THE BLOG MUSE

Somehow summer in our corner of the world overstayed its welcome, in my opinion. I’ve been ready to get on with autumn for several weeks, but without that chill in the air, as pleasant as those late summer days are, I just can’t get in the mood for holiday prep, and it’s time! The holiday silent auction is a month away (Nov. 20) and that same week is Thanksgiving (Nov. 22 -- early this year). Now I’m feeling a little pushed to finish things I promised. Feeling the push, a bit of the “blues,” lack of confidence in topic – and my muse goes away.

Today we came back to the farm for a couple of days. Except for a brief visit ten days ago, this is our first stay here since Elderberry Fest. I found the dishwasher full of clean dishes – lots of mugs and cereal bowls, the coffee pot still on the counter, and there’s that cookbook that Hallie returned. It’s a little lonely without Hallie and Nick all right, but they will be back . . .

The low in town was around 32 this morning and it was 42 when we arrived at the farm. We could tell there had been wind and rain, but the furniture was still on the porch. We scouted for elderberries and game birds, observed that the deer have been eating Italian prunes, picked up small limbs in the yard, trimmed back the hollyhocks, and found the garbage can lid. Mike lit the pilot light on the wall furnace and let it run for a while. This evening a cheery fire will burn in the fireplace.

It’s not a really beautiful fall. A long, hot, dry summer does not produce beautiful fall color. However, in the photo left, this “Autumn Purple Ash” at the town house is an exception, perhaps because it’s located on our drip system. In this picture it glows in early morning sunlight. The silver maple in the farm yard, below, does not show beautiful autumn color any year.

The garden, on the south side of the farmhouse, isn’t quite convinced that it’s fall. The strawberries are producing new leaves and even blossoms! I trimmed off the blossoms, covered the plants with pine straw, and told them good-night. I found two young zucchini that I picked for our supper – and one carrot that I missed last month.

 

This afternoon my sewing time was devoted to shortening three pair of Koret denim pants. I would rather have done something else, but I do have that feeling of accomplishment.

And just one last note for today. While we were hiking this morning, a coyote crossed our path and headed on down toward the canyon.

Photos:

1) From south of the farm yard.

2) Mike and Nellie head around the pond to see if they can find a covey of Hungarian partridge. No, but they had been there not long before.

3) Looking northwesterly from the canyon rim -- beyond Central Ridge to the Melrose Country.

4)  An "Autumn Purple Ash" in Clarkston.

5) The silver maple my dad planted in the farm yard years ago.

6) Nellie, her chin pressed to the windowsill, watching Mike as he works in the yard.  KW

A GOOD HUNTING DOG

Wind and rain have finally cleared our atmosphere. It’s good once again to be able to see the definition of the hills and the blue of the sky. And so closes the chapter on the great fire season of 2012.

Nellie, Mike’s German Shorthair Pointer, doesn’t question her mission in life to go off in quest of game birds. Anything we have in her by way of being a good pet is over and above her instinct to hunt, though in recent years the Shorthair has been bred to bring out better sociability. (Listen to me talk about dog breeding!)

Mike and Ken are both avid bird hunters, and last week they took the dogs, our Nellie and Ken’s Mac, and went to the Nampa area to hunt in Idaho and Oregon. Two days of strenuous hunting were hard on Nellie, whose front paws showed the effects of the rugged conditions. Mike arrived home with her Friday night (Oct. 12), and she spent Saturday resting on her pillow. She didn’t even get up to eat. We treated her paws with aloe vera.

As Ken and Mike loaded the car for Sunday’s outing, Nellie refused to go. I mean, Nellie loves to hunt, but she went up on the bank above our house and stayed there, as if to say, “I just can’t. You guys go on without me.” As Mike put it, “She knows something isn’t right.” After they left – and a hunter doesn’t like to leave his dog behind – she came when I called her and curled up on her pillow again.

By Monday Nellie felt a little better and we took several walks. The afternoon was unseasonably warm and pleasant, and on that day – October 15 – we had the house open. And here’s something that further indicates what a strange year we’re having. Nellie and I were walking up South Slope Road in our town neighborhood when I spied a small snake in the road. Thinking it was just a small, non-venomous snake I sorta stomped in its direction to shoo it away – and it coiled and began to strike toward me! It was actually a baby rattlesnake! To see a rattlesnake at this time of year is unusual, but to see a baby is really strange. I could hear only a slight buzz from its undeveloped rattles. Nellie and I looked at each other and wordlessly turned around to head back home. Mike says that even the venom of young rattlers is dangerous. (I know – I should never walk without the camera.)

Nellie was back to her old self today, and when Mike got out her hunting collars she greeted the signs of a hunt enthusiastically, climbing on my lap to share her joy.

“She did great,” Mike responded to my inquiry as to how Nellie fared. “She’s a good hunting dog.” KW

AUTUMN ABUNDANCE

The Dobson family lived the good farm life, which means they had plenty to eat and not much cash. That’s why I constantly marvel that they had a camera. Occasionally, probably as funds allowed, they would take a lot of pictures. Then I’ll notice a gap of perhaps five years before another series of pictures. 

In 1912, they took a lot of pictures. Ina, my grandmother, even hung a sheet and experimented with artistic expression. The “still life”  above, which I call “autumn abundance,” appears to be one of the 1912 series -- and also this cute picture of Aunt Ethel holding Aunt Shirley with Vance (my dad) behind her shoulder. I think the picture is charming, even if the girls and the doll could be better posed.

Recently I came upon a pretty little notebook with pencil attached in the Dobson memorabilia box. “Garden Book, 1935,” says the first page, written in ink in a neat, legible hand – probably Aunt Shirley’s. Grandma Ina’s penciled scrawl shows up on page 2. So, the two of them were keeping notes on the garden and an inventory of what they canned. Shirley’s handwriting disappears with the 1936 entries – perfectly reasonable since she married in June 1937. Grandma’s entries continue off and on until 1946.

I’ve noticed the little notebook before, of course, but today I discovered some fun things. The actual notebook was probably a freebie advertising American Wire Rope, which was sold by John Oud Hardware Company, Orofino. And then someone, perhaps Aunt Shirley, glued pretty pictures over the front and back and attached the little pencil on a string -- really quite clever.

Some of the entries seem out of order and I didn’t understand until I realized they were inventories by date of canned products remaining on the shelf and not chronological notes. Other notes include planting information as well as canning methods.

Here’s one of Aunt Shirley’s entries:

“Canning record for 1935: Peas – 23 quarts canned the 3-hour way. Note from 1934 tried and proved. Can like this in 1936. Cook open pot till tender, then one hour process. Taste fresher.” (Bear in mind that they canned on a wood stove.)

She goes on to expand the inventory:

Beans – 24 quarts

Beets – 6 quarts

Tomato puree

Cherries (Olivet) – 16 quarts

Apricots (Clarkston, Wn) -- 24 pints

Peaches (Elberta – 1 box) – 15 pints

Pears (local) – 13 pints

Elderberries – 3 pints

In 1942, Ina made this entry: “To can raspberries make a thin syrup and pour boiling hot over berries. Put jars into hot water about same as jars are after syrup is on. [?] Bring to a boil, then pull to back of stove for a little longer, 10 to 15 minutes. This is fine. Try to put up strawberries same way, also Logans, etc. Myrtle and I canned raspberries as above this year of 1942.”

Ina’s notes and inventories were meaningful to her, and of course, she never thought that anyone else would read these scrawlings. But, of course, I do read them and I have questions:

I know the “Olivets” were sour cherries, but does she call the sour cherry trees that were behind the house “Olivets” and is that the same as a Montmorency?

Did the Italian prunes come from the trees in the Stove Creek gulley? Did she pick them or did someone pick them for her?

Youngberries, Loganberries, blackberries, raspberries – Were these bushes on the property? How did she come by the huckleberries? I know where the gooseberry bush was – at the top of the lane, and maybe I remember currants, too, though I don’t know where the bush was.

And yes, she mentions elderberries but doesn’t say in what form she canned them. I wonder how she used the elderberries. KW

NOT YOUR EVERYDAY OCCURRENCE (THANK GOODNESS!)

[This post was updated to include a picture of the Subaru.]

We have been in town since Elderberry Fest closed on September 30. We had appointments, meetings, hunting trips – so we just stayed in town. And besides, that smoke just hangs in the air and Clearwater County seems to get the worst of it.

Mike is preparing for yet another out-of-the-area hunting trip, but I said we just had to make a trip to the farm to check the pears I left on the porch. I could go alone, we agreed, but we decided to make it a combined bird hunt, check-on-the-pears, get-what-we-need togetherness trip. We left the town house early – about 7:30.

As we traveled Highway 12, we had passed the spot known as Cherry Lane and in one of the big bends, we had just passed an empty flat-bed truck. We were at the point where the westbound traffic (coming toward us) has a passing lane. Suddenly a white Subaru station wagon traveling west at highway speed veered off the road and disappeared over the embankment toward the river. Mike immediately pulled off the road and stopped, the truck right behind us. The truck driver was already on the phone with emergency services.

Long story short, the driver of the Subaru, a young woman, failed to negotiate the curve of the road – perhaps fell asleep. The vehicle carried her across rocky terrain to the river, which happened to be shallow at that point. The vehicle didn’t roll and took a path where there were no trees. When I reached the site, the driver had already left the car, waded through shallow water, and Mike and another passerby were helping her to the bank. What was her reaction? She placed a call on her cell phone – probably to her dad -- and mostly ignored those of us who were on site and trying to help her. I really do cut her a lot of slack for what was surely a traumatic experience. I feel blessed today for having found her alive.
 

By the way, the fisherman across the river appeared not to miss a cast and did not get involved. He was on the other side of the river, but I  did wonder -- if it had been a fatality would he have kept on fishing? 

We did not tarry. Emergency services were on the way, and the truck driver, having placed the call, was charged with the responsibility of staying on site until they arrived, which he seemed only too happy to do. We continued on our way.

The pictures here are not about the accident but about the hike I took at the farm. Mike and Nellie were hunting, and I just didn’t feel up to tramping the steep hillside. Instead I took a different route, hiking over June’s place and taking pictures of the smoke-filled canyons.

The hunt was unsuccessful and Mike arrived at the house before I did, so he came looking for me on the 4-wheeler. He found me by the time he was at the top of June's hill. I was sorry he worried. I hardly ever get lost on the farm.

And the pears? Not as bad as I had feared. I had two two-gallon buckets full. I sorted through and tossed eight of them. I brought the rest to town and have yet to decide what to do with them.

I had carried a lunch for us, but having accomplished our chores, we decided to go back to town in the forenoon. That's how it is when life is filled with such exciting things to do. 

[Photo 1: Mike and Nellie crossing June's field beyond the pond.

Photo 2: Looking down Stove Creek and across Little Canyon to Central Ridge.

Photo 3: The farmyard.

Photo 4: A picture of the Subaru in the Clearwater River which appeared on the front page of The Lewiston Tribune on Wednesday, October 10, 2012.
Photo 5: Another view to Central Ridge.

Photo 6: Looking southward into Little Canyon, which is filled with smoke.

Photo 7: And this looks northwesterly into the smoke-filled canyon above Peck.] KW