CACHING ALONG THE KENDRICK TRAIL

I get antsy when my study and sewing is neglected. Mike gets antsy when we have a dry spell without geocaching.

Our last geocaching excursion was December 23. I remember it well. It was the day Hallie and Nick left after our Christmas celebration. That being six weeks ago, Mike had been watching the weather for a good opportunity to get out. Yesterday (Saturday, Feb. 9) was the day.

After breakfast I packed snacks for man and dog, the camera, and my cell phone. Mike had his GPS, his phone, some maps, and also the old “Gary Fisher” mountain bike. And so, the three of us set off for a fun day of geocaching along the Potlatch River at Kendrick, 23 miles east of Lewiston, where the defunct railroad track has been converted to a hiking/biking trail.

First, we left the mountain bike in a ditch on the trail east of town, across the highway from the old Brammer home. (The house and grounds surely miss the Brammers.)

Then we drove two miles to the other side of town. Here’s Mike at a cache on Little Bear Creek behind the school.  Note his “geocaching pants” with pen and stamp in a pocket on the leg.

Then we parked the Dakota at the point where this series of caches began.

 It’s winter and things weren’t always as they should be with the caches. Some were water damaged. For some, the clues were meaningless, such as “yellow flowers behind leafy bush” or “silver leaves.” Other caches were exposed or just plain missing.

“I hope the dog isn’t bored,” remarks Mike as we walk along.

“You hope – the dog – isn’t bored?” 

Here Mike and Nellie locate a cache on the other side of the fence.

After logging the last cache in the series, Mike rode the bike back to where we left the Dakota. In the time he was gone, Nellie and I walked to the city limits where Mike picked us up.

With that, you might think we’d be finished and ready to return home. No-no, not us! At Juliaetta, the little town about three miles west of Kendrick, we turned onto McGarry Grade where Mike had marked another three caches to visit. The views were spectacular, such as this one of Juliaetta.

 

This photo doesn’t quite capture the epiphany I experienced while hunting for this cache. Mike was bent double searching in the rocks, and I had just joined in the search when I happened to look up. “Ahhhhhhhhhhh,” sang the soprano angels.

And then we discovered that if we continued to the top by way of McGarry Grade and then down the other side of the ridge, we would come out at Cherry Lane Bridge. So, we did that, stopping only to order a veggie calzone from Papa Murphy’s for our supper. By the way, the calzone was decorated with pepperoni, which seemed a bit of a contradiction if you’re going vegetarian. KW

HAVE SHORTHAIR -- WILL VISIT

 Our German shorthair, Nellie, has become a nursing home visitor.

Looking for meaningful retirement activity, Mike decided he wanted to engage in a “take your dog to a nursing home” program. (I think they call it “animal therapy.”) Such a program is not organized in our community, so he has worked on his own to arrange appointments for Nellie to visit local nursing homes. He enjoys doing it and Nellie is happy enough to wag her tail at a few people and allow them to pet her. So far, Mike thinks these visits have gone well and he has developed a “business card” for this activity.

 

This morning Mike and Nellie visited Orchards Rehabilitation Center and I tagged along so that we could also shop the Rosauer’s (regional grocery store) 13-hour cereal sale while we were out. I thought my presence during the visit was a bit of a distraction, but it was an opportunity to get a few pictures. The pictures are a little fuzzy – probably because I was trying to be surreptitious. Still – the love shines through.

Of course, not all residents are interested. Some are happy enough to see Nellie and pat her. And then there are the true dog lovers who embrace her wholeheartedly and gush a bit – and those are the ones for whom the effort is made. I say that – but sometimes you just don’t know the impact. Not everyone is effusive. Who knows? Perhaps some of the quiet ones were more deeply touched than they let on.

For now, the effort to reach out is on Mike’s part. It would be nice to receive a few “please come back” calls. Time will tell. 

Mike's other retirement job is to drive a food pick-up route for the food bank twice a week. We had no idea that the food bank regularly picks up food from the grocery and convenience stores as well as restaurants. I think he enjoys that, too. KW

HOW STUPID WAS THAT?

And speaking of acting without thinking, it doesn’t just happen to the very young.

For years, I’ve been troubled by the fact that the world of zippers seems to be shrinking. You should see the zipper display at my local Jo-Ann Fabrics. It looks like it’s left over from 1990. When I needed specialty zippers for my doll clothes work, I ordered from an online dealer.

So yes, I had 6-inch zippers on hand, but I needed a 5-inch zipper.  These small zippers are sold in lots of six or eight, and I wasn’t inclined to order more. Cutting the garment to fit the zipper didn’t seem right either. As the time approached to insert the zipper into the little jacket I was making, I began to agonize over the dilemma. I considered Velcro. It just wasn’t the same.

Then –in the middle of the night – I suddenly realized that undoubtedly I could alter the 6-inch zipper. Online research proved that indeed this is what sewists are expected to do these days, and instructions abound for shortening a zipper. I hurriedly skimmed through those offered by one expert.

“Maybe you should pay a little more attention to what’s said here – you know, really think it through,” said the inner voice.

“Nah,” I replied. “I can do this – piece of cake.”

Somehow, in the excitement of having found a viable solution and my eagerness to proceed, I rushed ahead with the work. Without further ado, I clipped an inch off the 6-inch separating zipper. With great care, I pinned and basted it into place and then stitched, doing a reasonably good job of it, if I do say so myself.

Now I was ready to test the zipper. I connected the left side to the right and pulled the tab to the top – and right off. The little jacket had zipped beautifully – and I was holding the tab.

I turned off the sewing machine, the heater, the iron, the light –and closed the door on the sewing room, saying nothing to anyone, putting on a cheerful front and keeping my disappointment to myself.

The next day, I resolved to start over. I read through several websites and even watched a tutorial on shortening a zipper. Then I took another zipper from my stash, carefully clipped 7 or 8 teeth from the top and folded the tape under.  I was in the process of whip stitching a stop for the tab on this new zipper when Mike came in and asked what I was doing.

“I did something incredibly stupid,” I began. And I finished with, “I ruined this zipper [which was still neatly zipped in the jacket], and I’m preparing another to replace it.”

“Well, we can fix it,” he said. So he simply pulled the zipper open and slipped the tab over the teeth on the right side – and I was back in business with the original zipper. I whip stitched a stop at the top of each side, and voila! – I’m ready to move on. KW

[Heart shirts for girl and doll in honor of Valentines’ Day were mailed to Emmy last week. A top isn’t any good without bottoms, so the doll gets a pair of cropped denim jeans, too. I hope Emmy already has bottoms.]

ON BEING CONNECTED, 2013

I feel quite proud that I could set it up [the radio] without trouble . . .

Ina Dobson to Vance on setting up the radio, December 1935

I didn’t know Grandma Ina well. She passed away when I was seven without the two of us ever having a good conversation. Therefore, I seek for her in her writings, and sometimes I find affinity through the smallest statement -- like the one above.

From time to time Mike and I had discussed advancing our technological experience. We weren’t really interested, we agreed. It had gone far enough, we averred. We didn’t even like what we saw of technological advances and what would we do with these devices anyway? Furthermore, we just plain didn’t want to take it on, and why should we? Still, we would conclude, what was going to happen to us if we didn’t at least try to keep up?

Then Mike decided, with seeming suddenness, that he wanted an iPhone. Now – Mike and I are barely members of the cell phone generation. We were raised when the telephone meant a place, not a person, and we haven’t coped well with the transition. I will leave my cell on the coffee table when I go to the store. And if it does make it into my purse, it’s liable to stay there for two weeks. It’s mostly okay because it mostly never rings. “Oh look at that – I missed a call two weeks ago,” I’ll say when I finally think to check.

Anyway, during our pre-Christmas celebration, Hallie helped Mike order his iPhone. They said it might be delivered Christmas Eve, and that meant leaving the Christmas tree at the farmhouse and dashing back to town, but at least we were rewarded for that. FedEx delivered the iPhone that afternoon.

Yes, I admit it. I was slightly irked that Mike was getting this great thing at Christmastime even though the iPhone really wasn’t his Christmas gift. Or was it? And anyway, I reminded myself, I have plenty – everything I want and more – but it still felt like Mike got a great present and I didn’t. “Well, I’m not looking forward to it,” Mike responded when this spoiled girl whined. “It’s going to be a lot of frustration setting it up.” And indeed he had some frustration but mainly because he had to work through issues related to keeping his old cell number. Once those were resolved, I observed that he was indeed having fun. He loves his new toy – er, phone.

“So,” I found myself saying, “I think I should have an iPad.” And Mike readily concurred. Perhaps he realized he was not in a position to argue. This time we gave daughter Hallie a break and approached son Yancey, who took care of ordering on my behalf. (I'm really not so helpless that I couldn't buy it myself, but Yancey works for Apple.)

My iPad came last week, and I quickly connected and started visiting the app store. I bought a book for my digital library. Then I subscribed to a quilting magazine that promised me a free digital edition. I bookmarked some favorite websites. Every day I work with my iPad. Probably the best app I’ve found so far is the recipe program. Finally, the iPad seems to be the right scenario for the digitization of my recipes. Eventually I’ll eliminate that envelope I’ve been carrying back and forth to the farm for years. And it’s so convenient to set the iPad on the kitchen counter and read the recipe from the screen.

And so, I say with Ina, “I feel quite proud that I could set it up without trouble.” I know exactly how she felt – the satisfaction of having stepped into today’s world and actually coped.

“Tune in and hear Byrd talk,” said Ina.

“Have you seen this app?” says Kathy. KW

ON BEING CONNECTED -- 1930s

 

P.S. If you are near a radio, tune in on the Columbia network Saturday p.m., 7 o’clock and hear Byrd talk . . .

Ina Dobson to her son Vance, January 1934

Ina donned her green celluloid visor, turned the back of her old table radio to the light, and assessed the problem. She could see that some wires were loose, and undoubtedly if she soldered these, reception would be restored. She went to the back closet and retrieved the liquid solder from the shelf.

Radio reception in this remote corner of the world was anything but perfect, and this old secondhand set left much to be desired. Still, Ina was grateful to have come by it. Jack had no interest in fooling with it, but someone had to, so with son Earle’s help, Ina had learned the basics of how a radio works and was able to solder wires and perform basic diagnostics.

Ina was grateful when her efforts met with success and the radio was repaired. Sometimes a tube burned out, and then they would likely do without the radio for a time until cash showed up. Once during such a spell, Shirley had let slip to Ethel that the radio wasn’t working, and Ethel had organized a campaign amongst her siblings to raise the money. Soon Ina received dollar bills from Earle, Myrtle, and Ethel, and Vance actually sent a “fiver,” thereby enabling her to buy the needful.    

Ina was not one to express enthusiasm openly, but to herself she admitted that being connected to the world through the radio was lovely. The radio opened her lonely life  at Gilbert to the world of ideas. Turn it on, tune it in -- and it was more than she could wish for -- the news of the day, interviews with interesting people, political speeches, good music, comedy and drama. She found it expansive and intellectually stimulating in a way she had never experienced before.

Of course, you could also depend on the radio to deliver “drivel.” You could find it if you wanted it -- plenty of it. No, radio programming would never replace her love of reading, Ina mused. She would never trade literature for drivel. But, she watched for worthwhile programming -- kept up with the radio schedule as much as she could and made note of certain programs when they were announced, such as this talk by the great polar explorer, Richard E. Byrd.

It was nearly 7:00 p.m. on a Saturday night, January 1934. The little family – Jack, Ina, and daughter Shirley—had supped early, quickly finished the dishes, bathed, and were now settled at the radio to hear Byrd talk. Jack watched as Ina deftly searched the airwaves for the Columbia station out of Portland. It seemed to him that Ina barely turned the dial, but soon she had coaxed that Portland station from jumbled cacophony so that they could listen to Byrd talk about his exploration of the Antarctic, one of their favorite topics. KW

[The advertising is from the December 1936 issue of Good Housekeeping magazine.]