MOVING THE OLD DIESEL TANK

 

Can you believe it?! It’s either late mid-October or early late October. At any rate, we’re moving quickly toward the end of October. The drive up the Clearwater and then up the Gilbert Grade was just beautiful! So glad I didn’t miss it. Some years we do.

Scott & Mike preparing to lift tank

Here at the farm, it was a beautiful day and warmer than we expected. However, rain is predicted later in the day and then cooler temps. Hard to believe it will happen. The house was nice and warm – even upstairs.

Farmer Kyle was fertilizing the fields this morning. And it was a special treat when Neighbor Scott came over with his new-to-him used old tractor to grab the old diesel tank off its platform at the barn.

An easy lift for the old tractor

It was my dad’s diesel tank, so it was probably installed in the early 1950s, and I’m guessing use ceased about 1965 when he retired. Well, he still had the old Caterpillar D-2, but he wouldn’t have needed much fuel. Anyway, we certainly didn’t need it, and the wood platform was deteriorated, but getting rid of the tank was problematic. We thought on the matter for years. Salvage wouldn’t take it since it was a gas tank. After some research, son Clint suggested we ask the neighbors if anyone wanted it. It only took one contact. Scott said he’d like to have it and today he came for it.

So glad we were here on a day when things were happening.

Right into the bucket

I’m working gently toward putting the gardens to bed. I couldn’t have asked for a better crop of tomatoes this year – the best crop I’ve ever had. Better Boy, Celebrity, and Bonnie Original (billed as “our favorite tomato”). I had occasional blossom end rot, but aside from that, all three plants were great producers. We picked 60 ripe tomatoes and I canned four pints of green tomato mincemeat. I planted early in the spring, and Hallie gave them a boost in late June when she rebuilt the raised bed in which they resided.

Off to its new home

It was NOT a good zucchini year. The strawberries didn’t produce well either, but the plants sent out many runners. The bed is overcrowded now, and I must thin them before the snow flies. KW

THE TRAVELOGS OF YESTERYEAR

As far as I know, the trip to Yellowstone in 1926 was the only time that Ina traveled as a tourist. Other trips were made to visit family, not specifically to see the sights. She traveled by train to Seattle and Portland, except for that trip in 1949 when Uncle Earle flew her to Idaho Falls. Having crossed the Plains in a covered wagon in the 1870s and '80s, it seemed significant that she should experience air travel.   

As Ina and I recuperated from the Yellowstone trip in our respective centuries, I happened to remember her View-Master viewers and travel reels, which continue to be stored in the farmhouse. If you remember the View-Master viewers, you probably think of them as toys, but Ina had two viewers, and her reels were travelogs, not cartoons.

Ina's first View-Master

In the collection are reels of Yellowstone and Teton National Parks. I wish I could post some of these old images, but reproducing them is beyond my capabilities. (Perhaps not possible at all.) And while some images can be found online, I discovered that those Kodachrome colors have deteriorated over time. And the effect wouldn’t be the same anyway. The great thing about the View-Master was the 3D effect in vivid color.

My childhood viewer was a little different. It was manufactured under the name “Tru-View.” The card was rectangular instead of round. My mother often bought “knock-offs,” probably because she shopped through my grandfather’s John Plain discount catalog. I never complained but I saw the View-Master as more desirable. Apparently, the Sawyer company, manufacturer of the View-Master, bought the Tru-View Company and discontinued it. My viewer eventually broke, but I still have the cards, which are useless without the viewer.

I think my 40-something children had a View-Master and cartoon reels, but it just wasn’t the same for them as it was for Ina and me. It didn’t capture their imaginations, and this is understandable. They had television. And today’s children have their tablets.

Here’s a View-Master Manufacturing Timeline

• 1939: Debuted by Sawyer's at the New York World's Fair focusing on travel views.
• 1966–1981: Owned by GAF Corporation, shifting focus toward cartoons and TV shows.
• 1998: Acquired by Mattel under the Fisher-Price brand.
• 2008: Scenic and travel reel manufacturing stopped.
• 2013: Final commercial custom scenic reel production ceased.
• 2015–2019: A modern virtual reality View-Master was produced, then phased out.

KW

THE FIGHT TO CORRECT CORRECTIONS

At the time of son Milo’s murder at the Idaho State Correctional Center (a fancy name for “prison”), a nephew suggested that I could do some writing with regard to the need for corrections reform. Well, I’ve found it difficult. In the first place, I’m not a crusader, and in the second place, injustices happen every day. I’m well aware that the tragic loss of a son does not make me special. It also takes courage to speak out because some people feel that inmates deserve what they get, regardless of their circumstances.

But today in the U.S., we incarcerate so many non-violent offenders that we need to let go of that cruel idea. We have criminalized mental illness and addiction – societal issues – to the extent that at least 50% of the incarcerated could better serve another less costly type of sentence. (Yes, incarceration is a hefty taxpayer expense.) If non-violent offenders could pay their debt under some other type of system, they might continue to contribute to society through employment, pay taxes, support community businesses, and keep their families intact while also benefiting the community through service.

And let me tell you, once an individual finds his way into the judicial / corrections system, his/her life is ruined. It takes an exceptionally strong individual to come back from incarceration. When released, they have hefty fines to pay, which increases indebtedness and leads to homelessness – a further drain on society. They say if you aren’t mentally ill when you enter prison, you will be when you come out. The prison environment sees to it. Prison helps no one.

We incarcerate the criminally insane as well as those with mental health issues, often without segregating them from each other or the general prison population, making it especially dangerous for non-violent inmates. Some people aren’t fighters and can’t adequately defend themselves. And why should they have to? No one should be bullied in prison or anywhere else, but this happens.

It’s not my place to say whether or not Milo belonged in prison. However, judges who pass these sentences must know that non-violent offenders might not survive incarceration. At the sentencing of Milo’s murderer, the judge commented that she had no jurisdiction over what happens at the prison, adding that the prison doesn’t even have to follow her recommendations. And I wanted to scream, “But you put people there!”

I’ve been asked more than once, “Have you told the ACLU?” Yes, several times. The major concerns of human rights organizations are the incarceration of women, the plight of people of color, and the rights of the LGBTQ community – all worthy causes – but our son Milo, a white male, was killed by his cellmate, another white male. Very few organizations argue for the greatly needed reform of the overall system for the betterment of humanity. The political upheaval in our country puts prison reform at the bottom of the list, and yet, we’re no better as a society than the way we treat the lowest among us.

It’s been nearly three years since Milo passed. The news cycle has moved on, but it has been the quest of my family to quietly press for change through legal action. A judge has allowed our suit to continue. We believe it’s an important case. KW 

AUTUMN COMES TO GILBERT

 

It’s October – a delightful time of year in the Pacific Inland Northwest. Mornings and evenings are cool, but afternoons have been unseasonably warm. I’m comfortable in warmer pajamas, but it’s too soon for sweatshirts and warm-ups. I see it could well freeze at the farm early in the week and come close to it in town. I also see that by next weekend the highs could be in the 70s again.

The autumn plague of blue aphids has begun. They’re harmless, I guess. Just inconvenient. And they love our purple ash tree, so we’re part of the problem.

I’ve already set out my Halloween displays, and I even made a pillow top from a favorite Halloween sweatshirt. I loved that shirt the moment I saw it at Kmart all those years ago, hanging all by itself at the end of a rack. I bought it and enjoyed wearing it, but it got old and the sleeves were a little short, so I retired it with intent to repurpose it as a pillow. It happened this year, and I count it as another finished project.

Mike and I spent this last week at the farm. I made a last batch of elderberry jelly (5 jelly jars), and while I had the canning kettle out, I cooked a batch of green tomato mincemeat (4 pints). Mike mowed the lawn, hopefully for the last time this year. We don’t water here, and usually the grass has gone dormant before now.

Mike rode his bike a couple of times, and while he did, Bess and I hiked the planted fields. Next year’s crop is canola, and it’s already coming up. It’s a bit disappointing for us. The game birds seem to prefer the wheat. The bright yellow fields will be gorgeous when the canola blooms in the spring, but afterwards, it grows tall and obscures our views. But – the land is leased and it’s not up to us.

Walking the fields is no easy feat, now that the soil is loose and furrowed, but I enjoyed getting out on my own and taking pictures. Bess was gracious about watching and waiting for me, but as I approached her on our last hike behind the house, she looked me in the eye, turned around, and marched back across the field. She was resting on the porch when I got home. Apparently she wasn’t up for the hike. KW

FARROL JOAN (JONI) WALRATH NUNAN – 1934-2026

 

Mrs. Bonner's First Grade Class, 1955-56, Orofino Elementary School

My big sister Joni slipped peacefully from this world on Saturday, Sept. 19. Joni was going on 15 when I was born and was a player in my life, especially during my young years. I miss her already.

I have many “Joni” stories, but the one I’ll relate here is a favorite. Joni’s birthday is Nov. 10, so when she started school in Oklahoma, she began at midterm (January), but when the family moved back to Idaho, there was no mid-term program, and she was “put back” to the third grade instead of promoted to the fourth. In her mind, she was made to repeat a grade, and she resented this for the rest of her school days, though she had a wonderful group of friends among her classmates.

Joni graduated from Orofino High School in 1953 and subsequently attended the University of Idaho majoring in elementary and secondary education. Her goal was to finish in three years to make up for the year that was stolen from her in elementary school. Her U-I advisor told her this would only happen if she had no scheduling conflicts, which was doubtful.

In reviewing her coursework in September 1955, Joni’s advisor realized that if she could complete her student teaching that semester, she could graduate in the spring, fulfilling her goal to finish college in three years, but arrangements would have to be made quickly. So, Joni applied to our home school district and gained approval to student teach at Orofino schools, both elementary and secondary. An added advantage was that she could stay at home.

Well, there was a problem of sorts. Of the three first grade teachers, only Mrs. Irene Bonner was qualified to supervise a student teacher. School was already in session, and Mrs. Bonner was my teacher. The administration decided it would not be wise to reassign me. So, when Joni came to teach, it was not ideal. I was required to call her “Miss Walrath” and I didn’t want to.

Well, I was a young first-grader, having turned six just before school started. It wasn’t that I couldn’t do the work, I just didn’t. I didn’t understand that I was supposed to finish my paper and turn it in. Basically, I was totally oblivious to the fact that I might be flunking first grade. It meant nothing to me, and Mother had no knowledge of the situation.

But Joni told on me. “Mother, Kathy doesn’t finish her work,” she said. Mother was appalled and immediately scheduled a conference with Mrs. Bonner. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, to which Mrs. Bonner just shrugged. I suspect that for whatever reason, Mrs. Bonner was not as concerned as Joni and Mother.

Nevertheless, a plan was put into place to make me understand the necessity of finishing my work and handing it in. Mother made a chart and hung it on the wall in the breakfast nook, and when I brought a graded paper home, I got to glue a star on the chart. I guess earning that star was affirmation enough. The system worked. I became a good student, and much of the credit goes to Joni. At least, that’s the story. (I’ve often thought that Mrs. Bonner probably had a plan.) KW

[In the above photo, student teacher Miss Joni Walrath stands beside teacher Mrs. Irene Bonner. My friend Chris Cummings Miller and I identified this photo to the best of our ability a few years ago. 

Back row: Joni Walrath (Nunan), Irene Bonner, Craig Allen, Jerry Wilfong, Kathy Dobson (Warnock), Sherri Daniels (McMillan), Christine Cummings (Miller), Martha Sewell, Steve Titus, Tim Musiel. 

Center row: First three unknown; Kay Schwartzkopf, Judy Partee, Vicky Carrico, Patricia Irby, Mary ?

Front row: Chipper Prudhomme, Kenneth Dykes, Ged Randall, Jim Oud, Unknown, Lanny Tinney, Calvin Joye, Charles Lindstrom, Mike Steinbruecker.]

DELIGHTFUL COOLER DAYS

The cooler evenings are such a relief. So lovely to be able to sleep under a blanket in cozy comfort.  

Mike and I so enjoyed our day at the farm last Monday (Sept. 21) that we returned on Wednesday to stay a few days. It seemed to me that the fall colors along the river were more evident on Wednesday than they had been on Monday. I noticed it at the farm, too. I suppose that’s silly, but it does have to happen at some time and in some way. And when we returned to town on Saturday, the colors were again more vibrant.

Thursday afternoon it was a lovely 78 degrees at the farm, but it began to cloud up, and by Friday noon it was raining. Looking at the forecast, lows will now be in the 30s. Since a freeze might happen anytime, I decided to pick the rest of the tomatoes – 70 in all.

Farm yard from north field

For years, green tomatoes from our garden were slim to none, and I was able to make just a little mincemeat, but this year I could make a full batch twice over. Mike and I both enjoy a small mincemeat pie a couple of times during the autumn / winter season, but there’s a limit to how much mincemeat we can consume. The rest of our family doesn’t care for it. Come to think of it, I don’t know many people who do like mincemeat and a few who remark with disdain. It’s expensive to make this mincemeat, but it’s even more expensive to buy it.

So, this morning I chopped 12 cups of green tomatoes and placed the bag in the freezer to be processed on the next trip to the farm. And I also chopped up the Empire apples and cooked them into apple sauce.

While we were at the farm, I made two batches of elderberry jelly – 11 jars. Mike picked more elderberries, so I processed the juice and will make another batch of jelly with the next stay. KW

A BEAUTIFUL LAST DAY OF SUMMER

On the last day of summer (Monday, Sept. 21), Mike and I made a day trip to the farm. It was a beautiful day – sunny and warm with a cool breeze. I noticed right away that our fields have been planted, and I love the new look! It’s canola, which will be bright yellow in the spring.

Mike serviced the wood splitter and put it to bed for the winter. I helped him cover the pine logs in the front yard with the old metal roofing, as if we need to protect more firewood. We’ll never use all that we have in storage now. And we don’t know but what the winter will bring yet more downed trees.

In the afternoon, Mike enjoyed a rest in the hammock. He was going to put it away last week but decided to leave it up a while longer.

I washed sheets and jeans and hung them on the clothesline. They were dry by mid-afternoon. I picked eight tomatoes and three zucchinis and watered the raised beds. I see a lot of green tomatoes, and as warm as the afternoons have been, some of them might ripen before Jack Frost comes to visit.

Pear tree changing to autumn garb

You know, back in Ina’s day – or even my dad’s day – the growing season at Gilbert would likely be over by Labor Day, if not before. It was a short growing season at altitude. These days we can wait it out a bit. However, the shorter days and cooler lows are still a factor, and we don’t quite know what to expect anymore.

I loaded up projects and food to carry back to town, thinking that we wouldn’t return to the farm for a while, but now we’ve decided to spend more time there this fall, so I’ve had to readjust. It doesn’t hurt to keep using up the food, but I don’t like to burden Mike with a lot of packing back and forth. The fact is that it’s a lovely time of year, and I like to be at home at the farm. We’ll see if we can keep the house open through December.

Then Mike rode the XT back to town, and Bess and I followed in the Jeep. I drove. KW 

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.]

 

DAY 14 -- YELLOWSTONE TRIP 1926

[Ina writes another postcard to her daughters, Myrtle and Ethel, at the farmhouse. On a practical level, it's silly to keep writing these postcards because even with delays, they won't be delivered until after the travelers arrive, but today I'm glad she did and that she had the foresight to keep them. It could only be better if she had continued a journal.]

August 9 [Monday] – at Anaconda, Montana – 9:35 A.M.

Graham & Cora Wanless in 1937

We made about 190 miles yesterday. We were in two hard showers. At Bozeman, we were one day late for their round-up. The town was finely decorated with bunting and flags. Lynn had to have a flat tire vulcanized, so we are delayed again. I’m getting frantic [to be home] on account of Cora and Graham and how you are getting along. Love, Momma

[Cora Dobson Wanless was Jack’s younger sister. Ina must expect Cora and her husband Graham to visit from Boston Bar, BC, Canada.]

DAY 13 -- YELLOWSTONE TRIP 1926

August 8 (Sunday), 9:20 A.M. – Livingston, MT

Dear Girls,

We checked out at the north entrance at Gardiner yesterday at 5:00 P.M. and drove 23 miles. Camped on a creek with fine big cottonwood trees. Driving along Yellowstone River. Road rough. Can’t say what day we will arrive. May phone or telegraph from Spokane. Weather cloudy and quite cool. We are very anxious to get home. Planned to be home sooner. Please have plenty of vegetables cooked for our first meal and a big cake, canned or fresh fruit. If handy, chicken. Love, Momma

[So, they are traveling home by way of Montana instead of retracing the route through Idaho. However, 1926 is decades prior to the opening of Highway 12 connecting Montana with central Idaho. Instead, their route will take them to Missoula and across the Idaho panhandle through Coeur d’Alene and on to Spokane before they can travel south into the remote area of central Idaho where home is located – a long and arduous journey. 

Frankly, I feel for Ina. Seeing the wonders of Yellowstone was interesting and educational, but I know she, Bernice, and Shirley had "down time" while they waited as the men fished. And now Ina is hungry for a decent nutritious meal. KW]

DAY 12 -- YELLOWSTONE TRIP 1926

 

AUGUST 7 -- YELLOWSTONE, THEN AND NOW

[I have no postcards from this day, but they apparently left Yellowstone at 5:00 p.m. on this date, as revealed in tomorrow’s postcard.

It looks like the family had so much fun touring Yellowstone National Park and the Jackson Lake area, but I see the downside, and today a visit to the Park is a very different experience. I asked AI to give me a comparison. Read on:]

My aunts -- Bernice and Shirley

It is easy to look at old photos from the 1920s and feel like early tourists had a more magical, unfettered experience. Visitors back then could walk right up to the edge of active geysers, feed black bears directly from their car windows, and explore the wilderness without crowds, boardwalks, or reservation systems. From a perspective of pure, lawless novelty, it certainly looked like a thrilling vacation. However, historians and park rangers point out that this unfiltered freedom came with severe, often hidden consequences that would shock a modern traveler.

The Chaotic Reality of 1920s Tourism

• Severe Safety Hazards: Without boardwalks or guardrails, early visitors frequently suffered severe, sometimes fatal burns from stepping through the fragile thermal crust into boiling acidic water.
• Violent Wildlife Encounters: Encouraging bears to feed on human food and garbage caused massive spikes in injuries. Dozens of tourists were hospitalized every year from bear bites and maulings, and the animals suffered from poor health and shortened lifespans.
• Widespread Destruction: Early tourists routinely threw logs, rocks, and trash into geysers to force eruptions. This permanently choked off the plumbing of several unique thermal features, destroying them for future generations.
• Ruined Landscapes: Soap and laundry detergent were regularly dumped into pristine pools like Morning Glory to change their surface tension and trigger bubbles, which accelerated the growth of damaging bacteria and altered their brilliant colors forever.

Why Today's Experience Offers a Different Kind of Value

While modern rules can feel restrictive, they were enacted to save the park from being loved to death. Today's visitors trade the chaotic, destructive freedom of the 1920s for a different set of benefits:

• Ecological Health: Thanks to strict management, Yellowstone is the only place in the lower 48 states that still retains all of its medium-to-large wild mammal species that existed before European settlement.
• True Wild Behavior: Instead of watching a garbage-fed bear beg for scraps by the roadside, modern tourists get to witness apex predators hunting, foraging, and raising their cubs in a completely wild, natural ecosystem.
• Preservation: The boardwalks ensure that the vibrant thermal pools and delicate microbial mats look exactly the same for you as they will for visitors a century from now.

Early tourists certainly had a wilder, more unscripted adventure, but modern visitors get to experience a healthier, more authentic ecosystem that has a chance of surviving into the future. [End AI]

[As a final word from me, the fact is that you must do your homework before visiting Yellowstone – or any national park, for that matter. You can’t do it your way. You have to know the rules. Tent camping -- actually "roughing it" -- is a thing of the past. You have to have a metal-sided camper and keep your food within secure metal boxes. And you must have a reservation for overnight stay.

A friend once said, "A seer of sights I am not." I agree. And to this I can add, "Been there; done that." The crowds can have it. KW]

DAY 11 -- YELLOWSTONE TRIP 1926

[It’s Friday, August 6, 1926. I am concerned that our family should be starting for home. It took them five days to get to Yellowstone, and it will take every bit of that to get home. So, what’s the hold up? Apparently the men are determined to fish, and yet they catch next to nothing.]

Ina wrote this postcard on August 6:

Dear Girls, We are camped on the Yellowstone almost nine miles above the falls and Grand Canyon. The men have gone fishing – crazy – but we’ll have to begin to hurry home. Each has caught a fine trout except Vance. They went off about 5 this A.M. in Lynn’s car to fish. Yesterday they tried it in the lake and river on Fishing Bridge but no luck, so we went on to Grand Canyon. I use only superlatives here to describe Upper and Lower Falls. Then we drove back about nine miles so they could fish. Lovely camp. Only two other parties here. A bear came into camp about 4:30 this A.M. and got the men up. He was turning over pots and pans. The girls are still sleeping, but I find it hard to do in more ways than one so got up and built a fire.

 

[Ina says that Earle took this photo of the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone from Inspiration Point. Dad and I didn't go. The road was closed for repairs and it was a two-mile walk, so only the "boys and girls" went.]

Point Lookout and the Lower Falls. Dad, Shirley, Bernice, and I are the people you see in the "log pen" on the point. Earle, Vance and Lynn came on down the rim and shot back from "Grand View."