Rambling Thoughts

Christmas has come and gone for another year.  It is time to move toward 2013.  The winter weather came on Christmas Eve and dusted everything in a coat of white.  Sleds came out along with the boots, warm coats, gloves and hats.  When I was a kid we always went sledding on New Years Day.  It was a cold experience.  No water proof clothes kept our hands and feet warm and dry.  In spite of being cold and wet, we had fun and walked up and down the hill getting in as many rides as possible before we couldn't bear the cold any longer.


The shortest day of the year has turned the corner toward the longest one.  Mentally it is nice to know that days will gradually get longer adding a few more seconds of light each day.  If I lived where the seasons changed very little, I would feel cheated.  With every season there is a sense of renewal  and eager anticipation of what will come.  Lives are measured by the seasons.

I am trying to teach myself to enjoy the moment I am in and not always look ahead. There is no need to rush from day to day or season to season. ' Stopping to smell the roses' is an old saying, but will always have meaning.  It is comparable to reminding ourselves to take a deep breathe.  My goal for 2013 is to slow down, relax and just breath.  Let things happen as they will.  I don't have to be in charge.  I wish I was a coffee drinker then I could try all the varieties and just sit and savor the flavor.  Coffee drinkers sit and enjoy their cup slowly drinking until the contents are gone.

I will see how the year turns out and what progress I make.  One has to wonder at what point in life you start to run.  I ran up and down the sleigh hill not because I was in a hurry, but because I was having fun.  Maybe it is time to find the child hidden somewhere inside and push the grownup me back a little.

Teton Valley--an early winter day--

could this be a good place to sled?

Nothing Stays the Same

Traditions are important and give us a sense of belonging.  They tie families and friends together providing a venue for recalling old memories and creating new ones.  Holiday memories are deep and are added upon year by year.  The holidays of childhood are easily recalled and perhaps a little embellished as they are shared and carried with us through the years.  But memories broaden as years pass and new people enter our lives.

As a newly married couple we shared three Thanksgivings with our parents and then found ourselves on the east coast far from family.  New friends took the place of family and Thanksgiving was celebrated in their home.  They too were far from family and gladly invited us to create a new kind of family.  It was the beginning of understanding that we can go beyond what we know and still find a spot in which we fit.

The following Thanksgiving we again found ourselves in a new place still far from family.  It was our first little family Thanksgiving with two little boys.  The day was still full of traditions and familiar food, but now we were introducing our family to our Thanksgiving.  It was not empty or lonely with just the four of us. It was tight and warm.  We eventually moved closer to our parents and siblings and our little group of four was now six.  We shared a few holidays which included grandparents, but now it was our home they came to.

Our children now have families of their own and extended families as well  We have adapted to the  changes and made Thanksgiving fit the various schedules and obligations.  Usually we celebrate a week early and have ham so no one has to eat turkey twice in one week. This year we dumped the whole dinner idea and went for the desserts.  There were no complaints and perhaps this will be a new tradition.  Our daughter was the host and organizer this year.  It is okay to make changes and move with the times.  Life is still rich and full.

Nolan and I spent the actual day in La Jolla, California with Neils and his new wife.  It was their first Thanksgiving and the start of their own traditions.  Who knows what next year will bring or where we will be or how much of our family will celebrate together. The bottom line---even apart we are still together.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

      

  

       

 

 

 

Those Holidays

 It is time for honesty.  There are three holidays approaching:  Halloween ( yea, yea), Thanksgiving
 and Christmas.  Thanksgiving I acknowledge slightly and without much fanfare.  Yes, I am a grateful person. I am thankful for the Pilgrims who made the long and dangerous voyage to America.  They struggled  through that first winter with very little to sustain them.  They planted crops in the spring and managed to nurture them into harvest time.  I am sure they were excited to celebrate their survival and a bounteous harvest.  After all, there had been very little reason to have a party.  Whoopee for them.  They enjoyed cooking for large crowds.  Every Native American in the neighborhood was invited.

Here I step aside and separate myself from them.  I have cooked many Thanksgiving meals in my 42 years of marriage, which entailed, peeling and boiling potatoes, rolling pie crusts for pumpkin pies, which were always less than flaky, made dressing and rolls from scratch.  I did great disservice to the turkey before I discovered disposable cooking bags.  My kids were pretty much grown by the time I figured out how to cook a turkey that wasn't dry.  By that time stove top stuffing had also appeared and the precious little darlings informed me that they preferred stove top rather than my homemade dressing.  I had already turned to canned turkey gravy so the addition of short cut dressing was no problem.

I once  invited my in laws to Thanksgiving dinner and served a beautiful, brown, crispy, dry turkey with the sack of organs still inside the cavity of the bird.  I will chalk that one up to first turkey attempt and to the fact that I had no idea you were suppose to reach inside the turkey and explore.  I did improve as the years went on.  My rolls were excellent almost from the get go.  I love making anything that involves dough.  Perhaps, it is the hands on--the feel of the dough as you shape and mold it.  There is much more satisfaction in bread making than from slinging a dead bird around.

This Thanksgiving I am cooking with my new Australian daughter in law.  Poor girl!  She has suggested a turkey breast.  I think she is already more astute about Thanksgiving than I was as a newly wed.  I watched my mother cook the dry bird for 21 years.  Everything I learned, I learned from her.  (sorry Mom)   I think Briana has an advantage--she is starting fresh on her own turf which she can create in her own way.  Besides she can consult the net---sometimes much better than following in someone else's footsteps.

Thanksgiving this year will be spectacular, fun and one I am looking forward to.  Then I just have to get through my next least favorite holiday--Christmas.  I am sorry, but I will open up and confess--my favorite holidays are Fourth of July and Halloween.  I hope this confession has not tarnished my motherhood star too much. 

Fall Color

Fall is a treat which tickles our senses: the smell of the wet leaves crunching under our feet and the stimulating colors of orange, yellow and brilliant red.  The air is fresh and slightly crisps with gentle wind ushering in the next season.  Things slow down after summer's.  The hot days are behind us and the garden has frozen; now is the time to take deep breaths and savor the colors around us.

Fall always carries just a ting of sadness.  It is short lived and ends abruptly in a flurry of wind and cold.  The trees stand stark with their colors striped. The ground is littered with the faded colors that were so vivid only a few days earlier.  Soon the ground will be covered in a blanket of white and the leaves will be a memory.

There is a need to be immersed in the glories of fall.  It is as if we need to absorb the colors and crispness of the season to carry us through to spring.

 

 

 

Pictures taken along the Logan River--Logan, Utah

Travel is the Window to the World

Travel is the window to the world.  So what window I have  opened lately--New York--The Big Apple--the mega city--- Times Square and Broadway the strip of the east.  Vegas taxi drivers and New York City taxi drivers all attended the same school.  It is called the School of Honk and Keep Moving.  It lacks in some areas of all around education; such as language, honest answers and communication skills. It is mainly a hands on program.where the main emphasis of focus is merging into or in front of traffic, braking for red lights, squeezing into a small parking space to unload passengers, hefting bags from the trunk and extending their hand toward you in one motion.

New York hums and moves continuously --a city full of people shifting positions and locations smoothly and effortlessly.  It all comes through years of practice and acceptance of the life style.
They find comfort in the crowds and noise--it is where they belong.  New Yorkers find nothing strange about walking to Central Park with chickens in a dog stroller so they can play. I do!  My mind instantly went to the condition of the stroller after chickens have spent even  a few minutes in it.  Where do these chickens live?  Can you keep them in an apartment or on a terrace? 

A large population of the most talented people in the world live in NYC;  perhaps too much talent in one spot.  I marvel at their ability to get up in front of hundreds of people and share it.  As a watcher I get lost in the performance which flows seamlessly unaware of the years of struggle and work it has taken to stand on the stage.  LUCKY ME I was in the audience letting them entertain me.went fast

Three days went fast, but it was enough.  Next time if there is a next time I'm going to Brooklyn.  You have to venture out and see it all--there is much more! 

Watch out for those yellow things.  They eat you alive.

       
    Bubble Blower in Central Park.  The kids went nuts chasing and popping the huge bubbles.

Empire State Building

   sleeping it off in Central Park

   bridge in Central Park--just pretty to look at

 

 

 

Fall Comes

The fall colors are just starting in Jackson Hole.  Soft yellows mingle with the fading green and the air is slightly brisk.  This is the perfect biking weather.  A light jacket feels good and is just enough to cut the early morning chill.  Starting from Teton Village and riding to Wilson is not a long ride, probably 15 mile trip.  Sometimes a designate bike trail is a real treat---  no cars, smooth riding, and picture perfect scenery.

Some how everything seems better with a little exercise---a slice of cheese, a fresh loaf of French bread and a cold drink.  What more could you ask for? Seems to me this all makes for a perfect day.

 

120 Years Old

How do you celebrate a 120st birthday?  With a BIG party.  The Hartman Farm in Parma turned 120 this week.  It has been in the family four generations and is healthy, active, and thriving.  Through love, tender care, good business practices and the ability to make changes as farming entered the world of technology, the Hartman family has been able to maintain and sustain their heritage.  Bill and John Hartman along with their wives and two sons are the 21st century care takes.  Well done Hartman family--all four generations.

Not only can they farm, but they can throw a great party.  The doors of the onion warehouse were thrown open and to accommodate the huge crowd of well wishers.  This is the only farm I know of that as a color scheme--teal blue and white.  The work trucks and semis are all painted in these colors.  The warehouse turned into a party house with teal table clothes on dozens of tables with center pieces taken from the fields--onions and various other plants in jars with purple ribbons tied around them.  Great food and live music, people visiting while moving from table to table, rearranging chairs to make room for another person and laughter, made for a good time.

In today's world where we focus so much on the bad, it was refreshing to see so many friends and family come together to celebrate.  Thanks Hartmans' for a good evening. 

The best view of the farm is from the back deck of the house.

Onion field beside the house

    From the fields

Let the fun begin

friends sharing the evening and each other's company

Bill Hartman on left

Bill's wife  Kathy  (my neice)

Saving Gas

After days of extreme wind, rain and cool temps the sun finally came out today.  Along with the sun came an insane need to get out.  I had the brilliant idea to ride the bikes to Fred Meyer for ingredients to make a salad.  Of course my other half didn't hesitate or miss a beat making the decision to go.   Biff was instantly ready to head out without even checking the temperature. Sometimes it is hard to play with a person who never gets cold, doesn't care if wind blows in his ears or will ride against a gale force wind.

I managed to stall him until the outside air reached 54 degrees. We always know that leaving our house and heading toward town, we will ride into the wind.  Today was no different.  As you peddle, you keep telling yourself that it will be an easy ride home because the wind will be at your back. 

Never having done a shopping trip on bikes we were testing the waters---how much could my basket hold.  The ride was easy and pleasant considering there are few sidewalks and no bike lanes.  The biggest obstacle was dodging broken bottles.  We made it across the major intersection without getting hit.  The secret is to pretend you are a smart car and peddle fast.

We came home with just over $16.00 in groceries.  The bread wasn't squashed and the milk made the ride on Nolan's rack strapped down with a bungee cord.  The trip was a success, free and fun.

Can you believe you are looking at $16.54 ?  It is a good thing we used no gas on the journey.

    

Market Lake

A late spring storm at Market Lake wild life refuge offered spectaular skies and giant thunder heads.
This is always an interesting area in all seasons.  We started visiting Market Lake when our kids were small.  The marshes host a variety of ducks and water fowl as well as sand hill cranes.  Thursday when we drove out to make a visit the geese had their babies out and about along with the malards and their broods.

Things cycle in Mother Nature and the musket rats are no longer part of the wildlife.  No more mounded houses made of reeds grace the water.  When we first started making periodic trips to Market Lake they were scattered throughout the marsh and musk rats could be seen swimming back and forth from the bank to their houses.  Now ducks, geese, koots, hawks red winged blackbirds, yellow headed blackbirds and cranes are the main residents.

Later in the summer brown headed cattails will line the water's edge.  The reeds will turn from gold to green. 

The trill of the red winged blackbirds bounced from one bird to another.

Hanging In

 

I have avoided my blog for weeks.  I have been hesitant to write because things have been rather mundane, or perhaps that is to say things have been normanl. It is a normal Idaho spring--wind, wind, wind and more wind.  My main objective has been to formulate a plan of escape.  In spite of the time this blog has been neglected, it was not due to an attempt to carry out my escape plan.  I came to the conculsion that I had no place to go and was trapped here.  I kept telling myself--- this too will pass.  Somehow the phrase offered little solace  because the passing has been extremely slow. One morning I will wake up and it will be summer with maybe less wind and perhaps temps above 55.  I am optimistic and will keep repeating to myself--this too will pass.  Hope springs eternal.

March Madness

March Madness is in full throttle.  College basketball teams are frantically scrambling to advance to the final four.  Not only are the teams in a panic attack mode, but so are the alumni and fans. What is it about sporting events that draw thousands of people to gather in one spot to scream, wave flags, paint their faces and act like idiots?  It must be part of human DNA because sports mania presents itself early in our development.

We spent years following our sons from one Idaho town to the next watching them play baseball, basketball and soccer.  We screamed, jumped up and down, yelled and hollered out unheard instructions.  I did most of the jumping.  We became the sports idiots.  Some parents actually forget they were parents and became so carried away that they were asked to leave.  Fortunately, we had enough self restraint to not cross that line and embarrass our boys.

Years later we are again repeating these events.  A grandson has now advanced to playing school basketball and we again find ourselves yelling and jumping up and down.  I still do the jumping and Nolan yells some, but not as loud.  He was always more dignified than me.  The emotions related to watching sporting events which have been dormant for years have suddenly come alive.  Connor is now the creator of our sports tension--the center of our focus.   Once again we get to holler unheard instructions and become bleacher coaches.  We are part of that special group called sports fans.

It is funny how some things never change no matter how many years pass.  The referees are still stupid and make very poor calls, the coaches still need to rethink their line up and game plans.  I thought they would have figured those things out by now, but apparently not.  There is nothing that gets the adrenalin pumping like a sporting event.  It is nice to be the grandparent and watch with a little more distance.  Too much adrenaline at this point in life could be fatal.  Being a grandparents has several perks.  We get to watch Connor develop his skills, work hard to do his best, take pride in his accomplishments and be a team player.  But, best of all, when the team does not come off victorious, we don't have to take a disappointed, angry boy home and spend the rest of the night with him.  We've had our turn three times over.  He has parents that get that special experience  

My Cows

I pass the remnants of a still working farm every time I head into  town.  I leave my sub division and drive down East River Road which still has a small farm/ranch that has not been swallowed up by new homes and white fences.  In the few acres left untouched, the farmer still raises cattle.  There is a colorful mixture of cows: black, brown and white, and solid brown.   
I always give them a casual glance as I pass by checking out where they are pastured and how close they are to the road.  The farmer moves them through the fences dividing the pastures throughout the summer months so they can graze on the grass.  Sometimes they are close to the road and stand under the trees to escape the heat.

The special treat comes in the late winter when the calves suddenly appear.  Like magic there they are.  When did they arrive?  How did I miss seeing them yesterday or the day before?  Never the less the tough little babes are scattered across the field.  I never find this repetitive event boring or casual.  It is still a wonder and a fascination every year.  Life can be so frail, yet these small creatures endure wind, cold blizzards, lack of shelter and still manage to thrive.  I am the lucky participant in this struggle, for I see the ones that are healthy and strong.

I know how hard it is to be a rancher this time of year.  Wendy and Jean share their trials and stories with me.  They are not a watcher like me, but working ranchers along with their husbands.  They regret  the loss of a new born and rejoice in the survival of another.  Because of my friendship with them I understand and appreciate the winter miracle of birth even more.  As in all things of life, nothing should be taken for granted.  Perhaps those closer to the earth understand this in a deeper sense

I see the calves in my little corner of the world as a gift and a reminder to take time to appreciate what is around me and how easy it is to get caught up in the trappings of a busy and hectic world.   

  

It Is Here to Stay

Believe it or not I can remember living without TV.  My family did not jump onto the band wagon immediately.  My mom and I would walk to town to pay the light bill and phone bill at the respective offices.  We had one car which my dad took to work.  The walk was not done with dread, but with a spirit of freedom and expectation.  On hot days the pedestrian tunnel cutting through the underpass was a welcome break from the summer heat.  It was cool, dark, and had a tremendous echo when you screamed.  After the bills were paid we mad a detour.  

On Main Street,  Ford Music was the only store that sold TVs.  To draw customers in they placed a TV in the window and keep it on the entire day.  People jocked for a position on the sidewalk where they could view the new and exciting thing called television.  We were right there with the best of them.  Very few people had TVs yet and it was still far away from being a fixture in every home.  I don't remember being bored, or lacking for entertainment before this new invention invaded the American family.

Many, many, many years later the TV is the center of the home.  It occupies the most prominent space.  Not only does it command attention, but homes are decorated around the black rectangle.  This once fascinating piece of new technology which was so fresh and exciting has become rather boring.  Or perhaps, I have become boring and fail to connect with what I am seeing.  My entertainment level still identifies with Father Knows Best, Leave It To Beaver, Happy Days and Bill Cosby.

Little did I know standing on the sidewalk watching the fuzzy, black and white picture coming through the small box, that it would become such an important part of our world society.  Wars are now played out in our homes, world figures are brought to their knees before our eyes, and we see presidential candidates up close and personal.  There is very little in the world that takes place without everyone knowing about it.  Good or bad it is part of us now.  Television connects the planet and makes it smaller and more personal. There are days when I think this is good and feel empowered by the knowledge it brings and other days I wish I didn't know so much beyond my own front door.       

Trees

Winter changes the look of our surroundings. I like the stature of trees in the starkness of winter.  Their hidden shapes: the bends and curves of branches, twisted trunks, the rise and fall of the peeling bark.

Roots hold tight to the soil and sink deep to find the life giving water.  Even in dormancy, without their green canopies trees have much to say.  They speak of endurance, solitude, determination and giving.

  
I have planted trees in a new yard  anticipating small green buds in spring, branches hanging heavy with apples in late summer and leaves of gold and bronze in the fall.  Even when I was lacks in my nurturing the trees still gave back.  Never failing in consistence and generosity.

 
Trees grow old, and the years of wind, cold and rain show in the broken limbs and knotted roots.  They have stood as silent sentinels watching and listening to the changes taking place around them; keeping secrets.

I just like trees: their inviting shade, green dense umbrellas, scarred bark and the stately manner in which they wait for the winter months to pass.  Trees are good for the soul.  In some strange way, they warm us and make us feel better.  Everyone needs a tree.  It makes us look up.