A TRIBUTE TO MISS JONI WALRATH, STUDENT TEACHER

Mrs. Bonner's First Grade Class, Orofino Elementary School, 1955-56

These first-graders of 1955-56 were members of the second group of baby-boomers to commence their education at the new Orofino Elementary School. Pictured in the back row are Miss Joni Walrath (student teacher) and Mrs. Irene Bonner (teacher). As half-sisters, Joni and I (third student from left in back row) were members of the same household.

Joni majored in elementary and secondary education at the University of Idaho. Her goal was to finish in three years, and her advisor told her this could be accomplished only if there wasn’t some conflict in scheduling. As progress toward her degree was reviewed in September 1955, it was discovered that she could achieve her goal and graduate in May 1956 IF she could complete her student teaching during this first semester. It was late to make those arrangements, so she approached the Orofino School District, which would allow her to live at home. 

But – of the three first-grade teachers, only Irene Bonner was qualified to supervise a student teacher. School had already started, and I, Joni’s little sister, was a student in Mrs. Bonner’s class. Rather than move me to another class, which they feared would be traumatic for me, it was agreed they would just make the best of it. The situation was explained to me, and I was instructed to address Joni as Miss Walrath. I wasn’t obedient.

My birthday is late in August, so I was a young first-grader. Well, for whatever reason, I just didn’t get it. I was always in trouble for something. And – I never finished and turned in my work. Observing this, Joni told Mother, and Mother hastened to meet with Mrs. Bonner.

“Why didn’t you tell me,” Mother asked Mrs. Bonner, who just shrugged, and Mother suggested a plan to make sure that I learned the importance of finishing my work. For every graded paper I took home, I would get a star on a chart that Mother drew. Mother continued to be closely involved with my schoolwork. Honestly, I don’t know what kind of student (let alone what kind of person) I would have become if Joni hadn’t done her student teaching in my class.

Joni graduated from U-I in May 1956. Two weeks later, she and Patrick Nuinan began 60+ years of married life. Pat passed away in 2017. Now 91, Joni resides in Meridian near her son. KW

DON’T CALL ME “DEAR”

I don’t feel old – at least not most days – but I can tell that people see me according to my calendar age. The sagging jowls and graying hair (what there is of it) give me away. And I’m amused by how people react to me.

I’ve been addressed as “miss” more than once by flustered young men who apparently don’t know how to address an older woman. I find this startling. Whatever happened to “ma’am?” Technically, I haven’t been “miss” for 50 years. You were “miss” if you weren’t married and “Mrs.” if you were. The feminist movement didn’t like this -- especially not "miss" -- and insisted on a more generic title. I remember when I was instructed to replace “Miss” and “Mrs.” with “Ms.” at my first job.

As far as the title of address for a woman of more mature years, the French have a good solution. A mature woman is “madame” regardless of marital status. Or at least, this was the case 50+ years ago. Things might have changed.

I’ve been called “dear,” even when no term of address is warranted, like when I bought stamps at the post office the other day. The clerk didn’t use any form of address for the gal in front of me, but when it was my turn, she called me “dear” three times. I’m sure she meant to be respectful of the “old lady” she was serving, but it’s still an acknowledgement of age. In my family, we use terms of endearment infrequently, so I notice it.

Perhaps my least favorite form of address is “young lady.” This is as bad as calling me “old lady.” I suspect they think they’re complimenting me, as in “you’re doing so well for your age,” but in fact, it still says they notice my age. Why should my age be a matter for attention? My money is as good as anyone’s and perhaps better than some!

But – I say nothing to these people because it’s more polite to ignore it than to speak my mind. I credit them with meaning no offense. Maybe I shouldn’t be offended, but I do think a form of address other than "ma'am" is belittling.

On a similar topic, Mike and I were loading a large bag of dog food into the car at Walmart. I steadied the cart while he shifted the bag into the GTI. For sure, it’s a little harder than it used to be. A white-haired woman approached us and asked if she could return the cart for us. The cart return was just the next stall over, but we politely accepted her offer with thanks. Once in the car, we broke into laughter. “We must really look old,” I said. But on the positive side, it was a gracious act on her part. We should be thoughtful of one another. KW

NOT WHAT IT USED TO BE

Harold Peary as The Great Gildersleeve

Halloween 2025 is history. This morning, Mike stated his disappointment that we had no trick-or-treaters. Prepared with his collection of Halloween masks, he lamented, “It’s just not what it used to be.”

 

He’s right, of course, but I had to chuckle to myself. I listened to Halloween-themed podcasts this week, and Ozzie Nelson and The Great Gildersleeve both lamented in pre-1950 radio programs that Halloween wasn’t what it used to be. Remembering the “harmless” pranks of their youth, the kids’ interest in “trick-or-treating” seemed tame to them.

And there was Halloween mischief back in the day. My dad always pulled the garbage can into the garage to avoid having to pick up the strewn refuse. Mike remembers rock-and-roll playing from a church tower, and reaching even further back in history, overturning outhouses was a thing to do.

But today, we seem to have moved on from such “tricks” – thankfully so. Looking into our street to assess the Halloween situation, it was exceptionally still – no children moved from house to house, no excited voices filled the air. The houses on either side of us were totally dark, sending a clear message – “Don’t even think about it!”  

I stopped in at the Dollar Tree yesterday, where everything is no longer a dollar, but I was pleased to note that they are devoting one aisle to craft supplies. They even had ergo crochet hooks! Stockers were frantically changing Halloween into Christmas. KW

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

 

In this photo from 1984 taken at a pre-school Halloween party, Mike carves a jack-o-lantern for 5-year-old Clinton, a.k.a. Skeletor. 

[RE]IMAGINING INA

Watching the autumn light and shadow play on the farm fields on an enchanted evening, my thoughts wandered back a century to my Grandmother Ina and how she must have lived in this house. KW

As the sun was setting and the house grew chilly, Ina pulled her old sweater more tightly around her shoulders. Another 15 minutes and she would have to light the kerosene lantern on the sconce above the wood cookstove. As it was, the north-facing kitchen was already too dark to read a recipe, but it would have to be darker yet before the kerosene lantern would make a difference.

Ina never tired of the magnificent effects that sun and shadow brought to the landscape – always something she hadn’t noticed before. But she would enjoy autumn more, Ina thought to herself, if it weren’t for the chill in the air that presaged winter. Winters were hard now, and especially hard for Jack, her husband. But – Christmas was always a bright spot for her, and it was time to get ready in earnest! What would her advent theme be this year, she wondered.

They’d had a frost mid-September, so she and Shirley, her last child at home, had put the garden to bed with the exception (maybe) of certain root vegetables. The garden and orchard had produced plentifully this past season, and the pantry shelves were filled with enough canned vegetables, fruit, and meat to see them through the winter. Just thinking of her well-stocked pantry gave Ina feelings of warm satisfaction.

While she could still see to move about the house, Ina performed all the little tasks that made their evening comfortable. She lit a little fire in the wood stove in the bedroom, just enough to take the chill off the room. She also built a fire in the fireplace and laid their nightwear on a chair in the kitchen to warm near the cookstove.

During the long dark evenings of fall / winter, Ina always looked forward to several hours of quiet evening reading, but this evening she was especially eager to tackle a fresh stack of already well-read magazines and papers sent over by a neighbor. Once her household had perused them, Ina would pass them along to the next household, adding to the stack any magazines and newspapers that had come to them from other sources. And that was how they did.

She stoked the fire in the cookstove and retrieved a jar of leftover chicken soup from the ice house to warm for their supper. Plenty of meat and vegetables remained, but she would cook more noodles and add broth and seasonings. Why was it that leftover soup was always short on broth? KW

[We had our first frost in the Valley this morning. We have yet to light a fire in the little stove.]

SUPPORT YOUR INCARCERATED “LOVED ONE”

It happens to some of us. Someone you love is incarcerated, and suddenly you have to do things you never dreamed you’d ever have to do, beginning with research to determine how you can communicate with and support your “loved one.” (The system refers to the inmates as “loved ones.” YOU love them. The system doesn’t.)

Society has all sorts of offenders, and we have consequences for them. My opinion is that prison hard time should be reserved for the worst of the lot – you know, murderers and thieves, psychopaths and sociopaths – but a large percentage of those incarcerated suffer addiction and / or mental illness. (Addiction is mental illness.) Naturally, you’re angry with your loved one for getting himself (or herself) into this mess, but if he has any support at all, you’re IT. You see his good along with his bad, and so you cherish and encourage the good.

Don’t be fooled by the resort-like atmosphere set forth by the prison website. That picture of a kitchen well-stocked with nutritious food is not reality. Don’t be taken in by the warden’s friendly grin. Don’t think that guards and staff members are caring and compassionate. Remember those prison movies where we actually have sympathy for the inmates because the warden and the guards are so heartless and corrupt? Well, those are based on fact.

The system also says that they will help your loved one by providing treatment, educational opportunities, chapel, and positive social interactions. If this is true, it doesn’t happen for everyone. Statistics show that if an inmate doesn’t have mental issues when processed into prison, he will when he is released. He will need plenty of help and encouragement, and again – you’re IT.

Don’t hesitate to make contacts within the system on behalf of your loved one. Follow your instincts. Don’t be afraid of being rebuffed. If you’re worried about your loved one, call the prison and ask questions. Document or record your calls. If the worst happens, as it did to us, you will have documentation that you served notice. 

Once incarcerated, your loved one can call you, but calls are expensive. He can message with you through the prison email system but only after you establish an account within that system. For the most part, it worked well for us, but all communication is subject to review. Nothing is private. Save any messages you receive from your loved one.

The prison experience is at least tolerable if the inmate has money in his commissary account. I think the Idaho prison system provides a blanket, towel, and slipper socks. For some reason, the prison provided these to us with Milo’s effects, and I was appalled by their worn condition. In the beginning, the prison also provides a few necessary toiletries – toothbrush, toothpaste, and soap. It’s not much. However, with money, an inmate can buy food and supplies to make life more comfortable – shoes, a pillow, a second blanket, exercise shorts, underwear, etc. Our son Milo was hypoglycemic and needed snacks to augment his meals, which tells you that the average man is not provided enough food. He bought a hot pot to warm ramen soup and make tea, and he also bought a small fan – cheap goods sold at a premium.

The corrections system in our country breaks those who come into it. It not only penalizes offenders but also their families. The concept of the “debtors’ prison” is alive and well in our country. Many of the incarcerated are poor to begin with, and a family that loses its breadwinner is at risk of homelessness. As incongruous as it seems to most of us, some families don’t have computers, which means they can’t visit with their loved one or supply him with commissary funds. Often an inmate has lost his family and everything he owns, which opens the door for a host of other problems, including hopelessness and homelessness. KW

[For a perspective on current prison life, I read the blog, Book of Irving.]

FALL PLANTING

When they say, “Fall is for planting,” exactly who are they talking about and where do they live?

As we cleaned out the raised beds today, Mike and I noted once again that the soil is hard. I have known this since we took up gardening here some 20+ years ago. I’d love to do more with the gardens. I see myself planting daisies in the spring and daffodils in the fall, but then reality hits. I can’t make a dent in the soil! It’s basically clay, you know, but even the good topsoil is dried by the sun. This place is meant to be dry land farming, but the draught conditions dry the soil even more.

Will this blanket flower take root?

And this begs the question: are those who have endured storm after devastating storm going to plant flowers this season? No, of course not!

Two weeks ago, Mike helped me transplant mint and blanket flowers from the town garden. If the plants don’t make it, I hope the seeds will spread. If not, we’re not out anything but our effort. It’s a waste to buy plants for this place.

I just wonder if the spring will bring renewal or if we’re losing some of our trees and other plantings. Time will tell. KW

Our beautiful purple ash in town