The Wild Side

                                                  




Large cities with swarms of humanity make it easy to forget the America of wide spaces that still exist today; the America where you can drive for miles and see not a house or pass another car. It becomes a reality when standing above a deep canyon or looking across an open expanse of land to the far horizon. When I find myself in an area of nothing I try to imagine what it was like to be the first person seeing this same view, to walk for days and not encounter another person, to see nothing but vast open plans and sky stretching from mountain top to valley floor. Even today that is still a large part of the western United States. We now can choose to walk as we explore or we can opt to use modernized transportation.

The Steens Mountain area of south eastern Oregon is a beautiful example of the same yesterday as today. It is rugged and empty just as it was in 1863 when John Work a fur trader from Europe saw the area. He called it snowy mountains. This land drew a unique type of individual. It had to be someone willing to gamble not only money, but life as well; a person with a bounty of confidence in his survival skills and willing to work beyond the normal meaning of hard. They founded their dreams on bits and pieces of information gathered from other curious sojourners. Sight unseen and banking on the stories related to them along with endless stores of faith they began their journey of exploration.

 I often wonder what it is that draws a person to the remoteness of areas like Steens Mountain. Even for a city bred person like myself there is a fascination and wonder when I stand in the quiet solitude and take in the unspoiled beauty.  Millions of years ago when the lava flowed across the valleys and built the mountains there was no one there to watch. They have seen millions of springs, hot summer heat, gentle touches of fall and harsh cold winters covered in snow, weathered away while changing in shape and adding sharp edges and canyons. A friendly land it is not, yet people came bringing cattle and horses and dreams. What happened to those dreams is open for speculation. Not all came to a happy end, which is the way of dreams.

I'm glad I saw this part of Oregon which is so different from the lush green forests we always associate with the state. An explorer or risk taker I'm no but do I like to see places like this and follow someone else's footsteps---Most certainly.  Thank heaven for the adventurous and curious individuals who found Steens Mountain and the Alvard Desert.

 

Spring is the softer side and flowers find a spot in the rocky volcanic soil

Family Richness

Years ago, when we had a young family, we bought a pop up camper with the grand idea of traveling with our kids so we could give them rich experiences as well as quality family time. We weren't sure what these rich experiences would be, but the idea sounded great. Hotels were costly, but a camper seemed to be the answer to traveling as a family. With a two burner stove, sink, dinette, and pop out beds on each end we had a little home on wheels. The kids and a dog were loaded into the car and off we went for adventures unknown.

It was understood right from the beginning that well equipped camp grounds were the only place I would grace. KOA became a sign imprinted in the kids minds. I looked forward to flush toilets and showers while the kids looked forward to a swimming pool and mini golf. Nolan looked forward to just getting the darn thing up and level and prayed it didn't rain. We were the people that motor home owners hoped and prayed would pass by and take the spot further down the loop. Unfortunately, we always went for the high end spots with cable hook up, water, and electricity. The five inch TV was a special treat when we tucked in for the night.

The one down side to a great road trip was rain. Setting up or taking down a pop up in the rain is a miserable job. There is no possible way to stay dry. You simply dive in and move as quickly as possible using team work to speed up the job. We weathered torrential rain storms, high winds while snug in our beds as the trailer rocked and bucked. The storms only added fun and adventure to the trips. The more the trailer rocked and the wind howled the richer the experience.

Our kids saw the Pacific Ocean and had it as a backyard for almost a week. For these land locked kids it was new, exciting and jar dropping cool. They saw mountain ranges of Idaho, Wyoming and Montana as well as  the coast line of Oregon and Washington and small town American in between.

 

 

 

Memories were made and there was an abundance of close family. (sometimes maybe a little too much close family time.) Problems were also mixed in the with the rich experiences of bonding. A wrong turn down a dead end street in Portland, Oregon made it impossible to turn around. The trailer was unhitched and turned around manually much to the humiliation of the two oldest boys, the dog got lose in a campground during the dead of night and terrorized the tent campers. We could hear people yelling as the dog ran in panic through the area. Too embarrassed to call her we just waited for her to find her way back. There was a lost purse in Montana, a flat tire on the trailer and a lug wrench that didn't fit, and a child left in a gas station in Washington.

 

Thankfully we finally outgrew the little home on wheelers and decided it was time to pass it on to another young family in need of rich experiences and bonding time. We watched with bitter sweet  feelings as the excited kids and parents pulled our little pop up down the driveway and around the       corner. They could find their memories in shared showers, or rough camp without flush toilets. Our    days of hauling kids to the showers and late night runs to the bathroom were over. There would be  no more pans of pop corn cooked in the foil pan that expanded into a dome, no snug nights tucked into warm blankets and the sound of the little furnace purring softly while keeping us all warm. 

 

We did find richness in those summer excursions and a sense of being a tight knit unit, a unit unto ourselves. I've learned through the years that in parenting there is a joy which you experience from giving and opening doors to your children. Providing them the chance to see the world and learn what is beyond their own backyard often is done through selfishness on our part. We want to see all things with them and all things through their eyes. Whatever our children gained we gained more because we were there with them.     

 

          

Fair Time

September is fair time.  The animals have been bathed, brushed and groomed to the nines. They are the pride and joy of the owners who are hoping for a ribbon as a reward for the year of tender loving care they have lavished on their stock. Some of these animals will return home riding in their trailers behind pickup trucks--back to the familiarity of their barns and pens. Others that have been sold move on to unknown adventures which we will not discuss here due to the unhappy fate that awaits some.


Fairs are a tradition that go back centuries. They provide an opportunity to sell, buy, and show off everything from bottled fruit, to your great grandmother's quilt. When I was a child the fair was a magical place full of sound, color and flamboyant people. The carnival workers always seemed a little sinister to me.  Perhaps it was their loud calls encouraging you to try your luck at the penny toss, or the ball toss; their insistence --the in your face approach made it difficult to walk away. It could also have been the fact that my parents told me they were gypsies and gypsies steal children. More than likely it was my mother who threw in the part about taking children.


The prizes are more sophisticated at today's fair:  no more cu pie dolls with pink feathers and bright red lips or wooden batons painted red and blue with gold glitter on the ends. They disappeared along with the pony rides. Through much begging and coaxing  I managed to convince my dad, not my mom, that I desperately needed a cu pie doll. I'm sure the vendor calling out to my dad helped. "Come on buy it for the little girl make her happy."  She was so exotic swinging on the end of a stick to which she was attached with small elastic bands. The one and only pony ride satisfied my fantasy of being Annie Oakley.  It all became clear years later as I walked the same fair grounds with my own children that going to a state fair is no cheap adventure. Thanks Dad I value the memory.



A few new additions have been added to the deep fried menu:  oreoes, twinkies, kangaroo and alligator are now part of the fair food experience. Corn dogs, hamburgers, carmel apples, and cotton candy, or as my Australian daughter- in- law calls it fairy floss, have not been tampered with. Many people see the fair as a feeding frenzy. They eat and eat and eat some more. They leave with cholesterol surging through their arteries for days. My weakness is the carmel apple. I would never think of passing the vendor stand without making a purchase.  Never mind the fact that I pay $4.25 for a 50 cent apple and 50 cents worth of carmel. I am being fleeced and I know it. 


I go to the fair for two reasons:  the heavenly sugared apple and the Indian relay races.  The excitement begins to move through the crowd as the horses and teams approach the grandstands. The horses jump and dance nervously in anticipate of their run around the track. No saddles are used in the event which makes it even  more fun to watch. The team of riders and handlers are extremely skilled horsemen. They have trained and honed their skills through hours of hard work. This is an event where spectators become participants. You feel as well as watch.  Everyone senses the power and strength in the horses and  the ability and training it takes to handle them.  It is impossible to sit passively and watch.You are aware of the pride of each rider and the intensity with which he approaches his sport. The crowd rises as one and shouts and cheers for each rider. There is no picking a favorite. Everyone yells and hollers as the riders pull up to change horses. Maybe part of the draw for this event stems from growing up on cowboy and Indian movies. Perhaps, I am the only one in this category since I always wanted to be the Indian.  Once you have seen an Indian relay you will return because you have tasted the adventure and are now hooked. The cholesterol along with the sugar is now mixed with adrenalin. You will return.




We all go to the fair for one reason--to be entertained and how we choose to find the entertainment doesn't matter just as long as we find it and go home satisfied.

There is such a small window of summer in south eastern Idaho. August rolls around much too fast--I'm not ready for it. It sneaks in with light winds that  rustle the leaves and it pushes the sun lower in the sky. August wind sounds different and the sun shines a little less direct on your face. I remember a time when I welcomed this month and the month that followed behind it.  That was a time of childhood excitement driven by the starting of a new school year. Fall meant new clothes, a box of bright sharp crayons, new and old friends coming together and the hope of getting the teacher you wanted.

I am reluctant to give up the bold splashes of summer color to the oranges and yellows of fall. The pots I have tended and nurtured are full and brilliant and the flower beds are filled in with ever blooming perennials. The birds have scattered random sunflower seeds from the feeder that have added an unexpected bonus.

Life is a series of changes which adds to its richness. Nothing should stay the same: not the flowers, the color of the sky, smells in the seasonal air or the sun on our face. Change is good; without it we would forget to be grateful.

I Raised My Children Without Helmets

I raised  my children without helmets, which I now understand is not acceptable. According to today's standards of parenting I fall short. I did it with very little equipment and without government safety standards. There was no Barnes and Noble with shelves full of early childhood development books and psychologist had not yet termed the catch phrase 'Good Job.'

I did know that you needed a crib, stroller and high chair. If we'd had more money I might have added a playpen to the list. We were living on. a tight budget while Nolan finished his last two years of college. We were both working and paying for school without taking out loans.  It never occurred to us that we couldn't afford a baby. I don't know if that was due to stupidity or lack the of seeing reality..

When our first born arrived we brought him home to a one bed room basement apartment and a crib purchased at a garage sale. He didn't know the difference and was put to bed on his stomach each nigh because that was how babies slept best and woke happy in the morning. His playpen was a plastic clothes basket.  He had no idea what a real play pen was so he was content to sit in the basket while I folded laundry or washed the dishes.

As he was almost ready to go out of diapers another boy arrived to take over the used crib.  Both babies had to survive cloth diapers and bouts of diaper rash, which babies today have never experienced. Vaseline and corn starch were the remedies for sore little bottoms. Pampers was a new frontier just being explored and development. When the last two babies arrived we were rich and Nolan had a real job.  Cloth diapers were on their way out by then. I would have crawled across a desert without water to buy disposable diapers to avoid never have to smell another diaper pail. The last two also had a new crib, but sadly no playpen--not that rich.

Looking back I felt my kids were safe and I was doing a pretty good job of giving them rich experiences. The two oldest spent hours in the field behind our house exploring, utilizing their army gear they bought at the Army Surplus store and cooking hot dogs on a shortening can with sterno. Never once did they star a fire in the dry weeds.

All four were tough and had to walk to school through deep snow during the Idaho winters. They crossed a street without a crossing guard and cut through the junior high school grounds to get to the grade school. They had good warm coats, moon boots to keep their feet dry and hand knit hats to fight against frost bite. They had to complete homework assignments and hand them in. I naively assumed teachers had the welfare of their students as their top priority. It never once entered my mind that a missed assignment or bad test score was the fault of the teacher. I in my ignorance, put the blame on the child and there was a heart to heart talk where their Dad and I both came together as enforcers. Undoubtedly their spirits were broken and deep wounds probably remain today.

When it came time to learn to ride a two wheeler there was little concern about safety and injures.  It was assumed that knees would be blooded and the body bruised.  It was just part of life and being a kid. Running behind the bike and holding on to the seat became wearisome after several trips up and down the sidewalk. It was just best to let them go and figure it out on their own.  One was very ingenious and rode his bike down a construction pit and stopped when he hit the concrete chunks at the bottom. He could ride by the end of the day. No one had yet thought of a bike helmet.  Soldiers wore helmets when going into battle where they encountered dangerous situations.  Bicycling at that point was still considered to be a safe. activity

Some many things we did as parents were wrong.  We allowed the kids to ride in the back of a subaru station wagon with blankets and pillows on long trips and gave them even more room to roam when we bought a volkswagon van. They were happy and we were happy. Ignorance is bliss.

Seeds of Spring

I remember my mother's sweet peas.  She planted them each spring on the fence facing the driveway.  She soaked the seeds in a bowl of water which she left on the kitchen counter over night.  The seeds were hard and had to be soften in order to sprout.  By mid July the fence was a riot of color and covered with sweet pea vines.  Their fragrance hung heavy in the air. The more you picked the blooms the more the plants produced.   Mom had an old pair of scissors she used as flower shears.  It was my job or rather my pleasure to clip the sweet peas.  The stems had to be clipped to the very bottom to encourage longer stem growth.  There was always a bouquet on the end table or kitchen table filling the house with a heady perfume.


 Never have I been able to duplicate the sweet peas my mother grew.  Perhaps I don't have that magic touch just meant for sweet peas.  But when spring comes the flower fever always grabs me and makes me think I can perform miracles in the yard.  Pots I swear I will never fill again are drug out and bags of dirt purchased to refresh last years over worked dirt.  I buy annuals to fill in the empty spots between the perennials.  This year, In a moment of weakness, I planted seeds.  I know our growing season is short and the seeds with struggle to  reach maturity.  In spite of all my negativity, I have been rewarded with small green sprouts pushing up through the dirt.



The pots are hosting a variety of flowers and eating up the sunshine and copious amounts of fertilizer.  There are no sweet peas, but hopefully I will have asters, zinnias, marigolds, black eyed Susan's and other surprises in the mixture to pick for my table.  Whatever I reap is a gift and meant to be enjoyed.  Big harvest or small I'll be ready to do it all over again next spring.


   

How Many Steps Forward

I grew up in the 1950's and 60's.  People from that era are now called baby boomers.  My grandchildren see that period as the olden days: the days of station wagons with rear facing seats, transistor radios and dial telephones all of which pale against today's technology.

My transistor radio was my most prized possession. What a marvelous, magical device it was. You could take it anywhere tucked in a pocket or purse. The nine volt battery provided hours of entertainment. The reception was best at night because the AM signal was stronger. Numerous stations could be picked up from cities strung across the country.  KOMA was the favorite rock station. The radios came with a small pair of earphones another WOW invention. Long after I should have been asleep I burrowed under a layer of blankets and listened in secretive darkness undetected. Kids in thousands of homes were doing the same thing. KOMA rocked long after lights out. the next day school my friends and I talked about the songs we listened to and what were our favorites. We were innocent junior high kids just beginning to find our way around the various bumps in the road.

I found a snug, comforting sense of security deep within the blankets. I was untouchable and far removed from the bits of news that also accompanied the music. The technology of today makes the transistor radio a silly unsophisticated dinosaur. The inventions in commutation we take for granted in this century were things of science fiction when I was a child. Even with all the advances that have transpired over my life time there is still one thing that has not changed. We have not learned how to get along and live together.

I lived through the cold war era with Russia as the arch enemy. We practiced diving under our school desks in preparation for a nuclear attack. The Korean war had escalated in the 50's resulting in the creation of two countries which provided no long term solution. Vietnam finally exploded in the 60's and continued on into the 70's. I watched former high classmates enter the military as their draft numbers were called up and hoped that my husband of three years would not be one of them. From there we moved to Afghanistan and on and on.

The twenty first century has not brought us any closer to resolving conflicts nor being able to avoid them. History continues on down a repetitive road. There are no covers to crawl under, no magic in the earphones and no snug place to hide in the dark untouched.