COUNTRY MUSINGS

We had company last week – a couple who used to live in the Gilbert / Nezperce / Grangeville area and now live in Lewiston. It was great to see people. We were glad they came.

“Do you need directions to the house?” I asked upon inviting them.
“I know right where it is,” she replied. “I’m an old ridge runner.”
But, upon their arrival, I was surprised when they both noted that they had never been “down” to the “old Dobson place.”

It put me in mind of another time when a long-time resident of the Gilbert area commented to my mother that she had never been down to the Dobson place. She lived not two miles from here. That same person cautioned me that we should not drink the cistern water, so she obviously had some knowledge of the old set-up here.

Where is the line, I wonder, between trespassing and neighborliness? In the old farm life, did people not visit with one another? Were they too busy for company? Is it wrong to be a little curious – to drive down a county road to see the lay of the land so that you understand the place where you live? I guess it’s sort of embarrassing when the road dead-ends in someone’s yard. It doesn’t bother everyone. Hunters are generally unaffected.

When I ride my bike, I love to watch for the old homestead sites. Most of the structures are gone. What remains are the plantings – bushes, orchards, trees, even flowers. [The photo to the right is an example of such a site. The left photo is of a deteriorated barn at an old farm site on Miller Road.] The old Senter’s house is still standing and I used to like to stop there and rest. Now it’s marked “private property” and roped off. “Surely it doesn’t mean me,” I’m tempted to think. And there’s a good chance it doesn’t mean me, but without specific permission I’m in the mix with everyone else.

This morning I parked my bike on Miller Road and walked several old roads trying to reach the north rim. My goal was to get a better view of the river so that I could understand the lay of the land. “What if someone asks me what I’m doing here?” I asked myself. “Well, I’ll just tell them I’m a roving reporter for the Frog Ranch Blog trying to get a view of the river. Inquiring minds want to know.” I didn’t take the camera today. The bulge in my pocket was a crushed beer can. KW

[The photo at the top is of Dobson Road, a county road, at what we call "Plank Hill." The pine tree and green spot on the right denote where the Plank house used to stand. The fields to the left of the road on this side of the canyon are ours with the furthest being the one north of the house.]