GETTING READY TO TRAVEL – YELLOWSTONE 1926

Taken at the farmhouse in 1925. See identification below.

Imagine it’s late July in 1926 – one hundred years ago. My dad, Vance Dobson, an accomplished pianist, is working at the Orofino Mercantile to earn enough money to enroll at the Cornish School of Music in Seattle. His family is planning a trip to Yellowstone National Park, and he wants to go, too. His employer agrees that this is an opportunity he shouldn’t miss and excuses him from work.

They will take two cars. One belongs to Vance’s brother Earle, the other to Earle’s brother-in-law, Lynn Dryden. The party includes:

·      The parents – Ina (55) and Jack (61) Dobson

·      Their son Earle (30) and his wife Bernice (26), married since 1921

·      The younger children, Vance (22) and Shirley (15)

·      And Lynn Dryden (Bernice’s brother), probably in his 30s

I suspect this trip happened at Earle’s suggestion. He had a car, and he would have been familiar with the route. He involved his brother-in-law, Lynn Dryden, who also had a car. One car would not have been big enough. They loaded Lynn’s car with provision, and “Dad” (Jack) rode with him most of the time. Earle carried everyone else and some provisions.

You can imagine the hustle and bustle as they prepare for the trip. They plan to camp and buy provisions along the way. No coolers in 1926, remember. They have a tent, bedding, and food besides personal items. By today’s standards, the plan leaves much to chance, but that’s the way it was. Ina is excited to visit Yellowstone as well as to see the sights as they travel through Idaho between here and there.

Staying at the farmhouse are the Dobson daughters, Myrtle and Ethel. Ethel’s baby, Shirley Jean, is now a toddler (born June 29, 1925).

We’ll be off in the morning, so let’s get some rest. KW

[Taken in1925, this photo includes most of our players. From left: Earle Dobson; Shirley Dobson; Bernice Dryden Dobson (Earle's wife); Vance Dobson; Pearl Dobson Sanders with her son, Stanley Sanders; Ina Dickson Dobson; Ernest Robinson; Ethel Dobson Robinson holding Shirley Jean Robinson. Between Shirley and Bernice, I can just make out Julian (Jack) Dobson. Three of these group photos were taken at this time, and the reflection of the sun on the house obscures the image of those standing on the left.] 

A STAYCATION AT THE FARM

Central Ridge

 I said that the centennial appreciation of the Dobson’s 1926 trip to Yellowstone would be next, but first, we have to prepare. We’ll set off on this journey on Monday, July 27, and hopefully I’ll be ready to go. Right now I’m organizing the info.

Southerly view obscured by smoke

Meanwhile, in real time, Mike is off on another motorcycle adventure, and since we’re now in the midst of the hottest temps of the year, he suggested that Bess and I stay at the farm. I’m not sure this was the best idea. We arrived Wednesday mid-morning, and the farmhouse was warm and stuffy, having been shut up for three days. Outside temp was already 80, so too late to open the house. We walked around the pond anyway and I chucked a few balls for Bess to chase, but she was fussy the rest of the day. She tends to fuss now anyway, but I think she was too hot.

Looking to the north -- serviceberry in foreground

It was 91 at 4:30 as we took our afternoon constitutional. Bess insisted on another walk at the pond, but as we passed the east end of the kitchen porch where the faucet is, we found a bull snake doing its best rattlesnake impression. I wasn’t fooled, but I was intimidated anyway, and Bess was spoiling for a fight. I managed to drag her off to the pond, but when we arrived back at the house, the bull snake was still languishing in the shade. We repaired to the house and waited an hour before playing ball.

The house was still hot at bedtime, and Bess had trouble settling down. At her insistence, we were up early Thursday morning and walked out to the canyon rim where I took these pictures.

Ina and Jack with grandchildren Shirley Jean and Stanley

Our staycation continued in that fashion – warm weather issues and a fussy old dog. So, I disappeared into 1926 and transcribed Ina’s journey of the road trip through Idaho to Yellowstone National Park. At this very house, the family of 1926 was preparing for their trip. My aunts, Ethel and Myrtle, will cover in Ina’s absence. I imagine that I’m here staycating with them. Ethel is 28 and Lynn is 32. They’re good friends as well as sisters, so with the house to themselves, I see them enjoy each other’s company. I can just hear those deep Dobson voices rambling on, sharing opinions – and smoking!!!! They both smoked, and they were probably happy to be able to do so free of Ina’s critical eye.

Ethel holding Shirley Jean

Anyway, Ina trusted them with her farm responsibilities, and having been raised on the farm, they were adept at their chores. They fed the chickens, milked the cows – or maybe Uncle June came over and milked the cows – and took care of the garden, which by now was producing well. Perhaps they even did some canning. And besides that, Ethel has a baby – Shirley Jean – who is just months old. What fun! KW

A PROFUSION OF GRASS

 

I had planned to develop a meadow of drought-tolerant plants in the orchard behind the farmhouse. I was working on it – identifying and maintaining the desirable weeds that were already established there, researching and planting more, hoping that these perennials would spread and add interest to that garden. Even last year, this plan was alive. However, it came to naught this year with the explosion of grass – and I do mean explosion! We have several varieties, but Mike’s plant app identifies the dominate one as “beardless wildrye.”

“Stay out of tall grass,” my old dad used to say, and this grass qualifies as tall, so I stay out of it. Who knows what lurks under that mass. It’s habitat for rodents and snakes, and it’s a fire hazard. I've tried to tell myself that it's beautiful just the way it is, but it’s crowding out desirable plants, and I find its presence daunting. I don’t want to walk through it to tend the apple trees and other plants. Further planting is impossible.

And while I speak of the orchard / meadow, the grass is everywhere here – in the grove, at the pond, bordering the yard, on either side of the lane, etc. And it’s not just at our place. It IS a regional explosion of grass. 

Interestingly, my research indicates this grass variety is seen as positive. However, I don’t have livestock to graze on it. I’m disappointed because my plan was to make that area into a garden. I’d like to think the grass is a temporary situation, but grass is difficult to eradicate. The soil is clay, and in summer, it’s hard as a rock. I think the only way to remove it would be to dig it out and then lay cardboard to discourage its return. I’m not sure I could take on such a project even if I would. The time comes when stooping and pulling is not a good idea if you want to continue to walk. KW

Up next: A Trip to Yellowstone Park, 1926 – A Centennial Appreciation 

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