EVENING PICTURES

I love the evening light. As the sun sets, it seems to work magic on whatever color we have. This year we sit in the midst of wheat fields which are still intensely green.

I always look out in the evening before the sun sets to see what I can see. Last night I saw a deer just to the west of the pond grazing in the wheat and decided to see if I could get a picture. "Sure you can," said Mike; "she'll watch you for at least five seconds before she runs."

 
Quietly I opened the door, crept out onto the porch, and quickly snapped a picture. She was still there, so I crept further out to the edge of the porch. She lifted her head, and I heard Mike say from inside the house, "Take it now." So, I took another.

Then she ran off, wise enough to head for the draw. KW

A SURREPTITIOUS WATCHER

Bess and Pepper were frequently active in the farm yard this past week. They played with each other -- cavorting in the open spaces, running around the house, or mixing it up a bit. Often the three dogs played at the pond.

I keep my laptop on Grandma Ina’s old “kitchen queen” cabinet in the corner of the dining room where my view is of the barn, the pond, and the field beyond.

The other night, I just happened to spot something in June’s field to the southeast, so I grabbed the binoculars for a better look. Then I took the camera and carefully opened the front door in order to get a picture.

I cropped the image twice in order to show the doe peering over the rise to watch Pepper and Bess playing in the yard. Can you see her? KW

THREE DOG DAY(S)

It’s been lovely but cool at Gilbert – blue sky with billowy white clouds, a warm sun, and a cool breeze. We could use some rain.

We came back to the farm on Monday (June 9), bringing with us our friend Pepper, Ken’s dog. She is in our care while her master travels.

Pepper has grown into a huge Shorthair. At 71 pounds, she’s one BIG girl! She seems to have a loving nature, but gentle she is not. Just three months older than Bess, the two of them share the fun-loving exuberance of young dogs. Queen Bess and Pepper mix it up pretty good when they want to, but feisty little Bess is not cowed by the big dog. Nellie, perhaps feeling older than all of us, stays out of the fray.

 

Farmer Kyle came in Monday morning and asked Mike to mow the grass at the curved edge of the field near the pond. Not one to let grass grow under his feet, so to speak, Mike completed that assignment before lunch.

Ken said that Pepper sleeps in the laundry room at home, and somehow Mike thought that would transfer readily to the laundry room here. WRONG! Ensconced with the old clunker the first night, Pepper set to whining and barking, and Bess, thinking we had an interloper, came out from her sleeping quarters in the shed to bark in answer. Human intervention was necessary. Mike showed Bess that the “mystery dog” was just Pepper, and to my amazement, that worked. Bess went quietly back to bed. Pepper was then moved to the sun porch where she cried for two hours, but I just inserted my ear buds and let my iPod tell me stories. I was asleep in no time.

Yesterday Mike and I discussed again Pepper’s sleeping quarters. Mike decided to leave her on the back (kitchen) porch with her pillow and blanket. She was much happier with that. She barked two or three times, but Mike “suggested” from our bedroom window that she cease – and she did. For tonight, Mike added the old barrel house in case she – or one of the other dogs – would care to use it. We just aren’t sure she can get in there.

I tell you what, though – it took two days, but those dogs are tired – all three of them. While Bess and Nell have treated our guest (Pepper) with some canine deference, they still hang together like best friends.

“I really prefer you, Nellie,” says Bess. “Do you think Pepper will be here forever?”

“Hard to tell,” says Nellie. “You’re still here.”

I’ve been making doll clothes, and Mike has a leather project. My zucchini has sprouted, and tonight we’ll have a baby spinach salad from our garden. Our entrée is grilled salmon roast, a gift from Ken and for dessert marshmallow rhubarb pudding cake.

We see very little hummingbird activity this year. What’s up with that? KW

BURNING THE OUTHOUSE

We finally got it done. The old outhouse is history. We burned it, and nothing bad happened.

For its first 83 years, the farmhouse had no plumbing, making the outhouse a fact of living in this place. When I was a child, its location was north of the house behind the woodshed facing east. The folks who lived here referred to its use as “going north.” My mother watched over my going north with great care so that I didn’t fall through the hole.

When I was still a very little girl, my dad moved the outhouse. It was essentially in the same location but turned to face west and perhaps moved a little farther north.

When I was older – 10 or so – and we stayed here at the farm during harvest, I could manage my own “going north” except in the middle of the night. I would awaken my mother to accompany me through the eerie, shadows.

When remodeling of the house began in 1998, the outhouse was again in use. Then the day came that I pushed on the door and it wouldn’t open. I heard the telltale rattle of snakes and screamed for Mike. I held the dog while he extracted two rattlesnakes. Neither Hallie nor I entered that place again. Before long we had indoor plumbing anyway.

So, now we had an aging dilapidated outhouse on the property. I know – some folks do cute, clever things with their outmoded outhouses, such as painting them bright colors and using them for potting sheds or something, but it wasn’t going to happen here. And then we drove in one spring to find the outhouse had toppled over and was sitting on its roof. At first we laughed, but it was an eyesore, and in 2012, as we hosted a party to celebrate our “century farm” status, I wanted it gone. It didn’t happen that year, though we managed to pull it over so that it was on its side instead of its top.

Yesterday (Monday, June 9) was the day. Mike had called in advance for the necessary burn permit. The outhouse sat in the midst of tall green grass which Mike predicted wouldn’t burn. I was skeptical. Discussion ensued. Mike said we had to do it before conditions became any drier – and on that point we agreed and proceeded.

Armed with matches, diesel, and some wastepaper, we approached the tumbled-down outhouse. The fire started readily and the old dry wood burned in a hurry.

Did the fire spread? Was it a “Mickey Warnock” experience? Well, almost. We failed to take into account the dry pine straw underlayment and yes, the fire attempted to spread, creeping along under the grass. However, we had hoses connected to both the house and the cistern, and there’s a firebreak between the yard and the field. We were able to control it.

 

And that’s all. And that’s that. And the next time you come, perhaps it will just be tall green grass where the outhouse once stood. Gone – and no visible evidence that it was ever there -- the last vestige of an era long over anyway. KW

SHOPPING FOR A WASHING MACHINE

Some years back, my friend Chris over at Miller’s Last Resort blogged about buying a new washing machine (here and here). She seemed – well, distraught – over the decision, and in the end she sent her husband to make the final selection and purchase. I thought at the time – with gentle affection -- that her reaction was a little over-the-top, but I’ve changed my mind. (I borrowed the picture off Chris' blog.)

It doesn’t seem possible, but it’s been ten years since Mike and I downsized from “the big house” to a new lifestyle, dividing our time between the farmhouse and the small modular town home. The big house sold quickly – three months before the modular home was delivered – during which time we lived in a camp trailer. Suddenly in the moving process, I realized that I would need to do our laundry. (Spending time at a laundromat didn’t appeal to me.) So, Mike bought an old GE clunker for $135 and hauled it to the farmhouse. He said it was just a stopgap, that eventually I could have a new machine, but I’m still using that clunker. For a couple of years it leaked yellow oil on the floor, and typical of its generation, it tends to “walk” when unbalanced. But hey! It runs and gets the clothes clean, so I’ve put up with it all these years.

Mike says the time has come for that new machine, so Saturday we stopped at two appliance stores. Interestingly enough, the disseminated information was the same at both stores. In fact, they even showed us the same models (basic top-loaders, such as Amana, Speed Queen, Whirlpool, and GE). Water efficiency is important to us, but both salesmen were quick to point out that with water efficiency, your clothes don’t get clean. At the same time, one salesman estimated we’re using 40 gallons of water per load with the old clunker. As we were leaving the second store, the salesman said, “Or, you could look at a front-loader.” But we’d already been there half an hour and I’d had enough.

The delivery charge to the farm would add $70 at both stores, though one salesman, a friend of Mike’s, offered to help him load it on the pick-up and then ride his motorcycle to the farm to help unload and install.

Suddenly I could understand Chris’ plight. It would just be fine with me if someone else made this decision.  I’ll accept the surprise with grace.

Another option is to take the present town machine, a 15-year-old Frigidaire Galaxy (just like the one in the Fargo series), to the farm, sell the dryer, and buy a new washer and dryer for town.

What do you think? KW

GRANDMA'S REBEKAH EMBLEMS

Recently I found my grandmother’s Rebekah emblems (pins) amongst family memorabilia and that set me to thinking about her. Grandma, Nina Portfors, left us unexpectedly in May 1955 when I was only five, so I don’t remember her very well – just enough to know she loved me.

 

My maternal grandparents, Charles O. and Nina Mae Portfors, were married at Melrose, Idaho, in 1906. She was 20; he was 31. Their first child, Francis Albert, was born in 1908. Their second, Murial Dorothy (my mother), was born in 1909. By 1920, the family was well-settled in Orofino where my grandfather owned the Ford garage. He and Grandma lived a comfortable life in a modest house on Brown Avenue.

While Grandpa was the breadwinner, of course, Grandma was the quintessential homemaker and “society woman” of her day. She lent her talents to the church and to lodges, notably Eastern Star and Rebekahs.

In the small towns of that era, the lodge was important for a number of reasons, and women who needed outlets beyond the home found lodge membership meaningful, providing opportunities for personal development and leadership. On the local level, the lodge connected individuals of various faiths and backgrounds. Participation on the state and national level was there for those who desired it.

 

The work of the lodge, whatever that might be, was seen to be important by the members. However, some organizations took themselves more seriously than others. According to my mother, Grandma once remarked that she didn’t see how the same group of people from Eastern Star could move over to the Odd Fellows Hall on a different night and have so much fun at the Rebekahs meeting.

Yes, Grandma clearly favored Rebekahs. In fact, she was president of the Idaho Rebekah Assembly in 1941, and while I don’t know the specifics of her duties, I’m sure it involved more than one year of dedicated service to the state organization, including travel for meetings. Grandma didn’t drive, but train service linked our Idaho towns in that era. I can just see her in her floor-length lace gown, proudly wearing the emblems awarded her for her membership and service.

But -- organizational protocol regarding these emblems provides that they should be returned to their home chapter, and we’re almost 60 years late doing that. KW

[Photos: The portrait of Nina Portfors was taken to commemorate her office as president of the Idaho Rebekah Assembly, 1941. The picture at the house shows Francis (Uncle Porkie) and Dorothy (my mother) with Grandma in the background. The Rebekah emblems will be returned to the chapter.]