MORE "DECORATION DAY" MEMORIES

It can be rainy and cool on Memorial Day, as it was this year, but Mother’s celebration was never cancelled on account of the weather – or anything else, for that matter. I remember a year or two when the rain fell in a driving wind at the Burnt Ridge Cemetery. We hopped out of the car and quickly made bouquets while the wind whipped our skirts. Then we propped the bouquets beside the graves, hoped for the best, and drove off.

I feel a little guilty for not continuing my mother’s Memorial Day traditions. If we’re at the farm, we place artificial flowers on family graves at the Gilbert Cemetery in remembrance of my dad and his people, but I never carry a bouquet to Mother’s grave.

That’s right. My parents are not buried together. Mother is buried with her first husband, Fairly Walrath, at the Normal Hill Cemetery while my dad is buried at the Gilbert Cemetery with his family. This was determined before they were married. Mother’s plot was next to Fairly, and my dad was included in the family plot at Gilbert. I was troubled that the name on Mother’s grave is “Dorothy Walrath” when for the last 50 years of her life, her name was “Dorothy Dobson,” so we added the notation: “Married Vance Dobson, 1947.”

I say my dad was included in the family plot, but through some mix-up for which Uncle Ernest Robinson was responsible, my dad’s place was usurped. To compensate, my dad and Aunt Ethel were cremated and interred on top of Uncle Ernest’s grave. And that’s legal. (Yes, there are rules that govern this sort of thing.) Well, it serves Uncle Ernest right! The whole thing is rather funny now, but I remember the day when remaining family members realized they were short burial plots. No one was laughing.

One Memorial Day in the early 1960s, we arranged to meet sister Nina, who lived in Lewiston, at the Normal Hill Cemetery in the late afternoon/evening. The days were long, so there should be no problem, right? We’d be finished and gone well before dark. For some reason, Nina was quite late, and so there we were – Grandpa Portfors, Mother, and me – waiting for her. As it got later and later, we noticed Grandpa becoming more and more agitated and upset. When Nina finally arrived, Grandpa paced impatiently while the bouquets were made, then placed one on Grandma’s grave and hurried to the car. It was then we realized that he was superstitious about the cemetery. It didn’t matter that we would have daylight for two more hours. It was after 6:00 and he was taking no chances. KW

DECORATION DAY

Nina and Charlie Portfors

In the 1930s, my grandparents, Charlie and Nina Portfors, began a Memorial Day tradition of visiting the Burnt Ridge Cemetery near Troy, Idaho, because Grandma’s mother and grandparents were buried there. In those days, Memorial Day, also called “Decoration Day,” was celebrated on the designated date, May 31^st, regardless of where it fell in the week. Dressed in their Sunday best and with cut flowers from their garden in the trunk, Grandma and Grandpa drove the 50 miles or so to Troy.

The Burnt Ridge Cemetery was probably the only one my grandparents visited, but life never stays the same. In 1945, my mother’s husband, Fairly Walrath, was killed in an accident, and he was buried at the Normal Hill Cemetery in Lewiston, 45 miles from Orofino. Mother said she chose Normal Hill because it had such good care. At that time, Grandpa Portfors purchased the adjacent plot for himself and Grandma.

Then in May 1955, Grandma Portfors died suddenly, and she was buried in the Normal Hill plot sooner than anyone expected, especially Grandpa. Now it was important to him to visit the Normal Hill Cemetery as well as to honor Grandma’s tradition of visiting the Burnt Ridge Cemetery.

So, my mother stepped in and took over the organization of Memorial Day cemetery visitations. It was challenging because it was more than could be easily done in one day. We had to have enough flowers for all the graves, and we had to plan for meals. (The living need to eat.)

Whether Mother visited cemeteries on Memorial Day prior to Grandma’s passing I don’t know, but she embraced the tradition at that point. I loved it! In the early years, we picked flowers from the yard and put them in washtubs and buckets in the trunk of Grandpa Portfors’ Lincoln. We had lilacs, iris, coral bells, narcissus, peonies, roses, hawthorn, and occasionally a tulip or two. At the cemetery, we made individual bouquets and put them in 64-ounce “Hi-C” juice cans saved by sister Joni. (Remember when juice came in cans?)

The passing years brought challenges to this activity. I grew up and could no longer help. Juice no longer came in cans. There were more graves, more cemeteries, and fewer flowers. Mother wasn’t interested in artificial flowers – just not her idea of life – so she began to plant boxes. We had some metal ones, and my dad built some wooden ones for her. She placed the boxes on Memorial Day, and then ideally, someone picked them up so that they could be re-used the next year. 

What began as a simple activity of remembrance morphed into work and expense. But -- it was still a labor of love. KW

A HIKE WITH BESS

Friday, May 20 – After the disposer work, Mike and Murray cleared the grove of limbs and tree debris. Mike cut the larger limbs into small firewood and hauled the rest to the burn pile. And while they worked, I toured the “meadow” behind the house. Now that Mike isn’t mowing that area, I notice the native sunflowers are enjoying the chance to spread, and that’s good. I also fed the rhubarb plants and the strawberries with Miracle Gro.

Murray left at 2:00, and Mike decided to take a “leisurely” neighborhood bike ride. While he was gone, I grabbed the camera and invited Bess to walk down the lane with me, but as usual, she steered us to the pond instead. A pair of mallard ducks paddled on the far bank of the pond, unperturbed by our presence. The male is obvious in the photo while the female is camouflaged.

Bess then headed out into the field, so I followed her. She led us south, and when I got to the top of the rise, I saw a herd of whitetail deer at the south rim of the canyon. I count at least 17 in my photo. 

Then we headed on to the west rim and walked the perimeter of the field back to the house. Bess was delighted to find a bone, so she sashayed quickly to the house, leaving me to find my way alone.

A rivulet runs to Stove Creek

Mike was surprised that I hiked in my everyday shoes, but I was able to avoid the muddy spots. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t hike the fields at this time of year because of the ticks, but we haven’t noticed any. I think it’s too cold for them.

Saturday, the farmer came in with a huge sprayer and sprayed the north field, probably weed control. Not long after he left, the impending thunderstorm and heavy rain hit, so I suspect whatever he applied was diluted. 

The days are warmer here in town, and I’m finally wearing lighter clothes. However, according to the forecast, the temp will drop by 20 degrees day after tomorrow. KW

THE DISPOSER INSTALLATION FROM HELL

With my assistance, Mike installed the new disposer in the farmhouse sink – not just once but four times. It began with hours and ended up being days. To tell you the truth, I was going to gloss over all the trouble we had, thinking it must be related to the aging process. And while that kicks in now and then, after talking to a few people and reading the reviews on this disposer – the InSinkErator Badger 900 – I decided that maybe it isn’t just us after all.

For some reason, we thought we wanted a hefty unit, so we bought the 900. The old unit had been an InSinkErator, and we thought it would be easier to replace with the same brand. The Badger 900 is heavy, and it takes someone who works out regularly (or a glutton for punishment) to lie flat on his back and lift it while the assistant guides the placement. So – after much effort, when the first installation was in place, we congratulated ourselves, but it leaked, so we dejectedly took it back out and applied more sealant. Once in place again, it still leaked, apparently at the drain rim.

Well, I can’t keep track of all the ins and outs, but we finally thought it was good and we ran the dishwasher. Long story short, it didn’t pump out, and we naturally thought the worst – that the pump had failed. The dishwasher is 20 years old, after all.

That brings me to Friday (May 20), when son Murray came for lunch. I was happy to let him be first assistant for a while. With his assistance, Mike reinstalled the disposer, and they disconnected the dishwasher and pushed it to the sunporch. Mike’s plan was to remove the motor assembly for repair or replacement, but fortunately, he didn’t have the right tool.

In the process of reading disposer tutorials on Saturday, I came across a helpful bit of info. “And note,” said the narrator, “if you are connecting a dishwasher to your disposer, you will need to knock out the plug where you connect the dishwasher drain.” We felt pretty stupid, but both son Milo and brother Chuck  said, "I've done that."

So, Mike knocked out the plug and reinstalled the disposer. Then we pushed the dishwasher back into place and ran it with no problems. We congratulated ourselves that we were finally successful -- that is, until I used the disposer while preparing Sunday dinner. I just poured a little meat juice down the disposer and ran it, but it smoked! In discussion with an appliance repairman, he suggested we check connections – which Mike did – and just return it as faulty if everything looked okay. It did look okay – and we have now returned it.

So – we spent virtually all week coping with this problem, and it isn’t over yet. KW

[I took the pictures here on a hike with Bess on Friday, May 20.]

WET AND COLD

Note snow on the distant mountains. Green fields are not planted.

Mike and I returned to town last Thursday (May 12) but not before Mike, who was wandering around the house in his stocking feet, discovered that the mat in front of the sink was sopping wet. Investigating, we determined that the disposer was leaking and would have to be replaced. I can get excited about new kitchen appliances and gadgets, but the disposer is not one of them.

We spent the weekend in town doing town things – weeding, cycling, working on motorcycles, organizing the next sewing project, buying groceries and supplies (including the new disposer), etc. A storm Sunday evening (May 15) dumped a quarter of an inch of rain in half an hour. It rained a little more Monday morning.

Tuesday (May 17), we returned to the farm. We left the town house at 7:55, just before time to get my 8:00 o’clock steps, so when Mike stopped for gas, I got out and marched around the perimeter of the store. An employee greeted me cheerily and said, “Getting your steps?”

I couldn’t believe the steady stream of traffic on the highway heading west into town as we traveled east. The traffic wasn’t bad going our way.

I like to tour the farm yard as soon as we arrive, and as I did, a hummingbird buzzed me. Both feeders had been drained, so I quickly boiled some nectar. We see the hummers regularly now – at least four at a time – and yes, they fight with one another.

Of course, our first real chore was to install the new disposer. Mike installed one in the modular home a few years back, and it was a fairly quick project, but this one was terrible. He was on his back under the sink trying to lift and manipulate the heavy unit while I assisted. It was especially difficult to get the snap ring in place. We watched tutorials. We read tutorials. We were finally successful, but it didn’t seal well around the sink, so we have to do it again. Not looking forward to it.

As if that grueling work wasn’t enough for Mike, he then mowed the main yard. And after that, we took Bess for her afternoon walk – her favorite time of day.

Fruit trees and daffodils -- my meadow

And while we were out on the road, Farmer Kyle drove up, and we commiserated with him over the chilly weather and wet ground. He said the weather would be fine if it were March instead of May. He can’t plant when it’s wet because the ground gets hard as it dries out. It just needs to be warmer – at least 70 – and the prediction is that this won’t happen consistently until the first of June, and that’s too late to plant. Another downside of the inability to plant is that it throws off the crop rotation. Meanwhile, more rain is in the forecast. It rained today, and the high was a chilly 50 degrees.

Still swampy under clothesline; note rhubarb.

Mike went out to finish the mowing at 8:00 this morning. He said it’s the first time he’s had to wear a jacket and winter gloves to mow. It’s so “swampy” that he couldn’t mow near the barn or in other low places.

Meanwhile, in the house we have settled into rural domesticity. We have a fire in the insert, and the house feels cozy. KW

THE PASSING OF THE iPod

It was Christmas 2008 when I bought my iPod Nano. In those days, remember, local shopping was fairly good, and Hallie was with me at Walmart. I don’t remember whose idea it was that I should have an iPod – probably Hallie’s because I don’t think I knew anything about them. I remember asking her if it was worth the $200 I would pay for it, or if it would soon be replaced by new technology. She opined that it was technology that was here to stay.

I immediately loved my iPod. Initially we transferred music and lectures from my CDs by way of my laptop. (Remember when CD drives were standard with computers?) And then son Murray suggested that I might enjoy a podcast. As soon as I discovered old-time radio podcasts, that became my interest. I’d rather listen than watch any day.

So now, 13+ years later, I’m still using my iPod as Apple announces that they are discontinuing the it altogether. I know, folks use their phones for everything these days, even listening to music and podcasts, but I like the simplicity of managing my podcasts on my iPod My favorite programs line up by presenter as well as chronologically, and I like that better than a hodgepodge of various programs, some of which I don’t care about.

Apparently I’m not the only one who feels partial to the iPod. An Apple representative recently said that she had heard from many people, both young and old, who prefer to listen with the iPod rather than their phones. We like that the iPod is dedicated to just one function.

I have used my iPod daily for 13+ years. I suspect it’s on borrowed time, and when it fails, it will be the end of a long friendship. I felt like I had a close call the other night when my iPod locked up as I connected it to my laptop to update my podcasts. This happens occasionally and there’s a procedure to reset it, but I haven’t had to do it in years. Fortunately, I was successful in resetting it, but for half an hour, I feared my good friend was a goner.

One thing is certain. I got my $200’s worth. KW

CLEAN-UP AT THE FARM

A Pondful of Water

Mother’s Day is history, and once again I’m glad to get past it. For those of us who miss our mothers, even if you’re used to the fact that your mother is gone, Mother’s Day is not an easy celebration. Don’t get me wrong. As a mother, I’m blessed on Mother’s Day, but I no longer have a role as daughter. All the hype that I should buy, make, and bake in appreciation of my mother is hard to take. And anyway, the best projects are fall / winter, and I’m organizing my Halloween and Christmas projects. (Think Silas!)

As we begin to plan for summer, it’s still chilly, and here at the farm, it’s downright COLD (35 Wednesday morning) and also SOGGY, especially in the low places. The pond is spilling its banks. Wearing his big waterproof boots, Mike set up the clothesline in the middle of a puddle. I won’t be able to use it for several weeks. It’s hard to believe that in another month we’ll be complaining about the heat. Okay, six weeks. Maybe.

Speaking of heat, Mike and I made a trip to the house attic and were surprised to discover that it’s hot up there. Mike opened the windows for ventilation.

One side of the east door of the dilapidated (but historic and picturesque) old barn slipped off its rail during the winter and had to be reattached.

“I’ll climb the ladder, and you lift up on the door at the bottom,” instructed Mike, illustrating what he wanted me to do.

So, we tried that. “It’s hitting something and I can’t budge it,” I said, trying hard to lift the door.

“Well, you climb the ladder and slip it onto the rail while I lift,” said Mike.

So, up the ladder I went, but I couldn’t pull the door high enough to slip over the rail. I needed another inch, but we couldn’t do it.

“Okay. You come back down here, and I’ll go up the ladder,” instructed Mike, but we were still unsuccessful.

I don’t know how many times we traded places, but we finally got that door back on the railing.

So glad that we can still solve our own problems!

A few calliope hummingbirds are visiting the feeders regularly. I watched a bunny sitting among the daffodils in the yard and wished that I could show it to Silas. Deer are everywhere.

Both rhubarb plants are growing and I must feed them. All three young apple trees look good.

Mike’s project has been to clean out the ditches that run beside the lane. The spring run-off causes erosion. I think we need someone with know-how and equipment to help us.

I gave the mechanical room a good cleaning, tossing a lot of junk. We replaced two old vacuums with a new Eureka Mighty Mite. Now I have one upstairs and another downstairs. No more lugging a heavy vacuum up and down the stairs, except or course, to vacuum the stairs. But the Mighty Mite is light.

At any rate, the house is getting cleaner and tidier, and it feels dry and cozy. It’s good to be back. KW