiled back. The plan was set. Tomorrow before he climbed up on the faded red swather to ride with Grandpa Ed, he’d check to see if his mantis babies were safe.

“Ok, kids, show’s over,” Grandpa Ed announced. “Time for bed.”

The children marched up the stairs to the attic, where beds for all of them sat ready. Otis took the twin-size next to the open window so the cool summer breeze wafting in could chill his skin, making burrowing under one of Grandma’s homemade quilts the perfect way to fall asleep. First, however, he knelt next to the bed and stretched his arms wide.

“Look guys!” he exclaimed. “I’m a mantis getting ready to pray!”

All of his siblings burst out laughing with several of them tossing out an,“Oh, Otis!”

The grandchildren quickly said their prayers and then situated under the covers. Their grandparents gave them all a kiss on the forehead, clicked on a tiny lamp by the stairs in case anyone had to get up in the middle of the night, and thumped downstairs.

Otis looked out the window, the attic’s only sound a cricket chirping outside. I hope those mantises said their prayers before going to sleep in their big log house. I think I’ll name them Deanie, Bertie, and Otis, since we were the ones who found them…even though one of them is a girl…I think. He closed his eyes, envisioning the three tiny green insects saying prayers, and then Mom and Dad Mantis putting them to bed. With that sweet thought dancing in his head, Otis drifted off to sleep, soon to be rested and revved up for another day of shenanigans on the Swan Family Farm.

Welcome to Otis’s world. He might share more of his escapades in future issues of Home & Harvest Magazine. Otis is a fictitious character, but some of his shenanigans ring true to the author and her fellow mischief-makers.

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