Mayjune2018

TRI-STATE FAMILY PRACTICE LEWISTON Growing With Our Community To continue to meet the needs of our growing community, Tri-State Memorial Hospital & Medical Campus is opening a NEW Family Practice clinic in Lewiston, ID. With this addition, some of our primary care providers will be moving into the new Lewiston clinic starting in May 2018.

Tri-State Family Practice Lewiston will continue to provide the highest quality primary care for patients of all ages!

Primary Care • Radiology • Lab Services • Telepsychiatry

Tri-State Family Practice

2841 Juniper Drive, Suite 2, Lewiston, ID 208.848.9001 | www.TriStateHospital.org

Tri-State Family Practice 2841 Juniper Drive, Suite 2 Lewiston, ID 83501

208.848.9001 Jennifer Creaser, ARNP Mary Crowell, DO John Rudolph, DO Alexa Whitehead, PA-C (starting September 2018)

OPENING MAY 2018

I spent most of my childhood in a 1960’s Aloha camper. It was glorious. It was tiny and adorable with the fold-out beds, kitchenette, and a framed grizzly bear picture over the door with the caption, “QUIT YER BITCHIN.” Every Friday during summer, my mom would go to the grocery store and get the essentials: stuff for s’mores, hot dogs, pop, chips, and we’d each pick out a new Barbie or Hot Wheels. I could barely sleep knowing what Saturday meant: camping.

It was usually me who led the scream-singing hour-long opera of the entire Grease soundtrack while we drove to the woods. As soon as that wooded air hit our faces, a quiet hush would always come over the car. I remember the delicious details of the sun roasting my legs, all of the windows in the car rolled down, the camper bouncing behind us, and mom and dad holding hands while my dad navigated us safely to our campsite.

Once we parked and unloaded, it was crucial that everybody scoured the scene for a perfect long stick for hot dogs and s’mores. I was always on the lookout (and usually successful) at finding four leaf clovers, mica (pirate treasure), frogs, and especially antler sheds. It was magic. Nothing mattered. There weren’t any phones to document a huge cow pie or the sunset. Nobody had to do a quick check in to let the world know we were camping. If anything, we didn’t want to be bothered. I have almost forgotten what that feels like.

My mom would make us delicious meals of canned corned beef hash and soft boiled eggs and English muffin pizzas. She’d tell us that the camper’s propane tanks would blow up if we jumped around like wild animals in the camper- something that has engrained in my mind and still to this day, I get nervous in my own vintage Airstream and I’m 35 years old! That’s good parenting if you ask me, haha! At night, I’d stare up at the sky and see God in the stars, framed by the timbers. I’d carefully place my crick-soaked shoes ever so gently right on, but not in the campfire so they’d smoke and drive my parents crazy as they’d tell me to get the hell out of the fire. I’d write my name in the darkness using a burned stick, the ember glow lighting both mine and my sister’s smiles while they did the same thing.

I have been thinking about these summers so much lately. When is the last time you lived as though your only stress was to find an empty coffee can to catch frogs? Pretended you were Indiana Jones looking for gold? Or a great explorer in search of wildlife? When is the last time you lived with youth in your heart, not forcing yourself to enjoy the moment but rather choosing to?

Tony and I have worked very hard the past few years. We haven’t gone camping once! We’ve only gone fishing twice. I have not been bitten by enough mosquitoes- something no one has ever said in their life! So this summer, it’s all about shenanigans and being filthy dirty. It’s about eating hot dogs for breakfast and driving the ATV over kelly humps. It’s about being in the moment.

Creating peace in our hearts and joy in the day. I wish you one of these wild summers. I hope you catch a coffee can full of frogs, wear wildflowers in your hair, and find the biggest crawdad under the mossiest rock. I hope you sing the Grease soundtrack with enough heart and soul to move John Travolta, haha! And I hope you gaze up at the stars each night and know that while there is beauty in the heavens and around you, the true magic is the moment. And I hope you live that way.

Love,

Heather Niccoli, Editor-In-Chief Home&Harvest Magazine

home+ harvest Player 1... Heather niccoli

skills: editor,design,sales 208.596.5400 | 208.596.4434

heather@homeandharvestmagazine.com

choose a

gayle anderson pete comstock joe evans emory ann kurysh tony niccoli

magazine player 2... Tony niccoli Skills: publisher,sales

tony@homeandharvestmagazine.com

character:

ashley peel Kimberly Dawn keith crossler zachary wnek Heather Niccoli

Giant Worms Steptoe Butte

Vegan Fudge

Eye of the Beholder

S-wheat Farm Life

10

22 36 42

64

It was a crisp and cloudless night on the Palouse. The sky hung with the explosion of stars that only a north-westerner has really ever seen. Here, deep into the spring, nearly on the cusp of summer, the day had become long and the heat was beginning to build. But tonight the first of the summer storms had arrived, and pushed east of the hills all the warmth of the late afternoon. Sudden and dense winds had swept in from the west without warning, just as the last light of the evening was disappearing beneath the horizon. The wind swept in tall and dark clouds that seemed to reach down almost to touch the tops of the hills. They hadn’t been there on the western sky just a few minutes before but now came in to quickly consume the entire sky overhead. With those clouds come an unexpected rain. It was fierce and almost seemed exaggerated in its concentration and enormous size of its closely spaced drops. In moments gutters were flooded and streets ran with little rivers trying to find an escape route as they washed out from soil that was already too saturated to consume any more. Lighting cracked so closely that it almost felt like you heard the thunder before the luminance was even printed on your eye, and the earth seemed to shake as every magnificent bolt swiftly split the darkness surrounding it, tearing its way along a meandering path to some unknown point below.

But the storm was short lived, and dissipated with even less warning that its arrival, leaving only the cool wind.

The fields, now lustrous in their verdant shades of emerald green reflected below a full moon that only moments before made its early appearance. Veiled behind that thick column of dark clouds, they were just grown out enough to register the wind’s passing in their rhythmic dance of ripples and sudden directional change. And then, in a moment, the pattern of swirl and depressions vanished and the now calm, upright green shoots signaled the storm had fully passed.

Little hills, lined up like patient waves waiting for their turn at the shore, stood silently and still once more.

There was an energy in the air – but unlike the storm, this was expressed in a silence, and longing hum of anticipation that said this was not just any night. We knew that this was truly a night of great importance.

And so we set off. In search of a giant.

Not certain we really wanted to find it.

The world is full of tales of myth and monsters. Each one greater and more terrifying than the last. Always described as an ancient curse – something that was a common, or even an expected and understood part of our ancestor’s lives, but now is much more reclusive or rare.

What if I told you that one such creature made its home here on the Palouse?

A giant.

Living in the soil beneath our feet – ever hungry and looking to feed. Recognized by farmers and homesteaders in the late 1800’s but reduced to fables. Unseen by most of us living among them. Silent in their carefully concealed movements.

Would you believe in a giant that lives beneath your feet? Do you believe in the stories of monsters from ages past that you have never encountered? For who among us has seen these dragons? Who has felt the dread as a goblin crossed their path? But surely, at least a few of the mythical horrors used to entertain or frighten must have been based on some truth. What if I told you that a giant was living on the Palouse, and had even been documented by scientists? It might just sound like something straight out of a horror film.

The first accredited encounter with one of these giants was from 1897. A man named Frank Smith dubbed the creature Megascolides americanus. At the time it was described as being very abundant in the area, and reports said it was well known to many homesteaders and farmers in the region. To Frank it seemed to be related to a type of giant worm found in Australia – ones that can reach up to 10 feet in length. And so he named this American version using a similar convention. But it was already commonly known as the Giant Palouse Earthworm, and it has since been officially renamed as Drilolerius americanus.

They are one of only a very few species of worm that is actually indigenous to North America.

Most of the night crawlers, and common worms that we see next to puddles and on sidewalks after a rain are really accidental imports from Europe that have done well and expanded in their newfound home. But the Giant Palouse Earthworm is an original. And it’s certainly unique.

The name Driloleirus comes from one of the most interesting things about the GPE – their smell. Or some would say, the smell of their spit. The old tales of farmers finding Giant Palouse Earthworms almost always include a mention of the smell of lilies. A secretion made by the worm carries the scent, and they can either spit some when agitated, or use it to help break up soil when burrowing. Though it’s the most unique, and one of the most common parts of the classic stories of GPE sightings, it isn’t easily observed, and has not been noticed by most modern people who have encountered one of these amazing creatures. But if I was writing a horror story about a giant killer worm I would definitely use the lilly smell. I can just picture a few people out for a stroll in a prairie commenting on the beautiful smell of flowers in the air when the music suddenly turns ominous and someone screams “oh no – lillies!”

They have been described as being white, or having a translucent or even albino appearance, but can also be a lighter shade a pink. And as for that giant title – with reports of meter long specimens – that just hasn’t been seen in any of the modern discoveries. Maybe it was always a tall tail circulated by farmers that grew with every telling, or maybe there were older, larger worms all over the Palouse more than a hundred years ago. At this point, there really is no way to tell until further investigation turns up new discoveries.

When I first heard about the Giant Palouse Earthworm I was picturing something out of Dune or the Sand Snakes from Beetlejuice (I know, I hate ‘em too). But instead I found that almost no images exist and the few that actually do show worms about 8 inches to 1 foot in length. Sometimes white, but often more pink or peach in color. Like the monster from Tremors, but tiny and without all the teeth.

But if they were so abundant when the first farmers were arriving in the Palouse region, where are they now? The answer may be that it was the early farmers themselves that chased off or killed most of the Giant Palouse Earthworms that they were describing as being so abundant.

Here on the Palouse, we have some of the best and most fertile soil on the planet. Its one of the main draws that brought early settlers to our area. At the time, the Palouse was a natural prairie with mostly bunchgrass and wildflowers growing between randomly spaced thickets of shrubs.

And the Giant Palouse Earthworm was a very important part of ecological processes at work creating that perfect growing medium we are known for. But with the arrival of farmers, all that soil was turned. Nearly every acre of the original Palouse Prairie was dug up to prepare for rows of crops and we now have less than 1% still remaining in its natural state. Though the GPE can burrow as deep as 15 feet into the ground, many of them must have been much closer to the surface during those initial changes and been caught up in the soil that was being turned. And for those that had been deep enough to escape the pick or the plough, they would have come to the surface to find that most of their natural food sources had vanished.

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By eating decaying plant matter near the surface and just below, earthworms help to reinvigorate our soil naturally and are an integral part of the process of growth and life.

But any Giant Palouse Earthworms that suddenly found themselves in an area that was no longer the prairie they depended on, and no longer had the same plants or same animal droppings, would be left without a food source and in need of adaptation or relocation. As the prairie shrank farther over the years, there was nowhere left to go, and most may have been wiped out at that point. By the early 1900s most of the soil had already been turned, the prairie driven back, and the farms established in our area.

But since a few Giant Palouse Earthworms have also been found in woodland areas, there is chance that some successfully moved and adapted, or that they have always been able to thrive in the more treed areas as well as the prairie.

For a while, the species was thought to be extinct as decades passes without any confirmed sightings. Then, as more have been discovered a renewed interest by both local biologists, conservationists, and local civilian sleuths has brought Giant Palouse Earthworm hunting back into the common interest. However, since randomly digging holes is more likely to miss or kill them, it can be very difficult to track down a GPE and confirmed discoveries have still remained incredibly rare. An effort has even been made several times to get them added to the Endangered Species List. But many farmers question what that would mean for their land, as new restrictions could be either costly or just prohibitive for farming. Since there just isn’t much data on the Giant Palouse Earthworm’s original range, population numbers, routine activities, or current threats, there doesn’t seem to be an answer coming one way or the other. They are currently considered vulnerable however, and more research continues.

So it’s not really a tall tale of myth and monsters. The Giant Palouse Earthworm isn’t a legend like a unicorn or chupacabra, they are more like a Komodo dragon or coelacanth. It’s hard to believe that the creature is real, but they do exist and somewhere out there a 3-foot-long worm is lurking. Maybe directly under your feet as you read this?

So go ahead and cue the horror film sound track, and picture something straight out of Tremors chasing you, your neighbors, the dog and Kevin Bacon across the Palouse.

Remember to stock up on dynamite and find a tall outcropping of rocks, because the terror of the Palouse may be coming for you! Or it may just be a foot long white worm that has been exaggerated for over a hundred years and never really smelled like lillies anyway. I have a bucket of popcorn ready and I’m hoping for another Tremors sequel or at least a Black Mirror episode based on the worms around us – so come on Giant that gave the Palouse Earthworm its name, show yourself! The world is waiting.

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North of Walmart, Moscow

Fishing

when a passion becomes an obsession

Words +

Photos

Pete Comstock

I

Home&Harvest

It all started in the spring of 1982. I owned one fishing rod and one reel, a 14 foot aluminum boat (which required frequent bailing), that was powered by a worn out 10 horse-power motor. I had heard so much about the steelhead fishing on the Clearwater River, but knew nothing about it and had always wanted to learn. I told my wife that I wanted to catch one steelhead, just one, and I would be happy with that, (or so I thought).

I had been just recently hired by the Moscow Police Department, where I had met a reserve officer who was also a University of Idaho Student. As we got to know each other better he discovered that I owned a boat, and I discovered that he had the knowledge for steelhead fishing on the Clearwater River. It was the perfect match, and the beginning of what was soon to be my lifelong passion: fishing.

We picked a day to go fishing, which is a day I will remember for the rest of my life. To prepare for the trip I purchased my first two steelhead lures, (thinking you have to have two, just in case you lose one). I patched a few leaks in the boat, made sure I had enough gas for the motor, oars and lifejackets in the boat, and a fishing net that was more suited for catching butterflies rather than landing a steelhead.

After a pretty much sleepless night from excitement, we left Moscow and drove down to the river, downstream from Orofino. We launched the boat in the darkness, and maneuvered to a portion of the river adjacent to the Dworshak National Fish Hatchery, known as the Slaughterhouse Hole.

May/June 2018 18

As it became daylight we let out our lines so that the lures were about 80 feet behind the boat. My fishing buddy was explaining to me how to “back-troll” for the fish, meaning holding the boat in the current with the bow pointing upstream, and slowly trolling so the boat moves very slowly downstream. We put the poles in the rod holders and waited, and waited, and waited. After a couple of hours without even a bite, I felt like I was on more of a snipe hunting trip rather than steelhead fishing trip. But the coffee was hot, the weather beautiful, and the conversation was non-stop, making it a perfectly enjoyable morning. All of a sudden my pole bent backwards with such force I thought we may have hooked a passing boat on the hull, and the peacefulness of the morning was broken by my fishing partner yelling, FISH ON!” Line was screaming off my reel, and when the fish jumped out of the water I suddenly realized just how undersized my 6 foot fishing pole was for this job. My heart started pounding and the adrenaline kicked in, and the fight was on.

The coffee cup got spilled on the seat, tackle box tipped over on the floor of the boat, and the net was tangled in the oars. After about 15 minutes of fighting the fish to the boat, in what I could best describe as “a rodeo,” we were finally ready to net the fish. My fishing partner picked up my tiny net, and as I was looking at this giant fish I was thinking, “there ain’t no way we’re going to get this fish into that net!”

There’s always room for more stories.

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Fortunately, my fishing partner was skillful enough at getting most of the fish into my undersized net, and he was able to plop the steelhead onto the floor of the boat at my feet. I was awestruck, it was surreal, and I almost forgot how to breathe.

I was totally amazed by the huge size and absolute beauty of this fourteen-pound, ocean-going rainbow trout, and I was suddenly hooked, no, more like addicted to steelhead fishing.

We ended the day by catching our limits, coming back to Moscow with four of these incredibly magnificent fish. I couldn’t wait to show my wife and share my excitement with her. As these fish were lying across our kitchen counter, fish slime dripping down the cupboard door and onto the floor, I could sense she wasn’t exhibiting the same level of enthusiasm as I was.

As I was sharing my fishing adventure with her, I was also explaining how we needed a larger boat, and why I needed to purchase more lures, a stronger fishing pole, a bigger net, heavier fishing line… At about this point in our conversation she subtly interjected, “I thought you were going to be happy with catching just one.”

So now, thirty plus years later, I am now retired, divorced, and have spent a small fortune on fishing boats, several rods and reels, dozens of tackle boxes, hundreds of fishing lures, downriggers, rod holders, larger fishing nets, fish finders, trolling motors, GPS units, auto-pilots, and an entire arsenal of other fishing equipment that most obsessed fishermen would consider “necessary.” My fishing passion has also expanded well beyond just steelhead fishing, as I now pursue numerous species of fish throughout the region on the limitless number of lakes, rivers and streams we are so fortunate to have right here in the northwest.

I soon discovered that my passion for fishing wasn’t just all about catching fish. I quickly gained an appreciation for the serenity and beauty of nature and the whole outdoor experience. To me, fishing is a twelve-month a year activity, and each season has its own unique beauty. I try to be on the water as early as I can so I can watch the sunrise and experience the world waking up and coming alive with all of the sights, sounds and smells of nature. I enjoy watching the abundant wildlife on every trip, deer and on occasion a herd of elk feeding on the hillside, bald eagles perched in a tree at the edge of the shore, the cackling of passing Canadian geese, the chattering of a kingfisher as he flies across the surface of the water, playful river otters as they swim downstream, and watching an osprey splash into the water and coming up with a fish, as if he’s showing off his fishing skills to me. On almost every trip I’m accompanied by my faithful fishing companion, a loyal black Labrador named Kia, who enjoys nature and the entire outdoor experience as much as I do. While fishing, its easy to lose track of time, and before I know it the day is finished and the sun is setting, quite often displaying some of the most spectacular sunsets I have ever witnessed, signifying a perfect ending to another wonderful day.

Editor’s Note: This originally ran in the March/April 2015 issue, but since we have grown our readership since, I thought it was wonderful to share again!

buttes

I LIKE big

kie

and I cannot

Words + Photos

Ashley Peel

I

hate

when my mother is right.

Last month, when I had handed my mum a copy of the magazine, open to my byline she nearly squealed.

I flashbacked to what she must have looked like the first time I made the honor roll in grade school. That’s how proud she was of me. Still. My mum always knew I’d be a writer, even before I had committed to formally studying it. “My daughter is a writer,” she’d tell family, friends, strangers. I guess in that instance, I didn’t hate that she was right.

So we were chatting about a series I was going to write, dubbed by the editor, “I Like Big Buttes and I Cannot Lie.” Mum giggled at the pun and asked what exactly a ‘butte’ was. Thinking back to the one butte I’m most familiar with, Kamiak, I told her I thought it was a seemingly random hill jutting out of a much shorter landscape. “Oh,” she said, “ I thought it was a steep hill with a flat top.”

Turns out, I didn’t really know what a butte was, so I decided to research a little. With a fresh glass of red wine I typed in butte into Google and the search results might as well have just said ask your mother. According to various dictionaries (and the all-knowing Wikipedia) a butte is an isolated hill with steep sides and a flat top (similar to but narrower than a mesa).

I’ve been in Moscow for (going on) seven years and I’ve never made it out to Steptoe Butte. Mostly because I knew it was farther than Moscow Mountain and Kamiak and partially because the only thing I had been told about Steptoe is, “it’s a pretty drive.” As far as I knew, it didn’t offer any hiking, which is why I tend to venture out of Moscow—to look for an adventure and if I can combine adventuring with exercising it’s even better. But I promised to bring the readers along for a backyard adventure to all the different Buttes and so it was time to deliver.

I checked out my map, which offered three options: one through Pullman, one that cut-off after Viola and one through Palouse. If you read my bit on Kamiak Butte, you know I have a thing for Palouse, so I opted to take that route—with plans to stop in Palouse on the way home for dinner.

I wish I had been warned.

Home&Harvest

May/June 2018 25

I don’t use a fancy map app, like WAZE or something that’s most up-to-date with open roads or short cuts that might be roads, but aren’t really. I use the basic app that came with my iPhone (5C…). I mention this only because it would never have crossed my mind for this older generation map to offer the route I went for. The drive was great, at first. It took me through Palouse and Garfield, a direction I regularly take but never with any leisure. Usually I’m pedal-to-the-metal to make it to the airport or hit first chair on the slopes, but this day I rolled along enjoying the second really gorgeous spring day of the year. I love this time of year. Not the dirty, gray spring days, but the special days in spring when the Palouse surprises you with warm sunshine and everything just pops. Just like humans, the grasses and flowers and trees crave Vitamin D and perk up on that first spring day too.

My pup hung his head out the window basking in the warm breeze. I took in the Palouse River with actual water flowing under the train trestles. There’s this one bend in the river (and highway) between Palouse and Garfield that I’ve always wanted to photograph. I have an idea to photograph it at every season. I considered pulling over but really wanted to make it to the top of Steptoe before the sun started to set so I kept going.

A few miles outside of Garfield my phone told me to turn on J.W. Baylor Road. I noticed the warning sign enough to take a picture, but all it said was the road was closed from November 15 to May 15: “Except by permit. Violators will be prosecuted.” It was April, so I wasn’t going to jail but the sign should have said, drive at your own risk and we hope your risk is covered with a high-clearance, 4x4 vehicle.

The road wasn’t paved. I fished tailed slightly through the loose sand for a ways. Decided to slow it down. And then these ruts began, narrow and shallow at first as if a little bit of rainwater had trickled down from the farm fields. But soon I was straddling ruts the size of my tire, thinking to myself, I don’t have a plan b if I get stuck. Do I even have service on this road? I couldn’t check. This road demanded the Ten and Two. But then the ruts evened out and I relaxed.

I charged through a mud puddle and felt a little proud of myself for getting Tallulahbell (that’s my car) so dirty. She’s a manual transmission, four-wheel drive Xterra but I prefer the 4x4 for handling snowy roads to the ski slopes and the occasional drive to a secluded campsite on a beach, not for, as guys I went to high school with would call “muddin’.”

But then we came upon the last 200 hundred yards, or so (measurements aren’t my thing). The only way I know how to describe it is, imagine that a giant—a Jack and the Bean Stalk giant—had farming equipment and toiled fresh dirt.

And then those mounds of fresh giant-dirt dried in the sun.

I knocked Tallulahbell into four-wheel drive, I bounced over those dirt hills, my dog clung for dear life in the passenger seat (he’s 10 pounds) and I hoped I kept my tires aligned so a rogue mound wouldn’t completely wreck my undercarriage.

And before you ask, turning around was not an option. Stopping would result in certain death. Death of the afternoon. Death of the adventure. And possible death of my 17-year-old-rig. I just had to keep going. With only a few yards to go, the side ditches evened out and I finished off that stretch driving on farmland. To the owner of that farm, I apologize (and hate you a little).

The rest of the drive was uneventful—and paved. And as quickly as I was considering how bad that new car payment was going to suck, we were at the entrance (or the bottom) of Steptoe Butte. Like Kamiak, Steptoe is open dawn to dusk year-around but because, like everyone had said, there’s only a road to drive up, I doubt there’s much traffic in the winter. Picnic tables and small grills dot the land on either side of the rode as you enter the park.

And then another sign warns that the road wasn’t maintained and winter conditions could occur. Take this as your warning: I wouldn’t want to drive this road in the winter with 4x4 and studded tires. If you have a fear of curvy roads + heights - guardrails, this isn’t a drive for you, especially in the winter.

Steptoe in short is a 150-acre, day-use state park. In the late 1940s, a retired pharmacist from Colfax, Virgil McCroskey, donated 120-acres to create Steptoe Butte State Park in homage to his childhood memories of working his family land in the area. (Fun fact: Virgil also donated the land to create Mary Minerva McCroskey State Park in neighboring Idaho to honor his mother.)

As a conservationist and advocate for public lands, Virgil was well ahead of his time. (If only we had more Virgils still pioneering for Public Lands today.)

The summit tops off at 3,612 feet and offers 360-degree views of the Palouse.

A parking area at the top features a couple of benches, toilets, and three interpretive signs explaining the science and history of Steptoe. The views are undeniably impressive, but the history and science is equally so.

Native Americans referred to the rock as the Power Mountain and believed that anyone who ventured up the mountain would receive the gift of power from its spirit. The first settlers, however, named the landmark Pyramid Peak. In the 1800s it was in the midst of important battlefields in the Indian Wars and the name was later changed to Steptoe after Colonel Edward J. Steptoe who fought in the 1858 Battle of Rosalia. Steptoe Butte was so unique, however, that as more landforms were discovered with similar characteristics, ‘steptoe’ was used to categorize them. Similar to a ‘butte,’ a ‘steptoe’ is defined as an isolated hill, or mountain, of older rock surrounded by younger lava flows. In other words Washingtonians can lay claim to the first ever Steptoe.

This island of quartzite is some of the oldest rock in Washington State—over 400 million years old to be exact-ish. The quartzite was initially deposited as seafloor sediment and was later forced upward creating the existing butte.

It’s withstood massive floods and fire. And as you stand on top looking out over the rolling hills, you can only imagine how tall it used to be. The peak has been worn down from its original form and the Columbia flood basalts, deposited 15-17 million years ago, have diminished its grandeur.

It’s also rich in agricultural and pioneer history. Long before McCroskey came into the picture but after Colonel Steptoe, the land surrounding Steptoe Butte was a thriving little settlement created by James S. “Cashup” Davis as a stopping place for stagecoaches.

Fun side story: Cashup received his nickname because he preferred (and sometimes required people) to use cash. In a time when bartering and credit were the most often used forms of currency, being wealthy enough to use cash was rare.

In 1888, Cashup built a three-story hotel on top of the butte that for its time was the epitome of luxury. Hell, after reading about it, I’d be keen to stay there. The hotel offered a theater, a banquet room, dancing hall, and a rooftop, all-glass solar observatory (presumably the ‘third’ floor, considering some sources claim it was a two-story hotel). The hotel’s exotic location was both its allure and led to its demise. It flourished for only a few years before low occupancy rates caused the hotel to all but shut down. In the end, Cashup lived there alone until his death in 1896. Two teens burned the hotel— accidental or intentionally depending on whom you ask—to the ground in 1911. But Cashup’s legacy wasn’t completely lost; he had also planted orchards and raised livestock. Today, the apple trees originally planted by Cashup have been discovered to bare a type of apple that was considered extinct.

And the surrounding grassland of the butte—the Palouse Prairie—is considered one of the most rare ecosystems in the U.S. today.

Sometimes I think my dog believes he’s a mountain goat.

My slip-on Toms were not the best shoe choice for walking a scree trail that clung to the side of a butte, but it didn’t seem to affect the pooch. Few cars littered the parking lot as I stepped over the sagebrush-like bush. From the top, the blue sky was endless. So blue, in fact, it was almost white. I could see the snow-capped peaks of Spokane Mountain. And although the wind turbines near Rosalia aren’t that far away, from that vantage point their rhythmic churns mesmerized me.

I could see so far to the south, the hills of the Palouse eventually just petered out into a blur. The wind was light—I could imagine the potential for brutal gusts—but there was enough of a breeze to satisfy the needs of two paragliders effortlessly lounging on the air currents. And that’s where the appeal for Steptoe lies. For paragliders wanting to float the winds and photographers hoping to capture the essence of the Palouse or a tourist or local just looking to unwind after a long day or week.

I parked at a pullout not quite at the summit. Although there aren’t signed trails, there are random paths that spoke out from the summit. Falcor and I took one trail, more resembling a game trail than a hiking trail. It coiled around the edge of the Butte and climbed up to the summit.

Will I go back? For sure. But I’m going to do what another couple did. They pulled up in their subie, popped the back hatch and the man opened a cooler. We were probably about an hour away from sunset and I can only assume there was a bottle of wine in that cooler (or two Keystones, whatever) and he and his lady friend were going to sit on the hood of his car, sipping beverages and watching the sun go down. I envied them a little as I loaded Falcor back in my mud-speckled car and headed back down the hill toward dinner.

Home&Harvest

May/June 2018 30

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Gadgets,

Gizmos, and

Grilling!

by Tony Niccoli

Let’s take a minute to be honest here – even if it hurts a little. How many times have you seen an amazing new grilling device in the store and fallen for the marketing. “If I just buy this, I’ll enjoy more backyard cooking and family time while savoring the amazing [insert novelty food item] that can only be made by owning a top of the line gizmo such as this one.” And a few years later, you see it in the bottom of a drawer, the back of a cabinet, or under some junk in the garage. You never did make savory treats, or maybe used it once, and your normal grilling routines were completely unaltered by ownership of this life-changing gadget.

I’ve been there too.

Many times over.

But a few years ago I came to the realization that grill tools fall into two categories. Simple tools that serve many functions, and get repeated use, and novelty junk that actually detracts from grilling and enjoyment. So how can you tell the must-haves from the trash?

Let’s start with the basics. You could take everything away from me today, and as long as I had salt, pepper, the ability to create fire, and something to turn meat I would continue to love grilling. So if you want to own only one item make it a good spatula (and then maybe go grab some salt and pepper packets from a local fast-food joint, and smack rocks together to get a spark for your fire so you technically still only have one grilling tool). I have one spatula now. I used to have several, and anyone that shops at our local thrift stores may now own a few of my previous life-changing, time-saving, specialty grilling spatulas with built in cutter, light, or comfort/novelty grip. I kept the best one. It’s big, but not huge so I don’t accidently flip 3 burgers at once, but I can get solid support under even the largest items.

Home&Harvest

May/June 2018 33

It’s pretty thin, but not flexible so it gets under steaks and chicken and doesn’t droop from a little weight. It lives in a drawer in our kitchen and is always on the top when I need it – never lost in a pile of gizmos. It’s the only one I own now, and the only one I will in the future. We have a bond, and I never cheat on my grilling spatula.

I also own a set of tongs. See how I said that – a set. Not two, or six, or eleventy-three. One set of grilling tongs.

They are medium size and come out of the drawer any time the spatula isn’t the best tool. I also occasionally use these with the spatula to get a little more control. I can hold something still when preparing for a flip and get the spatula lined up perfectly to avoid breaking delicate things like lighter fish into two pieces.

I have a digital instant-read thermometer. I know – you wonder why a guy that writes a column on grilling, and has shared several touch methods for telling temperature on steaks would have a thermometer. But I just don’t take chances with chicken and pork, and I’m not willing to over-cook it and serve dry, chewy shoe-leather pork chops because of caution and fear. Using a simple and inexpensive digital thermometer lets me quickly know when they are up to a safe temp but still moist and delicious.

Finally, I have a simple basket, and a vintage set of flat metal skewers. Neither of these are strictly necessary, but the skewers are fun to use for kebobs or shrimp, and the basket is handy to keep smaller items from going into the grates without having to tediously flip them one at a time and take up too much grill space. But in a pinch I could easily do without either of these.

And that’s it for me. After years of acquiring every gadget and gizmo that had the word “grill” attached to the name or marketing tag line, I have now realized that I enjoy the process more and get better results by just keeping it simple. Gone are the specialty spatulas, the one-trick-pony stand for beer can chicken, the novelty stuffed burger presses, and every other “new and improved time saving revolutionary must-have” item. Because it’s the idea of grilling that always seems to get you to want those things and not any specific need or desire to make a specific recipe with your new found toy. I still remember buying the beer can chicken rack, and thinking to myself that this was going to be perfect. It was just the item I needed and I was going to be enjoying more time on the grill, and then getting to eat delicious chicken more often because I now owned it. But the truth is that I never really liked doing beer can chicken before I had this handy little rack (and the few times I had made it in the past I never suffered from toppled chicken due to want of a specialty rack). So now that I had it, and used it once or twice early on to justify the purchase, it was simply archived in the back of drawer and forgotten. I wasn’t grilling more often, I wasn’t making beer can chicken on a regular basis, and I wasn’t getting more joy from my time outside. It was one of the first items on my list that needed to go.

If you want to make better food, enjoy more time outside working the grill, and try new recipes then make that your focus. Just keep it simple with a few handy tools and let the seasoning be the novelty star. Take an honest assessment of your grilling set and just focus on caring for the simple items that you really use.

Instead of jumping at the chance to get a new tool, spend an hour giving the grill a good cleaning instead.

You’ll find that you cook better food, and have more fun doing it as a result. Turn your grill press into an industrial strength paper weight, and repurpose your beer can chicken rack as a wind-proof coaster. Just get the fire lit, salt and pepper some meat, open a beer, and enjoy simple cooking done outside this summer.

It’s the grilling that matters, not the Inspector Gadget arsenal of tools.

Normally I like to include a recipe, but in keeping with the theme of this issue, I want to encourage you not to use one. For me summer really starts with the first hotdog. I never eat them except at a baseball game, campfire, or on the grill in summer and so it’s a special part of recognizing an event or change of seasons for me. I knew that spring was here about a month ago when I had my first dog of the year at a family cookout. So go put a hotdog, sausage or brat on your grill this weekend. Bring one set of tongs and a beer. Relax and enjoy.

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Vegan Avocado & Peanut Fudge Emory Ann Kurysh

1 ½ cups vegan chocolate chips 1 cup coconut sugar ¾ cup coconut milk (place in fridge beforehand and use hardened top and bottom layers) ½ cup cocoa powder 1 tsp vanilla 1 tsp sea salt 2 large avocados ½ cup chopped peanuts Steps: 1. In a medium saucepan, combine the first six ingredients. Stir over medium heat until completely melted. Turn the heat off, and set the mixture aside.

2. Remove the skin and pits from the avocados. Place in a food processor or blender and blend until smooth. Then add the chocolate mixture and blend again until well combined.

3. Line a square baking dish with parchment paper. (I tried using tin foil the first time round, and it was a disaster! Use parchment to ensure that the fudge won’t stick to the dish.) Pour the fudge evenly into the dish. Top with peanuts. Place in the freezer for at least 4 hours, and keep the fudge in there until just before serving. The cooler it is, the firmer it is, which makes it easier to cut and to eat! Bon appétit!

Home&Harvest

May/June 2018 36

*Adapted from epicurious.com

1 cup butter 6 ounces unsweetened chocolate, chopped 4 large eggs 2 cups sugar 1 teaspoon vanilla extract 1/2 teaspoon salt 1/2 cup all purpose flour 1/2 cup coarsely chopped walnuts Preheat oven to 325°F. Lightly butter 13x9x2-inch metal baking pan. Melt butter and chocolate in heavy medium saucepan over low heat, stirring until chocolate mixture is smooth. Cool.

Using electric mixer, beat eggs and sugar in large bowl until light and fluffy. Beat in chocolate mixture, vanilla and salt. Add flour; beat just until blended. Pour batter into prepared pan, smoothing top. Sprinkle top with walnuts. Bake until tester inserted into center comes out with crumbs attached, about 35 minutes. Transfer pan to rack; cool completely

Ingredient s: (FOR THE BISCUITS) 2 cups all-purpose flour 1 tbsp baking powder 2 tbsp sugar ¼ tsp salt ½ cup butter, melted 1 cup milk

This is a rich and savory meal that is packed full of flavor and comfort.

-Emory

(FOR THE SHRIMP CASSEROLE) 300 g peeled shrimp, thawed ½ cup corn, frozen ½ leek, chopped 1 garlic clove, chopped ½ tbsp salt pepper, to taste 3 tbsp butter ¼ cup canola oil

Steps: FOR THE BISCUITS 1. Preheat oven to 450°F. Mix the first four ingredients together in a medium-sized bowl. Then add the final ingredients, stirring until just combined.

2. Place parchment or aluminum foil onto a large cookie sheet. Grease well. Using a tablespoon, drop twelve biscuits onto the sheet.

3. Place in oven, and bake for approximately 12 minutes, or until golden brown. Remove from oven, and let cool.

FOR THE SHRIMP CASSEROLE 1. Preheat oven to 400°F. Place six fresh biscuits in an oblong casserole dish. Then add the shrimp, corn, leek, garlic, salt, and pepper. Drop the butter on top of the casserole mixture.

Drizzle with oil, and place in oven for 30 minutes, stirring halfway through. Serve hot.

Emory

Drop Biscuit s

Shrimp Casserole

Ann Kurysh

Chocolate Cream

Cheese

Bundt Cake

Heather Niccoli

Ingredients:

1 and 3/4 cups flour 3/4 cup unsweetened natural cocoa powder 1 and 3/4 cups sugar 2 teaspoons baking soda 1 teaspoon baking powder 1 teaspoon salt 1/2 cup vegetable oil 2 large eggs, at room temperature 3/4 full fat sour cream, at room temperature 1/2 cup buttermilk, at room temperature 2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract 1/2 cup boiling hot water Cream Cheese Filling 12 ounces full-fat block cream cheese, softened to room temperature 1 large egg 1/4 cup sugar 1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

Directions:

Preheat the oven to 350°F and grease a 10-inch bundt pan.

Whisk the flour, cocoa powder, sugar, baking soda, baking powder, salt, together in a large bowl. Set aside. Whisk the oil, eggs, sour cream, buttermilk, and vanilla together until combined. Pour the wet ingredients into the dry ingredients, add the hot water, and whisk or beat it all until the batter is completely combined. Set aside as you prepare the cream cheese filling.

Make the cream cheese filling: Using a handheld or stand mixer fitted with a paddle or whisk attachment, beat the cream cheese on high speed until no lumps remain.

Beat in the remaining ingredients on medium-high speed until combined.

Pour half of the chocolate batter evenly into the prepared bundt pan. Spread all of the cream cheese filling evenly on top. The cream cheese batter is thick, so you’ll have to spoon it on top and do your best to spread it around-- avoid it touching the sides of the pan. Pour the remaining chocolate batter evenly on top.

Bake for 55-65 minutes or until a toothpick inserted into the cake comes out clean with just a couple lightly moist crumbs. Once done, remove from the oven and allow to cool for 2 hours inside the pan. Then, invert the slightly cooled bundt cake onto a wire rack or serving dish. Allow cake to cool completely, then refrigerate for 2 hours. Garnish with optional toppings, then slice and serve.

Adapted from Sally’s Baking Addition

KD Welcome back! So, last time, makeup as an art form was up for discussion; it’s not a mask, it’s a creation! Not too long ago, I knew very little about this particular art form, it was simply a chore. It was something mindlessly done in the morning, trying to get from A to Z in my day. I wore pretty much the same thing, day in and out, which was also pretty basic. I wouldn’t have then classified my knowledge of the makeup world as anything more than trivial.

I wore a powder foundation, filled in my brows, sought out the best mascara to give me amazing lashes (perceptions have changed since but it gave me the best lashes possible THEN) and wore the same color of lipstick for about 18 years. I still love that mascara and lipstick and we will get into those later. I’ve learned so much about this craft and I’m eager to share with you some of those principles and ideas.

Your skin, your canvas, is your largest organ… it must be taken care of with utmost respect! Gone are the days of copious amounts of sunshine and tanning, for we have learned just how much it ages the skin. Wayne Goss, world renowned makeup artist, even says, “It’s the number one reason we look old and hideous… it’s the sun! So protecting your skin is the most important thing you can do, it’s no joke, it can save your life.” There are plenty of sunless tanners and bronzers that can help with adding that sun kissed glow. If you still choose to tan, do so in moderation and with appropriate harmful ray (UVB (primary cause of skin reddening and sunburn) and UVA (which penetrates the skin deeper and plays a major roll in skin aging and wrinkling, aka photoaging)) blocking lotions. I used to manage a tanning salon, I’m a wealth of information in that regard, too!

So, for your canvas, hydration is key! From the inside as well as the outside!

Make sure you are drinking plenty of fluids that are non-dehydrating. If you consume diuretics, drink even more water of course… most of us thrive with coffee and such on board! Limit alcoholic beverages (I know, not a popular opinion). Alcohol is perhaps one of the harshest compounds on your skin, it helps destroy it, actually. If you want to look older, go ahead and drink! The first thing alcohol does is dehydrate, it removes the fluid from your skin and any other mucous membranes including the pancreas and liver. It also has an inflammatory response, it creates a histamine reaction that flush to your face.

If drinking persists, that flush can become prominent redness that will not dissipate. I digress; lots of hydration is important! The types of moisturizers for the face vary greatly and there’s a vast amount of options for any skin type.

If you have dry skin, creams are amazing.

If you have oily/acne prone skin there are gel based moisturizers. A skin care regimen is very important in a daily routine if you want the best overall condition of your skin.

This coming from someone who slept in her makeup and never moisturized until a couple years ago! Haha! I’ve seen dramatic results from removing my makeup at the end of the day, exfoliating and moisturizing. My skin is more luminous, vibrant, pores appear smaller, fine lines are lightening and someone recently told my mom that I appear to not be aging anymore. I like that!!! I’ve also found dermarolling to be very beneficial. Let’s define that before moving to skin prep!

Dermarolling is a little roller covered in stainless steel needles (yikes!) that perforate the epidermis (top layer of skin) and when rolled over the face, neck, décolleté can stimulate collagen (that which we lose with age), minimize lines and wrinkles, smooth texture, lessen scars and age spots (with appropriate topical serums applied). While some would prefer methods that are a little less invasive, this method has proven to be beneficial for lessening the damage I caused with smoking, drinking, tanning and a lifetime of acne issues. If you have further concerns, please consult your dermatologist or appropriate doctor for more information.

This is only MY experience and what has worked for me, though many members of my makeup group have also seen dramatic results from dermarolling. What I use for serums are alphahydroxy acid, collagen, vitamin e, vitamin c and hyaluronic acid. These are applied before, during and after the rolling process, which I would describe as sometimes uncomfortable and annoying but not painful. If you’ve had a child, a tattoo, broken any bones, gotten a paper cut or stubbed your toe, this is doable! The following day my skin is pink and a bit sensitive, much like a sunburn. I do wear makeup the day after treatment, also. My needle roller is .75mm and I don’t do this every day, the skin needs time to recover in between treatments.

Where were we again? Oh yeah! Getting ready to apply the goods! Create the masterpiece! Prepping your canvas is a must for great makeup application and long wear. Exfoliation is another amazing key, removing those crusty layers that want to destroy the overall look of your foundation.

Two of my favorites are dr. Brant’s Microdermabrasion and Philosophy’s Microdelivery Exfoliating Facial Wash. I do the former twice a week and the latter also twice a week, rotating between the two with a day off. In between if I want to do a little extra I use good old fashioned baking soda, a great exfoliator on a budget, also leaves skin incredibly soft!

Gone are the patchy spots that used to frustrate me beyond belief. My skin has never been so soft and supple! Next up, moisturize! Whatever you’ve found that works for your skin, either high end or drugstore will work, make sure it’s not petroleum based, is non-comedogenic (won’t clog pores) and is a plus if it has retinol/sunscreen (better yet, use sunscreen as your moisturizer). Not always easy to find a one size fits all moisturizer, I use several.

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Foundations… ughhh, it’s like trying to find the perfect bra! You know what I’m sayin’?!? The struggle is REAL! What I’ve found from trying around 100 foundations (and bras for THAT matter, haha!)… it’s NOT always the dollar amount that counts. My all-time favorite (my ride or die) is drugstore for the win! Covergirl 3 in 1, it has a built in primer made just for it, so you have one less step and it’s a combo that works together nicely! That’s another thing, primers haven’t blown my mind at all. Sure they make foundation go on smoother, but can also make my makeup break up sooner. My days are NOT 3 or 4 hours, I need a marathon foundation! This foundation lasts through my day looking fabulous and it beats out my HUDA, Fenty, YSL, Kat Von D and so many others, yet so many don’t even know about it! It’s medium coverage, buildable to full, available in 13 shades. I actually combine shades to create my own custom shade. I also have marionette lines or parenthesis around my mouth (smile lines) that my foundation loves to party in! Less than pleased about that but I’ve JUST this week found a solution for that, too! More about that next time! Oh, and we will chat about LASHES, too!!!! Yaaasssss!!!

Before I go, a tip, trick and a must have!

Tip: right out of the shower apply your moisturizer, it helps to lock in moisture quickly from the shower and will give your moisturizer time to absorb before starting makeup application. Having fresh moisturizer competing on your face can just make it more of a struggle than it needs to be…who has time to fight the world AND foundation?? Am I right?

Trick: color match your foundation to the side of your neck, not your face or wrist like we were told for years.

Most of us have faces that are lighter due to car roofs (sun hits hands/arms/neck more frequently), exfoliation and sunscreens in our foundations or powders, your neck is what will help colors to be more cohesive and natural looking.

Must have: Covergirl 3 in 1, I keep going back to it time and time again. It lasts the longest and creases the least and slowest. I’ll throw in my favorite concealer, too!

Maybelline Age Rewind, it works soooo much better than Tarte Shape Tape and is a fraction of the cost. I’d rather not buy high end if drugstore works even better.

Both of these are ride or dies for this makeup lover!

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Groove

Merchant

By

Joe Evans

Currently, I am a member of the LCSC Jazz Band under the very capable direction of Shawn Bowman. I am the lead trumpet player and enjoy this band very much. As I pen this article, I am looking forward to the spring concert. What will probably be our first tune is a little ditty called “Groove Merchant.” Now, this tune is a real toe tapper and a blast to play and listen to. However, this is not an article about music, but is about how not to recover a deer.

“How can this be and how are the two things related?” you may ask. What ties it all together is one word: “Groove.” For over 40 years every time I hear or read the word “groove,” I am reminded of the 2 1/8” groove worn in both of my shoulders from recovering a deer. I just put a tape measure on this shoulder groove and it indeed still measures 2 1/8”. Now, this permanent disfigurement does have its advantages, believe it or not! Before this hunt I tended to be a little slope shouldered and always struggled with keeping a rifle properly shouldered without sliding off. Anymore I can just put the slung rifle on my shoulder and I am good to go- no slippage whatsoever.

Let’s slip back 40 years or so in time to when I was a college music student. After lunch, my buddy Ron and I decided that this particular afternoon would be a good time to see if we could harvest a deer. The problem with this idea is we would miss classes in subjects such as Theory Keyboard, Gregorian Chant, or Remedial English. After lengthy consideration (3 seconds), we decided to go hunting. We piled into my buddy’s 56 Ford Pickup and went to a place adjacent to Troy to get to a wooded area which was anything but flat and smooth.

Home&Harvest

May/June 2018 48

Keep that in mind! Well, after hiking across this flat, we were into the woods and commenced our stillhunt. Both of us were very quietly sneaking along on congratulating each other on being such great woodsmen when all of a sudden deer went running off in all directions! I threw up my Ruger M77 in 7x57 catcher and snapped off a quick shot at the rapidly departing beast and was delighted to see the deer drop. Cool!

Ron was not able to get a good, clear shot but we did have one deer down. Both of us were pretty young turkeys and had some, but not much experience from this point forward. After the usual round of oohs and aahs we pulled out our knives to dress out the deer. First off, we bled out the deer by making an incision in the throat. This accomplished absolutely nothing. Oh, well, don’t believe everything you read! The rest of the dressing out procedure went well but very slow. We made sure we kept the liver because Ron’s father could prepare a truly superior liver dinner. Okay, it’s getting quite dark now, and we have a long way to go to get our beast back to the truck and we had no flashlights. You have to remember that both of us were poor, well-educated college students and if we had any spare money it would have gone toward purchasing beer- certainly not into procuring flashlights. We had our priorities straight! Back to deer recovery.

We considered dragging the deer over the WW1 battlefield-like clearing in the dark but this did not seem like much fun. Well, both of us had read about another method of recovery in the hunting magazines. We found a branch exactly 2 1/8” in diameter, tied the deer’s legs to it and shouldered the pole with our deer hanging upside down between us. This was the most miserable physical ordeal that Ron and I were ever involved in! The carcass body swung uncontrollably, the deer head swung in a different direction. Finally, we made it back to the ’56 Ford. Both of us were beat- AND this is a big AND… very thirsty! Our liquid intake in those years did not include water so we did not consider bringing a canteen. Well, we did some foraging in the ’56 and came up with one rusty can of Olympia beer, vintage unknown. Looking at the rust made us contemplate the safety of this drink.

Thirst won out and we enjoyed this Oly immensely! We survived this antique beer! In retrospect, we did a lot of things wrong. This pole thing was not a good idea at best.

We did not secure the swinging head, did not orange flag the deer, did not secure the deer’s flag (whitetail). Never again! Nowadays we either drag the animal, tie it on an ATV, or use a sturdy pack frame. That 2 1/8” groove worn in my shoulder from the branch drove home a very powerful lesson. Happy hunting, and do not be a groove merchant!

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Fighting

the Wildland

Keith Crossler

It’s no secret that I have a passion for the Rural District side of the Moscow Volunteer Fire Department. I love the comradery of the Company, the trucks, and the large area that we service. Most of our 129 square miles is timber ground. Of course there are plenty of houses mixed in with the trees along with farm ground and major highways. We have different trucks for all different types of calls. Brush trucks for the timber or agricultural, pumpers for structure calls or car crashes, and water tenders that pack the much needed water to the call whatever it may be. The district was fortunate to get two new brush trucks added to the fleet just recently and we are itching to get them out of the station now that the weather is starting to turn for that season.

The calls that are particularly challenging are the ones out on the mountain. A report of seeing smoke, but no location other than generic directions. Or, maybe someone saw lightning strike, but can’t really describe where it was other than the south side of the mountain. So it’s a hunt to find it. I remember one spring when we got a call for a 10 by 10 patch burning off one of the bike paths on the mountain that became quite the challenge to find.

When the tones rang out, it was for an outside fire next to the road on Moscow Mountain. Devon and I pulled up at the station about the same time. We chuckled at each other because neither of us had our wildland gear with us. It was early spring and most of us don’t carry our wildland bags with us in the winter. We figured since it was just off the road, it wouldn’t be a big deal and we took off wearing our structure gear. We later found out that was a big mistake. The wildland gear is much lighter and made for the outdoor environment. Structure gear has multiple layers and is designed for higher heat situations inside burning buildings. It is also much heavier and not designed for hiking. Not to mention that the boots for the structure gear are just pull on rubber or leather boots. For the wildland gear we wear lace-up Whites.

They are much better for hiking around in the trees because of all the extra support they offer. Both have their purpose and in this case, we had the wrong gear for the job.

We pulled up to the meeting place based on the description that was given by dispatch. Checking in with our on duty Captain, we all determined that the fire was actually a fair distance off the beaten path. Or bike path as it turned out. Devon and I geared up with some hand tools, chain saw, and a water can to head up the trail. The bike trail system on the mountain is impressive, but is designed for just that. Bikes.

There was no way for getting any kind of truck, ATV, or anything other than us to where the fire was. We hiked for what felt like an eternity. Wondering if there was really a fire up this path. We both then caught a sniff of smoke and knew we were going the right direction. Now we just needed to find it. Another crew had set off a road above us trying to see if they could come down to the fire. They hadn’t checked in yet on their progress and we knew we would hear from them if they were successful. Of course, now it was starting to get dark. Not only did we need to find this before darkness came, we needed to get it taken care of and then back out of there too. As we continued up the path, we realized the smell was getting faint and we were feeling that we were getting further away the further we went. We decided to turn back and get back to where the smell was the strongest. Feeling lost and not able to find the fire, we ended up with a little help. A biker was headed down the path and bumped into us. He pointed us in the right direction and we were headed the right way.

Home&Harvest

May/June 2018 51

The fire was directly across from where we were standing.

Only trouble was that it was across a draw and half way back up the other side. That’s ok, we were determined to get to it and contain it before it got out of hand. We were also able to determine that the other crew wasn’t going to be able to get to the fire from where they were at. We hailed them on the radio and let them know to head back and that the only access was going to be up our bike path.

As we walked into the thickening trees, it was getting darker even faster and we realized our next challenge. Our head lamps were also with our wildland gear. So, now as we get to the fire, in the middle of the forest, and at dusk; we also don’t have any lights with us. I know, we are a couple of smart fellas today! Rest assured, others were coming and you can bet that neither of us go that unprepared into the woods no matter what time of day or year it is.

I radioed into Command our location and requested the other equipment we needed. Being so remote, hose lines weren’t an option and it would be up to hand work to get the fire contained where it was at. Devon went to work with the saw. Falling the last bit of tree that was standing. The fire was caused by a lightning strike that blew a tree most off the way apart and was burning the ground around it. I went to work digging a line around the perimeter of the fire. Once Devon was done with the saw work, he helped me re-enforce the line that I had most of the way around it. We used the water can to hit the hot spots to hopefully cool it down enough that it wouldn’t kick up.

Fire and heat from these types of fires can work deep into the ground following the root system of the tree. Using just water, it could take thousands of gallons to get it completely out. We had just 5 gallons with us. While we knew that we wouldn’t get it out, we could at least get the major hot spots cooled and let the hand line showing clean dirt contain the rest if it flared up at all. Happy with our work, we called in to Command that we were coming out.

Just as we got back to the main trail, by light of our cell phones, we were able to meet up with the other guys who walked in to help. Being the gentlemen that they were, they gave us some drinking water and offered to carry some of the gear back out. We figured out later that we ended up walking in about a half a mile from where the trucks were parked. I’m thankful for the bike path we used for the majority of that walk as it gave us a clean path in the dark coming back. It was still rugged terrain and steep in spots, especially when we got off the path to get across the draw to the fire.

Devon and I like to tell this story to the new guys so they don’t make the same mistakes that we did that evening.

The right gear is always necessary and a good idea. We’re lucky to have a group of Commissioners that make sure we have the right stuff for these types of calls. We just have to remember to bring it.

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Cover page spread: 02-03-013 - The Washington, Idaho & Montana Railroad Depot in Bovill, Idaho, 1907.

Top photo, above: 12-03-079 - The Washington, Idaho & Montana railroad depot in Potlatch, Idaho, circa 1910.

Home&Harvest

Let me take you on a tour of Latah County through the railroad depots as you explore Latah County, and a little bit of Clearwater County, through the railroad just like you might have if you were riding in the 1920s.

To begin our tour, we are riding into Moscow on the Spokane & Inland Electric Railroad.

This road went from Spokane to Moscow using electric current. This railroad served passenger traffic to and from Spokane. When the road was completed in 1908 many communities didn’t have electricity. These areas were able to draw enough energy from the railroad to power their town.

Before the Spokane & Inland Electric, Viola was one of the communities that did not have residential electricity. The residents of Viola always knew when the train was getting close because all of the lights in town would dim or turn off as the railroad used up all the available electricity. Upon departure, the electric current returned, and the lights came back on!

ALL ABOARD!! Next Stop: Moscow! As the train continues down the track, it goes around Moscow Mountain into Moscow. The Oregon Railroad & Navigation company was the first railroad to arrive in Moscow in 1885 and provided a route from Moscow, Idaho to Portland, Oregon (and points in between) to provide service for passengers and goods to the Pacific Ocean. In 1892 the Northern Pacific Railroad opened a depot in Moscow. This route opened up trade from Moscow to a whole new region providing reliable and (relatively) quick transportation for passengers and goods to and from the area. In 1903 John M. Henderson wrote in An Illustrated History of North Idaho:

May/June 2018 56

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Above photo: 25-05-046 - The 2260 at the Moscow, Idaho Northern Pacific / Union Pacific depot on a pleasant June evening in 1953. The train is the Lewiston to Spokane local #314.

Above photo, bottom: 06-03-021 - A group of people waiting at the train depot in Genesee, Idaho.

Photo, top right, 04-06-013 - The Washington, Idaho & Montana Railroad Depot in Deary, Idaho as seen on a postcard that is postmarked November 16, 1908.

“The period from 1890 to 1893 will long be remembered as the time during which Moscow reached the high water mark of prosperity. Everybody made money and everyone had money, and the volume of business transacted here was enormous.”

If we ride the rails east, we would stop in Joel, Cornwall and eventually Troy.

Troy was a bustling lumber town and had a railroad stop to boot. The city was not always known as Troy, however. The area that became Troy was previously called Huff ’s Gulch. When this area was first incorporated as a town (April 19, 1892), it was named Vollmer, after the lumber captain of industry John P. Vollmer who owned a majority share in the lumber mill in town (and controlled everyone’s jobs). On September 6, 1897, an election was held to change the name of the town or village from Vollmer to Troy. The election results were 29 for Troy and 9 for Vollmer. On September 13, 1897, the Latah County Board of Commissioners officially changed the name from Vollmer to Troy.

Chugga Chugga Chugga Chugga CHOO CHOO!!! Iron horses keep on moving, continuing south to Genesee. When the railroad spoke to Genesee about where to build the depot, Genesee asked for more money for the land than the railroad was willing to give. So, the railroad constructed a station, and roundhouse, one mile west of the current townsite of Genesee. After the depot was built the people of Genesee built a new town (and moved parts of their old city) around the hub of transportation and commerce, the train depot.

Although it is reasonable to expect that Moscow and Genesee were directly connected via railroad the two growing cities were not. The railroad headed west out of Genesee connecting in Uniontown, Colton, Johnson, and Staley before reaching Pullman en route to Colfax, which then opened up to Spokane or Walla Walla. As you can see a small railroad stub reaching a few residents in Genesee can very quickly connect to the rest of the United States!

It’s hard to overstate the importance of Potlatch to Latah County. The Potlatch Lumber Corporation built the Potlatch Mill in 1905 and began to export the riches of the lush forests, mainly the Western White Pine. The Potlatch Mill was the largest white pine lumber mill in the world upon construction.

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15-03-007

The Potlatch Corporation was so large that they created their own railroad - in a way. The Washington, Idaho & Montana (W. I. & M.) Railroad was used primarily for transporting lumber to and from the various lumber mills in Latah County. The road stretched from Palouse, Washington to Bovill, Idaho and never made it to Montana to complete its namesake. The railroad connected to the Northern Pacific Railroad in Palouse and the Chicago, Milwaukee, & Puget Sound Railroad in Bovill.

The W. I. & M. depot in Potlatch was the crown jewel of the W. I. & M. This two-story depot housed the operations of the station on the bottom floor and the operations of the W. I. & M. Railroad on the top floor. If you look closely at the second level, you will see one office with a bay window, that was the office of the director of the W. I. & M. The director had his office extended so that he could more easily see the trains coming and going from the depot without leaving his office.

The W. I. & M. Depot has been restored by the W. I. & M. Railway History Preservation Group. The Depot is open for visitors, and if you visit Thursday through Saturday, the Potlatch Historical Society has an excellent museum inside.

Why not take a trip up to Potlatch to check out the depot, marvel at the restoration work and enjoy a slice of history?

Moving along the W. I. & M. eventually you come to the community of Deary. Deary was a lumber town (named after the Potlatch general manager William Deary). Deary had two primary businesses: lumber and agriculture. Deary sits in the shadow of Potato Hill or ‘Spud Hill’ which rises over the town at over 4,000 feet.

The W. I. & M. terminated at the city of Bovill. Bovill was named after its primary resident, Hugh Bovill, the son of British nobility who operated the Hotel Bovill for outdoorsmen and sportsmen who enjoyed hunting and fishing in the natural surroundings. Hotel Bovill provided these sportsmen access to the untouched paradise perfect for these adventures. With the W. I. & M. expanding eastward to tend to their ‘stumpage’ property, this forested paradise became an industrial lumbering center. Bovill grew to accommodate the increase of citizens & lumberjacks the Bovill family moved on, leaving the area in 1911. This depot was the terminus of the W. I. & M. where it eventually connected to the Chicago, Milwaukee & Puget Sound Railroad, which connected Elk River, Bovill and St. Maries. Where the Chicago, Milwaukee & Puget Sound RR linked the W. I. & M. to points east and west.

Two page spread photo, Troy: 15-03-007 - The Troy, Idaho railroad depot. The community is seeing the Troy High School band off as they travel to Spokane, Washington, 1926.

Heading south to the terminus of the C. M. & P. Railroad to Elk River we see the depot that commanded a twenty-year boom town. The Potlatch Corporation built a mill here in 1911, which created a boom to the local economy. The city of Elk River built up around the mill closed in the 1930s. Although the mill has closed, it is a beautiful area to visit. If you do, plan to take a hike around the beautiful Elk Creek falls south of town.

This tour of depots in Latah County, with a dip into Clearwater County, is over. I want to say that there were some Depots that I did not have space to mention here.

I hope you have enjoyed the journey with me. If you haven’t done so recently, I encourage you to travel to these beautiful railroading destinations to experience the thrill of the railroads for yourself.

If you are looking for more to do this summer, please consider joining the Latah County Historical Society at the McConnell Mansion for our annual Ice Cream Social. The Ice Cream Social is held every year on the last Sunday in July (7/29) and features ice cream, live music, and fun family programming at an affordable price (FREE!). I look forward to seeing you there!

Let us help you along the path to home ownership 06-03-002 - Northern Pacific Depot at Genesee, Idaho. Man in foreground believed to be Oscar Hodgins. N.P. arrived in Genesee, 1888.

204 S Main St. Moscow ID 83843 PH: (208) 882-9500 Photo, bottom right: 02-03-013 - The Washington, Idaho & Montana Railroad Depot in Bovill, Idaho, 1907.

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I Home&Harvest

I find myself surrounded by extraordinary women that I consider everyday heroes in an ordinary world. The women in my family are their own forces of nature, and I’ll talk about them another time. Today I want to talk about what I consider the backbone of Agriculture, the women of the farm. While they may not think of themselves as heroes, I do. Extraordinary is a fitting term as life lived in the Ag industry is truly unique. In the past I’ve mentioned that farmers are completely dependent on outside factors such as weather and market prices that determines crop success and the farmer’s paycheck.

Just that in and of itself is stressful. Those who grew up in a farm family understand that Ag is in every fiber of your life, those that married into a farm family adapt to a new normal. It becomes your life blood and either you acclimatize and embrace it, or I’ve seen some women leave. Other factors that women must navigate on the farm are shared further down in the article. Through it all, this industry demands that you are independent, strong, can endure all kinds of variables and most importantly maintain a well-developed sense of humor. And with that I’ll give you an insight into my crazy world.

Most, but not all of my closest friends are or were involved with Agriculture and I consider them my added blessings in life. So when one of these so-called “blessings” called me and her name flashed across my phone, for some reason the image of us dressed up in some of our goofy pink flamingo gear floated up before my eyes. And then I thought of the time just a couple of years ago, when an ordinary comment ran amuck and in a flurry of texts, we ended up creating an outrageous couple’s date night. Us women dressed up in crazy fashions and set a time and place to have our men meet us for cocktails and strongly suggested they buy us corsages and take us out to dinner (they did).

Good friends are like that, but it takes a lifetime of shared experiences to build on that kind of friendship.

May/June 2018 64

These are the women, who were farm wives that I first met either through our husbands or through some kind of community event.

Four of the five of us married home-town boys and we naturally banded together. Kindred souls learning about life on the farm and small-town living. Our kiddos went to the same school and we would endure the hours of sitting on hard benches during sporting events, although I have to confess they were far better sports moms than I could ever hope to be. When not at school functions, we were on the same community events and a few of us went to the same church. The four of the five of us all the baby of the family in the same class... and the kiddos were buddies (and I might add they were a handful for the poor teachers). Our daughters, of course, in true teen fashion were mortified by the actions of their crazy moms, and we told them one day they would look back and understand the beauty of that kind of women-kinship. I’m not sure they are at that point yet, but more than once they made reference of us as being the live version of the “Ya Ya Sisters”. This was in part to us dubbing ourselves the “Co-op Queens”, mainly because as farmers, we belonged to the Genesee and Uniontown farm co-ops and decided we needed a defining name for our close-nit group…. And we dubbed ourselves the “Co-op Queens”. In our younger days, we made sashes and wore tiaras in our “special to us” events. The sashes have gone to the wayside, but we all have our fake diamond-studded tiaras that still come out, but the pink tutu and pink flamingo gear are languishing in the backs of our closets. These women, that I am honored to call some of my best friends, are also sources of my inspiration.

Together, we have survived our kids going through adolescence, get married, have their own babies, we have cried at each other’s family funerals and kicked up our heels as we celebrated each other’s milestone events. When one of us was going through a hard time, we gathered to form a loving circle of trust where feelings are shared. Thankfully we have laughed more than cried and enjoyed more good times than not-so-good times. And layer of layer of laughter, tears and holding each other up in hard times and applauding each other in the good times has built a foundation of a rock-solid friendship. In the flow of life, two of us ended up not being married to the farmer husbands, and one remarried a remarkable man a few years ago. Though I am still single, I’m in a relationship with my own remarkable man. Two have retired and the rest of us are planning for it. I think it terrifies our children with thoughts of the crazy mommas having more free time to run amuck, and of course, that sends us into a fit of giggles and we find that enormously amusing. Even though most of our kiddos are spread about the country, and in one case in another continent, with the advent of social media, they get to experience pictures of us that are shared on FB or Instagram. And I’m sure there is some eye rolling going on. None-the-less, I like to think that privately they like having not-so-normal moms, but then again most have chosen to live in other states….. hmmm, pure coincidence.

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But in all seriousness, throughout the journey of my farm life, I have met other amazing women, who are or were farm wives. And it is worth saying again, because collectively the role of the women on the farms are truly the backbone of American agriculture. For many of us, we worked off the farm at our day jobs, but also helped out on the farm when not in our professional roles. While some of us ended up taking a different course in life and no longer tethered to the farm, we never lost sight of our love for Ag as a whole.

One friend, also a former farm-wife, remarried and is now one of our legislators who champions Ag and other issues down in Boise. Another friend, who married a farmer a few years ago is her own version of HGTV’s Flip or Flop, only local. Most farm-wives are handy with power towels, but not at her level. And my other farm-wife friends are the quiet leaders not only on their farm but within the community.

They lead events, sit on committees or boards either locally, regionally and nationally, and during farming season, are the behind-the-scenes glue that makes harvest run efficiently. These remarkable women gather about once a month to drink wine and catch up with one another’s busy lives. (being in true Ag fashion, we like to support our other Ag counterparts who grow the grapes and dutifully try to help the wine industry out, same goes for the barely and hop growers too, we take this task very seriously...) Lol !

Again though, in all seriousness, these are the same women who along with their farmer husbands have put in long hours in the fields or at home. None of us thought it odd that we kept our little kiddos up past their bedtime so they could see daddy when he came in hot, dirty and tired from the field at 9pm to sit down to eat dinner. We would sympathize with each other when one of us would share her version of a “parts run that went bad” and would regale us with the details about how she would fly into town to pick up a combine or tractor part from the farm parts store when a breakdown occurred. This is a pure form of torment when you try to explain to the guy behind the counter that “the do-thingy that is housed in the squirrel looking cage that turns the belts isn’t working and you need another one (and fast!)”. We would nod our head and agree about some of the less than glamourous jobs like help flag a piece of equipment from one field to the next was like watching paint dry. Through it all, we would juggle kids, run a home in the absence of the men, which was about March-November and give our all to our off-the-farm jobs. When you marry into a farm family, sometimes there were set expectations and traditions to navigate around and what a woman’s role on the farm was. While the face of Ag is slowly changing and women are taking a more prominent role in Ag, it largely is still a man’s world. Depending on the family, the transition into farm life could be relatively smooth, but sometimes dealing with an elder male in the operation could be bumpy. Sometimes the same struggles were shared by the son as he entered the farm scene and together the balancing of old ideas and new ideas of how to best get a crop in the ground had to be addressed.

And whether on the farm or off, each woman is her own success story, and I am in awe of them.

With that I want to thank those readers who reach out to me either in person or in writing that they find value and/or enjoyment from my articles and more importantly, the magazine as a whole. For me, writing is what speaks to this girl’s soul, so I’ll continue to work towards finishing my book, blog and write for this magazine. I also want to acknowledge editor, Heather Niccoli who I feel is her own version of what a success story looks like. I applaud her vison as she pursues the efforts with publishing this magazine and creating a unique florist shop.

And readers, I hope you in you own way celebrate your success and do what speaks to your heart. Work hard toward your goals, but make sure to add some fun into your life. Don’t live life of “what ifs”, go climb that mountain, now is the time. All my best, Gayle

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