PRISON DEATHS

Since our son Milo’s murder at the Idaho State Correctional Center on Dec. 10, 2023, I have quietly taken on a quest to support public awareness of conditions in the judicial / prison system. Given the political climate of the times, it’s not easy to advocate for those who are remanded to the prison/parole system. The level of public concern is low. Nevertheless, it’s the quest that came my way, and I will honor it.

A recently-published article by Alex Brizee of The Idaho Statesman (Boise) provides information on Idaho prison deaths in the wake of the death of an inmate while on work release during a hot day. The title is “Idaho Prison System Reaches 11 Deaths This Year,” and it can be found online, including here. I was interested to read that a prison official apologized to the inmate’s family, friends, and everyone involved. No one apologized for Milo’s wrongful death.

I have a shirt with Milo’s name on it, which I thought might be a conversation starter, but I’m hesitant to wear it. I get it out, put it on, and take it back off. We all endure difficult happenings in life, and we have to carry on. Still, we have to do what we can for humanity, even if it’s one person at a time. KW

MIKE’S NEW TOY

Mike and I spent the last two mornings splitting fir rounds into firewood with his new Bilt Hard 35-ton log splitter. I was the assistant, and my task was to toss the firewood into the pile as it came off the splitter. Sometimes I pushed the lever while Mike held the rounds in place. We will eventually haul this firewood to town, so there’s loading and unloading in our future. We feel pressed to get it done and out of the field. They disked the fields yesterday in preparation for planting canola next month.

Serving as an assistant is not interesting to me, so at some point I  go into my “zone” and think about other things. I thought of Chris’ new Bernina 770 QE Pro and pondered if I’d like to have one, too. Chris says it’s an amazing machine. (Chris should be an ambassador for Bernina.) The thing is, a person can buy seven Bilt Hard splitters for the cost of the 770. It’s hardly a straight-across trade – not in terms of money anyway.

And I thought of my Grandfather Portfors. When he was Mike’s age, he lamented that he could no longer swing an ax but he still remembered what it felt like. Speaking of bygone days with a faraway look in his eyes, he said, “A man could swing an ax in the woods for a dollar a day,” as if that were big wages. Maybe it was for him in that day and time.

And as Mike was separating wood fiber with a hatchet, I thought of my dad, whose vocation from a young age was playing and teaching piano. I recalled that he had a misshapen thumb as the result of an accident while cutting wood. Writing in 1934, Aunt Bertha tells about it: “Vance was cutting wood lately and I suppose holding it with one hand and the ax glanced with the usual result. It severed some of the tendons on the back of left hand; they took him to the doctor and after stitching it up he could use his fingers.” Daddy told me of his gratitude that the doctor had found a way to reattach the tendons so that he didn’t lose the use of his fingers – and his vocation.

I wondered if the wood splitter would be safe, but I think it’s altogether safer and less labor-intensive than chopping wood with an ax. The operator controls the blade as it moves through the wood, and the chunks fall off to the sides. KW

MEANWHILE – BACK AT THE FARM

 

So – there we were in town. As we approached the holiday weekend, Mike was recovering from a painful tooth extraction. We no longer celebrate the Fourth of July in a traditional way, but neighborhood fireworks upset Bess, so we had planned to spend the Fourth on the farm away from the noise. (Bess is basically deaf now, but she still hears and reacts to those loud booms.)

On Friday (July 3), Mike still needed to rest, at least from time to time, so we stayed in town, but Friday night, the local fireworks began and went on until 11:30. Bess was beside herself. We kept her in the house, but she would not be comforted. It was as if she were crying, “Make it stop! Make it stop!” We realized that we had to get out of town and into the peace and quiet of the country for her sake as well as ours. So, Saturday morning we packed up and drove to the farm.

As I was leaving the town house, I thought of my little hoodie. “I won’t need it,” I said to myself; "it’s gonna be hot.” That was the forecast all right, but they changed it. Not to carry a sweater along in summer breaks a longstanding family rule, and I paid the price. The temp was in the low 70s yesterday – a dull day with only the threat of rain. As Mike puts it, we’re midway through summer, and we’ve barely had any.

I figure the act of packing, traveling, and unpacking is enough work for one day, but Mike spent the Fourth putting finishing touches on the raised bed. I picked two cups of lovely strawberries and a few peas. The tomato and zucchini plants look good.

But – I noticed magpies in the yard, flying, cackling, and carrying on. I had vague feelings about them, like “what is that gang of marauders doing here,” when suddenly I thought of the cherry tree. I was on my feet and out the door. Sure enough! The cherries were gone – all of them! (Okay, I found four.) I was disgusted with the magpies and disappointed in myself.

You see, in past years I’ve insisted on swathing the cherry tree, but it felt like a useless endeavor because the birds never bothered the tree – not really, not more than I was willing to share. I thought about swathing it last weekend as family worked here, but it was chilly and rainy and besides, I didn’t think the cherries were ripe, so I let it go. Well, now I know that we have to swath the cherry tree. I won’t ever leave it to chance again because now the magpies have added my tree to their internal GPS locater. I only have to cover a few lower branches. We can’t reach the upper ones anyway.

The magpies are gone now, undoubtedly off to ravage someone else’s fruit tree. I can be philosophical about the loss. We like the cherries, but processing them is labor-intensive, so it’s one less thing to deal with at a time when it seems like we have plenty to do.

Speaking of fruit trees, I hiked behind the house to check on the serviceberries. Some are fairly ripe, others haven’t turned yet, and the bushes look dry. And while this elderberry bush is lovely and full, the berries are dry. KW

GETTING THINGS DONE THE WARNOCK WAY

Hallie and Nick at the raised bed

On Thursday (June 25), daughter Hallie and family arrived before 4:00 p.m., and Hallie immediately set to work to replace the old raised bed with new boards. To press forward and get things done is the Warnock way, but the forecast of rain on Friday was also a motivating factor. It was a chilly, rainy weekend.

Silas on his tree swing

The next day (Friday), sons Murray and Clint arrived to participate in the workday, but Mike had already accomplished most of what they expected to do. Mike’s priority was his new “toy,” the wood splitter, and they helped him move it from the kitchen porch to the barn where they tried it out. Meanwhile, Hallie installed a new faucet in the downstairs bathroom – her gift, she said. They all finished the raised bed as much as possible, and Clint agreed to return on Sunday with more raised bed materials from town – and that happened.

Saturday, I enjoyed watching Silas run back and forth across the yard behind Grandpa Mike as he worked from shed to barn and back to shed. Silas often spoke of “the zone,” though he never revealed exactly what the zone was. Apparently there was more than one zone, and some places weren’t in a zone.

Yes, dust bunnies under keyboard

Hallie took on another project – Mother’s old piano.  My dad insisted that every piano needed to be tuned annually, but this old piano just isn’t worth hiring a professional tuner. It was my dad’s studio piano for years, and then Mother taught on it. What I’m saying is that it’s not only old but also worn out, so Hallie decided to take it apart and clean it, just for the experience. Turns out that it needed a good cleaning. Just look at that matted dust!

Uncle Clint with Silas

Nick, Hallie’s husband, enjoys picking berries and making jelly. He scouted around and found a currant bush on the property and then made a small batch of jelly. He seemed disappointed in it, but jelly-making is always an experiment. The berries, the pectin, the sugar – it comes together differently every year. Nothing wrong with having syrup for your ice cream.

On Monday, Hallie and family left for home, and Mike and I went back to town, stopping at the transfer station to get rid of the refuse on the pickup (paid $12.75) and then delivering a tailgate and bumper to the salvage place (received $5.10). While in town, a nagging pain in Mike’s jaw exploded into excruciating pain, and on Thursday (July 2), a wisdom tooth was extracted. He also had an MRI on his leg for diagnosis of an injury. KW

HAVE YOU MISSED ME?

 

I’m so out of touch here that I hardly know where to begin!

On Monday (June 22). Mike and I drove to the farm in the old pickup, hauling a load of gravel and practically everything we would need for a successful family gathering and work weekend. Instead of making a firm food plan, I try to be flexible and anticipate our needs. It’s a given that there will be some failure and a lot of leftover stuff. Oh well.

That same day in the afternoon, Farmer Kyle and son came and moved the big pine tree by sections from the north field into the far side of the yard near the barn where Mike can more easily cut it into firewood. Speaking of which, on Wednesday (June 24), Mike’s new wood splitter was delivered, a unit large enough to handle those big wood rounds. In consideration of the cost to rent a splitter, he decided he’d rather have his own so that he can work at his leisure. (Does Mike ever work at a leisurely pace?)

The idea was that our children were coming to help with the chores, but Mike had other ideas. Working with a hamstring injury, he spread the gravel in the barn to make a base for stacking the firewood, but one thing always leads to another, doesn’t it? He also cleaned out the barn and piled refuse onto the pickup bed once it was free of gravel. I was his assistant.

Of course, I was busy cleaning the house. I made a list of priorities, but just as I was ready to get started with the real work, I lifted a rag under the kitchen sink and discovered that the mice had had a party there. In addition to the usual evidence, there was also something that looked like cherry pits. It was cherry pits! And now I have to reveal just how haphazard I am about housekeeping. Last summer when I pitted the cherries from our Lapin’s sweet cherry tree, I considered drying the pits to make a foot warmer for Mike. I gave up on the idea and tossed the pits, but I guess I didn’t do it before the mice found them. The timing seems odd, but I can’t argue with the evidence. Well, I rearranged my priorities and cleaned under the sink.

I also allowed myself the time to sew, and I actually finished the “Duck Duck Moo” quilt for Silas’ bed. Please note – I saw this project through from start to finish.

One evening, Mike found a little bat between the dining room window and the screen. He carried it outside in a rag, and we watched it fly off. What would I do without Mike to handle the critters? I wouldn’t like to find out.

Despite the rain and cool temps, we had a wonderful family weekend. More about that with the next post. KW

IT’S A HOLIDAY?

 

Bess and I were enjoying an overnight staycation while Mike and Clint rode their motorcycles to central Oregon and back. And as we took our morning constitutional, I couldn’t help but think how quiet it was in the neighborhood. It was time for people to be dashing off to work, but nothing was happening. “You’d think it’s a holiday,” I said to myself. It wasn’t until an hour later when I was driving into town that I heard about the June Teenth holiday. It's was equally as quiet when we walked again this morning. Folks have obviously taken advantage of the three-day holiday to leave town or celebrate quietly indoors.

Hot temps are upon us again, and now they’re probably here to stay. I’m finally into my summer PJs for the duration. We need some cookies, but I’m thinking twice about turning on the oven.

The tomato plants are still thriving in my poor dilapidated raised bed that looks like it could fall over at any time, but fear not! Help is on the way. Under Hallie’s leadership, the frame will be rebuilt. The materials are waiting on the porch, and I hope the new frame can be built around the old mound. We’ll see. It will all work out some way. Doesn’t it always?

I broke down and bought two potted zucchini hills. One had two plants, the other three. It’s late in the transplant season now, and I was afraid if I tried to reseed, it would either fail or be too late for the squash to mature.

I’ve never seen such strawberry plants! They’re either very happy or running amok. I keep hearing my dad say, “Kathy, you over-fertilized. Your strawberry plants have gone to leaf.” But – I didn’t fertilize them at all.

ANOTHER CORN RECIPE

Here’s another recipe from Grandma Ina’s box, this one attributed to her sister-in-law, Ida Chandler Dickson. Ida was married to Ina’s brother, Ben, and my dad and his siblings called her “Ida-Ben” to distinguish her from the other Aunt Ida, Ina’s sister.

CORN SALAD

1 head cabbage

12 ears corn

4 tbsp mustard

2 tbsp salt

1 cup sugar

2 pts vinegar

1 red pepper, chopped

Mix together and let simmer 35 minutes; seal in jars.

I know I’ll never try it. KW

THE RETURN OF THE WASHING MACHINE

 

The repairman came twice to this rural place to fix our nearly-new Whirlpool washing machine. I see it as “nearly new” because in the two years since we bought it, it’s seen six months of light use. The dealer and the manufacturer see it as a two-year-old machine that’s out of warranty. 

Despite his two visits, the repairman didn’t fix it, and the dealer suggested that we bring it to the shop. At first Mike said no. Then we borrowed a dolly and the two of us finessed it through three narrow doorways and onto the front porch where we rolled it onto the bed of the pick-up. 

The initial problem was a faulty mother board, which the repairman replaced, but the machine still didn’t work. My opinion was that the replacement mother board was also defective. That makes sense, doesn’t it? If the manufacturer is dealing with faulty mother boards, the new ones might be faulty, too, but the repairman and the dealer didn’t think so. However, working with the machine in the shop, they indeed had to replace the mother board again. 

So, the dealer called to report that the machine was fixed. They had run five loads of laundry through it and it worked fine. Mike agreed to pick it up, then he called back and, as he puts it, pulled “the old man card.” “I know you came twice, but you didn’t fix it. I’m an old man. You could deliver it for me.” And they agreed to bring it on their next trip this way, which was Saturday (the 13^th). 

So, I’ve done a couple of small loads in the machine, and it ran the cycles fine, but I’m just guardedly cautious. If the original mother board and the first replacement were faulty, how long until it fails again? I expect it to be on its best behavior because it can be replaced, but they say all washing machines today are junk on account of plastic parts. It’s shameful that manufacturers put out faulty stuff and then make the consumer responsible. Both the dealer and the consumer are caught in this web. 

“It’s a terrible system we’re getting to have in this country,” said my sister Harriet. Things have not improved in the ten years since she left us. KW