CHANGING PLANS

Mike and I returned to town last Sunday morning (Aug. 21). It wasn’t quite convenient to leave the farm. The pear slices in the drier weren’t ready yet. But – I made room in the refrigerator for the drier trays and hoped that a two-day interruption in the process wouldn’t hurt much. I also watered the gardens. I didn’t pack much to take back because, after all, we would return in a day or two.

As we neared the bottom of Gilbert Grade, my phone rang, and son Clint explained that he had wrecked his motorcycle the previous evening. The bike was totaled, he said, and his hand was broken. I was at once dismayed for his trouble and overjoyed that his injuries weren’t worse and his life was intact. He wanted to know if Mike could help him bring the motorcycle back to town that afternoon, so after reaching Orofino, we turned around and went right back to the farm for the trailer. After arriving in town, Mike and Clint went to Colfax to get the motorcycle out of storage there. (Clint has since had surgery on his hand and is working through issues related to work, insurance, etc.)

Meanwhile, I decided I really needed to consult our dentist about a troublesome tooth, and I couldn’t get an appointment until Tuesday afternoon. So, we could return to the farm Wednesday, we decided. But geocaching friends said they were making a day trip to Bonny Lake near Rosalia, WA, to retrieve a geocache by means of kayaks on Wednesday. Wouldn’t Mike like to go along? I thought he should go. Such excursions are better with the support of others. We could go back to the farm on Thursday.

Wednesday morning, Mike said, “I’d like to put the Barracuda in the ‘Show and Shine’ Thursday night.” And now I’m beginning to realize that the garden on the farm is likely going to wilt again. But, oh well! It’s late in the season and not worth giving it priority.

So, we stayed in town through Thursday and returned to the farm Friday morning. The tomato and squash plants in the tire bed were badly wilted but revived with water. I picked a quart of delicious cherry tomatoes and one “Heritage” beefsteak tomato. But – while the sun is hot, the breeze is cool, whispering to the plants that autumn is on the way. And if you don’t believe it, just visit a Jo-Ann’s store. KW

[The photos here were taken yesterday, August 26. Clint's motorcycle sits on the trailer in town. The others are of various stages of field burning in the area of the farm.]

   

FIRE THREAT AVERTED

…so with a west wind I don’t think we could have saved the house after this grove got afire. Ina Dobson, 1934

Harvest in N. field 2015

People have asked us if our farm property south of the Clearwater River near Orofino has been threatened during this fire season. We answer no, although fire danger is high everywhere with hot, dry conditions.

Harvest 2015

Harvest on our places was completed on August 18. Mike and I watched as the last field, the north 40, was harvested in an hour by two big combines. And that left the house sitting in the middle of dry stubble fields. (Hold that thought.)

Thursday afternoon (Aug. 27), we decided to travel back to the farm. Tired of packing and unpacking, I simply put a few perishables in a small cooler and a little produce in a box. I topped off the red crate, our perpetual farm tote, with bread and the camera.  

“The trouble is,” I said to Mike, “that in doing this so quickly, we’re bound to leave behind something we truly need.” He agreed. (We know ourselves very well.)

Yeah – we left behind the red crate with the bread and the camera. We coped with the lack of bread with biscuits and crackers, but I dearly missed the camera, which makes life so much more interesting.

The air was fairly clear as we arrived at the farm, but Friday morning the stinky, acrid stuff crept in again. Nevertheless, Mike made a day trip to Freeman Creek on the Dworshak Reservoir, his last motocaching trip of the year, he says. The good news is that he found all the caches. The bad news is that while he was hiking, his helmet and goggles (both brand new) were stolen at the nearly deserted campground where he parked his Yamaha XT.

A pre-harvest view of the N. field

Saturday morning (Aug. 29), we returned to town due to dense smoke, arriving just as a predicted windstorm came up. It blew through, taking the smoke with it, but leaving downed trees and power lines in its wake.

We didn’t learn about the fire at the farm until about 5:30. Farmer Kyle called to say a fire in the north field had burned about ten acres and was under control. A fire break was now in place between the house and the field, he said. We learned more when neighbor Karen called to say that her husband, John, had seen the fire early on and investigated. The wind blew the power line down which ignited a fire in the stubble. John, a retired farmer, brought a disc to make the initial fire break. As many as seventy-five fire fighters then arrived to help with the effort.

So, we missed the excitement, and no, we didn’t run right back to the farm. I felt tempted, but we were assured that all was under control and any threat to the house and barn averted. And what would we do anyway? We’re grateful to our alert neighbors who knew just what to do. 

I understand that no pictures were taken. Those who were there were busy. KW

SMOKE CANCELS PLANS

Mike and I loaded up the Dakota and headed to the farm yesterday (Tuesday, Aug.26) intending to stay a few days, but the smoke from regional wildfires was so dense that we immediately realized we should return to town. We agreed that calling a neighbor for a smoke report could have saved us some effort, but on the other hand, we had to see it for ourselves.

Westerly from the grove over N. field

From grove toward Plank's

Meanwhile, since we were there, we watered, and the opportunity to do that was worth the trip to me. The pond is low but Mike ascertained that the cistern still holds plenty of water. The little apple tree, bare root stock planted in May, is stressed. I'm not sure it will make it. The sweet cherry tree is still doing well. The pear tree is old and struggling, but I picked a few pears which are now cooling in the fridge.

A few small tomatoes were ripe for picking. They’re quite small and the skins are tough but they taste good. The summer squash had no ready fruit but are blooming and setting on. Surprisingly, the ever-bearing strawberries are flourishing. I picked a cup of ripe berries and there will be more. We had strawberry shortcake for supper last night. (I know this is all sorta boring, but you just can't imagine how pleased I am that the garden survived my 2 1/2 week absence during the heat.)

Toward Little Canyon

Mike wanted to practice with his Remington 12-gauge pump, so I pulled clay pigeons for him from the second story of the barn out over June’s field. Then we jumped back in the pick-up and drove home through dense smoke on Russell Ridge.

 

Back in town, the smoke has cleared in Critchfield gulch, though haziness lingers. KW

DOGGIE TALES ON SMOKY DAYS

Over the weekend our valley filled with smoke from regional wildfires. Nevertheless, the dogs and I walked twice a day, and sometimes I carried the camera. The pictures here were taken Sunday, Aug. 23.

Mike left early Friday (Aug. 21) to attend the memorial service for his mother in Camden, Arkansas. He met sons Murray and Yancey at the Little Rock airport and they drove from there to Camden.

But – that isn’t my story. I stayed behind to take care of the dogs. And no one knows better than Bess and Nellie that I’m really not a dog disciplinarian. With a few whimpers, a push of the snout, or a soulful look, I can be had. We walked twice a day. We ate more than that. And I became adept at eating out of many dishes so that both dogs got a fair share of the lickings.

Walking the dogs has practically become a two-person event because Nellie lags behind while Bess is up ahead. It may surprise you to know that I am the fast walker and keep Bess in sight while Mike walks more slowly behind with Nellie. Especially on the return, Nellie slows way down, but we notice that if we put a leash on her, she steps right along.

Well, the other day as we were on the return side of our walk, Bess spied a jogger with dog up ahead and she was there! She took off running, and I whistled for her – an exercise in futility. After she and the stranger greeted, she continued running on down the road instead of coming back to me. Whistling was useless. As I continued at Nellie's moderate pace, I couldn’t imagine what was going through Bess’ dog mind to make her run like that, but then it occurred to me that we seldom blow the whistle during our walks. We whistle for her at the back door. I realized that the whistle drew a mind-picture of the house and that was likely where I would find her. Sure enough! When I got home, there she was. “Why did you want me to come here,” she seemed to ask. I commended her for coming home. I mean – what can you do?

That wasn’t as upsetting as what happened with Nellie. She and Bess went out Friday night after supper. Bess came back; Nellie didn’t. I assumed she would be right along and didn’t worry. Some minutes later, the phone rang. “Do you have a white shorthair,” the caller asked. “She’s in my back yard.” The man was really a neighbor located across the field from us, but in order to expedite matters, I drove there. As he escorted Nellie through the gate of his fenced yard, she took took off running across the street and into another back yard. From there she disappeared. I realized she was upset and just didn’t recognize me. I drove back home, got the leash, and headed out on foot. As luck would have it I found her half a block away and had no trouble getting her home. I should have kenneled her at that point, but I didn’t have the heart.

Then we had another adventure Sunday morning. As usual, Bess was a bit ahead while Nellie lagged behind. Lagging is one thing, but she wasn’t coming at all, so I turned back to “encourage” her. I saw her struggling somewhat in the middle of a weed patch, so I approached her to see what the trouble was. She was in a patch of puncture weeds. She would try to chew them out, but when she put her foot back down, she just picked up more. I had no choice but to pick her up and carry her out of that area. She hates to be carried, but it had to be done, and I was grateful I could do it. Once I cleared her feet of the puncture weeds, I discovered the soles of my shoes were just a solid mass of them.

Don’t you think I deserve a reward, though? I was thinking of adding Maryellen Larkin to my staff. KW