HEEEE-RE’S JACK

"We should probably leave," I remarked to Mike after supper Friday evening (July 16). He thought it was a little too early, but I reminded him that last year Yancey had called to say Jack was on the plane while we were still at home. The flight from Denver to Spokane is two hours, and our drive from the Lewis-Clark Valley to Spokane is also two hours – plus the 15 minutes it takes us to get to the highway. "It would be good," I said, "if we could at least say we're in the car when Yancey calls." Mike agreed, so we put Nellie to bed and set out for the Spokane International Airport to meet Jack, our 12-year-old grandson. We were mid-way the Lewiston Hill when Yancey called to say the plane had departed a little early. No matter. We would still be there in good time.

It was a lovely evening as we wended our way through 100 miles of eastern Washington agricultural country, called the rolling hills of the Palouse. We started out heading into the setting sun and then watched the shadows lengthen and deepen as the mid-summer sky darkened. Except for the last 18 miles, the highway between Lewiston and Spokane is two-way, still very much a country route.

I don't fly often anymore, so I'm out of step with the airport scene. We were surprised to find the place mostly closed. There was no one to serve us, no one to provide Mike a pass to the gate so that he could claim Jack. Instead we waited in the lobby, which was in rather gloomy darkness. Yancey had told us Jack would call as soon as the plane landed. (That meant: "Take your cell phone with you and keep it on." Hallie would have said it outright.)

Sure enough, the plane landed about 10:30 and Jack called. Then we waited – and waited – and waited. Most everyone was off the plane and we were still waiting. That's because 12-year-old Jack had to be delivered to us by security. Mike was asked to produce his ID and sign the necessary form. After getting Jack's bag, we drove back to Lewiston over the same country highway. The three of us were mighty glad to fall into bed at 1:30 a.m.

Saturday morning Nellie was prancing her feet at the back door as soon as she heard Jack's voice. This is the third year that Jack has come to spend a week with Grandpa Mike, so Nellie is well-acquainted with him. When Jack decided to read for a while after breakfast, Nellie stretched out at his feet.

Once we had loaded both the car and the Dakota, we started for the farm. Mike and Jack took Nellie and headed in one direction in the pick-up while I took the car in another for gas and a few groceries. I was just unlocking the door of the farmhouse when they pulled into the yard. They had stopped for a couple of geocaches, of course.

We had planned that Saturday would be a day of rest, but in reality we were busy. Mike continued to pack the Dakota for a three-day, two-night camping / hiking / 4-wheeling trip on the Lochsa River. I washed and watered and made a fresh strawberry pie.

This morning (Sunday) Nellie trotted into the kitchen to lick a bowl I had for her. "Now Nellie," I said, "Mike and Jack are going camping and you and I are going to stay." She didn't say a word or even lick the bowl but turned on her heel and marched back to her pillow in the living room. I thought I heard her snort as she curled into a ball and turned her back to the room. You could say I'm making a good story, but she didn't get up again until well after Mike and Jack left. About noon I took her for a walk, and she stayed outside a long time, watching the lane for some sign of their return. Now she's resting under the maple tree near the hammock.

It's 85 degrees this afternoon but the breeze is pleasant. It moves the barley in waves of shimmering green. KW