AUTUMN'S BOUNTY -- TOMATOES AND APPLES

 

Ah! Just smell those apples! This year I picked a bumper crop from the little Empire tree – three dozen mostly worm-free apples. The Freedom tree yielded 10 small apples – it’s first crop – and they also were worm-free. The Honey Crisp only produced a dozen or so, and they were terribly infected with worms. I picked them anyway for the good I could get from them, and I made separate batches of applesauce with the Honey Crisps and the Freedoms, both of which were pronounced delicious. I used a few Empire apples to make a delicious apple crisp.

Last spring, when it was time to spray the apple blossoms, the wand on Mike’s sprayer was broken, so I used an ordinary spray bottle to give the three trees an initial treatment. The repeat application the following week worked for the Empire and Freedom trees, but the Honey Crisp blossoms had already passed. At least, I think that’s the difference. I take courage that this was a better year and look forward to trying again next spring.

According to my notes, I picked more than six dozen tomatoes from three bushes during the season. It’s the best crop I’ve ever had. I shared some, cooked some, and we enjoyed them with our green salads and sandwiches. I picked just a few last week, and we noticed a definite difference in the flavor and texture. Perhaps I should have left them to ripen a few more days in the hot afternoon sun. Plenty of green tomatoes abound. If they don’t ripen, we’ll have green tomato mincemeat. Don’t scoff! Jarred mincemeat is hard to find, and when you do, it’s expensive. Mike and I enjoy the occasional mincemeat pie.

The zucchini didn’t do so well – just a few, as usual. Hardly worth the effort. It’s just disheartening because zucchini plants are supposed to be prolific. KW

“Vos papiers, s’il vous plait”

“It’s a terrible system we’re getting to have in our country,” said my late sister Harriet. I think of this so often these days.

“Your identity papers, please.” I never thought it would come to this in America. In fact, I put off getting my “Real ID” for at least five years, but when it came time to renew my drivers license, I finally stepped up to it.

My daughter suggested that maybe a Real ID isn’t so important for me. “Where are you going to go anyway,” she asked. But it’s a matter of compliance. And – she recently attended a hearing in a federal building in Boise, and in future I may want to accompany her, and I will have to have a Real ID in order to enter the building. You know how it is. We little old ladies cause so much trouble that we have to be scrutinized. 

So, at one month out from my renewal date (August 28), I read through the list of required documents and discovered to my chagrin that I would need a certified copy of our marriage license. Why? To prove the event that caused my name to change from my birth certificate. (This requirement discriminates against women.) Fortunately I’ve only had one name change, or this would be even more difficult. I had to order the license, and it took at least a month to be delivered. By the time it came, my driver’s license had expired.

We pay our bills online, so I didn’t have a utility bill to prove my current address. The monthly paper statement we receive to show our water usage was the best I could do, but it’s in Mike’s name. Oh well. Maybe this with the marriage certificate would work.

I don’t have a social security card showing my married name, but I do have tax statements from my state retirement fund showing my current name with my social security number. I tossed it in the file I was developing.

Once I had all my “papers” together, I made an appointment with the licensing department. I should have just gone in and taken a number. They aren’t that busy in my community. Be that as it may, I was there on time.

So, when called, I approached the representative and presented my papers. My expired license had to be renewed first – so I passed the tests and paid for an 8-year license. Then from my papers, the rep chose my birth certificate, marriage license, the water bill in Mike’s name, and my tax statement and scanned all these into the system. 

“Your license will have a chip in it so that they can scan it,” she said. “Do you mind?” What difference does it make if I mind? I mind about a lot of things. I said I didn’t mind. I paid again, this time for the “Real ID.”

And that was that. This thing that was a big deal in my mind for all these years is finally over. Maybe. KW

 

CANADA, O CANADA

 

My grandparents, Charlie and Nina Portfors, were married October 31, 1906, at the home of her parents, Thomas and Alice Mary Sanders, near the farming community of Melrose, Idaho. Within a few years, Charlie and Nina had settled in the small town of Orofino, Idaho, where Charlie established the Ford garage and operated it for the next 30 years.

Sometime after that 1906 wedding, Thomas Sanders took his family – his wife and other children (Bessie, Albert, and Muriel) – and homesteaded in northern Alberta, Canada. I don’t know the exact year, only that they were there in 1911 when Thomas died. 

Pearl in 1918

His son Albert then took over the farm, but in 1916, he came back to the States to marry my dad’s sister, Pearl Dobson. They then farmed the Alberta homestead for the next 30 years, and Uncle Al served as a member of the Legislative Assembly of Alberta from 1921 to 1935. Of the other children, Aunt Bessie settled in the States, but Aunt Muriel married Roy German and they lived in Calgary where Roy served in a government office.

But wait! There’s more! Two of my grandfather Charlie Portfors’ brothers, Andrew and Fred, also settled in Alberta where they farmed and raised their families. They became Canadians through and through.

When I was growing up, some of these Canadian relatives were members of my extended family. Aunts, uncles, and cousins visited most every summer, and I still have warm feelings for them. Of course, the original players are gone now, but their descendants, my cousins, still live in Canada. I wouldn’t insult them or hurt their feelings for anything.

Pearl as a child

A lock of Pearl's hair saved in Ina's book

Most of the time the Canadians visited us rather than vice versa. Why? Because they came to shop, not just to visit. They had lists of things they needed that they couldn’t find in Canada, or maybe it could just be purchased for less in the U.S., so they would stop in Spokane on the way home to buy what they needed. It’s well-known that the Canadians shop in the U.S.

I announced to Mike one day last week that I wanted to buy another doll – a “Maplelea” Girl, the Canadian answer to the American Girl. I know it’s insignificant in the scheme of things, but I want to show my support for Canada in some way. So, from the seven dolls representing seven Canadian regions, I ordered “Brianne,” the farm girl of the Canadian prairie. With her fair skin, blue eyes, and blond hair, she reminds me of Aunt Pearl. Every doll should have her own name, and while I don’t much care for the name “Pearl,” it really can’t be anything else, can it?

She’s here! "Maplelea Pearl, Canadian Farm Girl." 

[The first photo is of my grandmother Nina Portfors' family. Seated is her mother, Alice Mary Stinson Sanders, and behind Alice is her brother. Muriel Sanders German is on the left, and Nina stands on the right. Sitting on the ground is Albert Sanders, who married Pearl Dobson. Al and Pearl were my aunt and uncle on my dad's side and my great aunt and uncle on my mother's side.] KW

SUMMERWEEN AT THE FARM

 

I like to make the most of “Summerween,” the late summer / autumn season that culminates in Halloween when days grow shorter, mornings grow cooler, and evening shadows grow longer. The world takes on a certain enchanted glow. 

Son Yancey and his daughter Emmy visited at the farm for a few days late in August, so I brought out the Halloween runners and hung a fall wreath on the front door. The world didn’t disappoint. On the evening of the 27^th, we watched the “almost” total eclipse of the moon as it rose above the barn from the earliest stages about 7:30 until 9:20 when we saw that the eclipse was waning. It was a privilege to share it with family.

With the exception of the first photo above, these were taken by Yancey with his iPhone 17 Pro. The first was taken with my old SE. There's a 17 in my future. 

“FIND MY”

Shadows at eventide

We’ve been home from our 1926 trip to Yellowstone National Park for more than two weeks. Having toured on a shoestring, I know that Ina was hungry and tired, and it’s taken her all this time to recover. She has enjoyed having plenty of garden produce to eat. Meanwhile, in 2026, it was hard work for me to keep the 1926 days and dates straight, and after that, my blog muse said she’d had enough.

Some months ago, several of our children decided that Mike and I should be connected through our cellphones, and son Murray made it happen through the “Find My” app. Frankly, we didn’t pay much attention. Months passed – long enough for us to forget all about it – and Murray had to tutor us again.

The thing is – yes, it’s frightening to think that Mike could end up in a ditch while riding his bicycle, and to be honest, it has happened. However, other things happen (like flat tires) that can slow his return, and he also forgets to take his phone, which makes me a little casual in my attitude toward his riding.

And that brings us to recent experiences. Late in July, Mike made a motorcycle trip to southern Idaho, and on his way home, he stopped in Challis to spend the night. Since he still had hours of daylight, he decided to pick up a couple of geocaches, and – wouldn’t you know it? – he lost his phone. He borrowed a phone and called me so that I could use the “Find my” app to locate his phone. It didn’t help because the app said his phone was still at the first geocache when he could prove he still had it at the second one. He couldn’t find it and came home without it.

A summerween evening

Frankly, I would have taken the opportunity to have the latest iPhone iteration, but as luck would have it, DIL Kelly had just purchased a new phone and gifted Mike with her previous one, an iPhone 12 Pro. Mike’s previous iPhone was black, which made it hard to find anyway, and this one is white – easy to see but deemed “girly.” Mike coped by buying a blue-gray case for it. It was a trial setting it up without his previous phone, but son Murray was a great help, and Mike’s data was finally restored.

Today we went shopping in our black GTI with black interior. As we traveled along, I was suddenly aware that my black purse was nowhere to be found. I felt certain I had had it, so I panicked. Where could it be? I wanted to go back to the house, but we were already close to the store. Long story short, Mike used the “Find my” app on his phone and discovered that my purse was with us. I found it under the seat. KW

DAY 16 -- YELLOWSTONE TRIP 1926

August 11, 1926 -- Wednesday

Just like Charlie of the M.T.A. song, I wonder if the family will ever return. I also sing “the tale of the castaways,” the theme song from Gilligan’s Island where a two-hour cruise turned into a nightmare. It appears that Ina has had enough of traveling and camping and is ready to be home. 

I have no information regarding this day in 1926 as the family travels through Washington and Idaho to reach home. All that remains among the memorabilia is a photo of Shirley at Spangle, Washington, which more or less indicates that they camped near there (18 miles south of Spokane), and I think it’s doubtful that they made it home in one day. Hopefully, they arrived on August 13 (Friday).

And I know nothing about their homecoming. Did Myrtle and Ethel prepare the desired nutritious homecoming dinner? They probably lacked up-to-date information from the travelers and likely worried. Perhaps Ina insisted on sending a telegram from Spokane, and that would have reassured the girls, but the timetable would still be uncertain due to unforeseen circumstances on the road.

But – I can pretend. I can see Myrtle rising early to bake a cake while Ethel went to the garden to pick tomatoes, beans, cucumbers, and lettuce. They also scurried around to tidy up, air the house, and hide the cigarettes and ashtrays.

I do know that the travelers made it home, though, because they went on to live out their lives for a good many years – all of them. Jack was first to pass on – 1946; Ina – 1957; Bernice – 1958; Lynn Dryden – 1963; Myrtle – 1971; Earle – 1975; Ethel – 1980; Vance – 1987; and Shirley – 2004. 

That’s all, Folks! Thanks for celebrating the 1926 Road Trip to Yellowstone with me. KW 

DAY 15 -- YELLOWSTONE TRIP 1926

 August 10, Missoula, MT

In her final postcard, Ina writes: We didn’t leave Anaconda until 12:30 P.M. Ate our lunch there and drove 117 miles. It was windy and cold, and we were in one hard shower. It has been cold ever since we left the Park. We wear our coats and sweaters and put the curtains on. We are trying to make it as far as Coeur d’Alene today. Spokane is over 200 miles away. We won’t get home till Thursday. I’m just wild when I stop to think of it. Hope we don’t have any more car trouble. In haste. Love, Momma

Vance plays with a dog

[Today, Interstate 90, a fast-moving four-lane highway, connects the 200 miles between Spokane and Missoula, but in 1926 it was an unpaved dirt and gravel trail. Ina hoped they would make it to Coeur d’Alene, but even that would have been ambitious. I know from the picture of Vance that they camped near Kellogg, Idaho, which means they traveled about 130 miles this day.]