MARY JANE'S MULE DEER

This morning I visited my friend Mary Jane who lives up the road from me, and while I was there, the neighborhood mule deer moved into her yard. They have eaten all of her tulips and were munching potentilla outside her living room window when we first saw them. They pressed their noses to the windows and peered in as though we were on display for their benefit. I came home for the camera and went back to photograph them. You can see how they have made themselves at home in her yard. I'm sure they love the soft grass.


The photo above is the first one I took. You can see they are comfortable and unconcerned. As I moved in closer, they got to their feet and eyed me more warily. They basically stood their ground, though.








I took this photo as I was leaving just to show their proximity to the house. As you can see, the yard is spacious and open. They have been coming and going from this yard all winter in numbers from five to twelve. I'm sure they will roam around the neighborhood this summer as well. Two years ago we had two doe with twins who sometimes roamed together. KW

WHAT'S "OLD" TO YOU?

As we walked through Pioneer Park the other day, Mike and I paused to check on our little sidewalk plaque. These plaques were sold in 1990 to fund renovation of park features for the Idaho State Centennial celebration, “Statehood Week in Pioneer Park.” Because I was working for the museum at the time, I had an automatic seat on the committee. We bought a plaque and listed all the members of our family. We were farsighted in that decision; we thought the time might come when someone reading the plaques would remember one of the children who might not remember us as a family.

1990 was a long time ago, Mike and I agreed. Time is so relative, though. We were visiting with Clinton about a few movies we had seen on television – movies filmed in the 1990s – you know, modern times in my book. Mike and I watch – and enjoy – old movies dating from the ‘30s, ‘40s, ‘50s. And if I begin to squirm in my seat because of violence or suspense, Mike will say, “We’ll find some G-rated Disney movie for you.” So, I was feeling pretty pleased that I could discuss a couple of movies with Clinton – “Seven” and “Sling Blade” – both of which were pretty intense. Then Clinton says, “That’s an old movie, though. When was that made? 1997?” That just doesn’t fit my definition of an old movie. KW

SPEAKING OF BOTTLE CAPS . . .

Mike and I don’t drink beer or liquor. And because we don’t drink, we don’t buy it either. But this talk of bottle caps put me in mind of an incident that happened some years back when we still lived on Broadview across from the Methodist Church. A co-worker came up with a simple recipe for beer bread. Because I had no intention of buying beer, I felt left out of the sharing experience.

That afternoon when I got home from work, I noticed a brown paper sack in the parking lot at the Methodist Church. “That would be my beer,” I thought to myself. I hurried over to the parking lot and sure enough – inside the sack was a six-pack of beer bottles all empty but one. I got to try the recipe after all!

Here’s the recipe for beer bread:
3 cups self-rising flour
3 T sugar
1 12-oz. beer
Herbs if desired (perhaps dill)
Mix and pour into well-buttered loaf pan. Bake 55 minutes at 350. Remove and butter top. Return to oven for 5 minutes. KW

Guest Blog: Bottle Cap Fever

So glad you’ve inquired about the Bottle Cap Counter, Deb! Allow me to explain…

I recently discovered and became interested in bottle cap art. The idea is that the caps act as the equivalent of “pixels” in a large image. Before you ask, let me tell you that Hallie Warnock is NOT an artist. However, my sweetheart IS an artist and is capable of creating something as novel as bottle cap art. So, until we have enough for his project, I have a new fixation!

Where are you Mr. Bottle Cap? (Tips to Seekers)
Mr. Bottle cap likes to hide where he is hard to find. He’s often squished into a dirt patch or pushed to the side of the road where the gravel collects. He's rarely in the middle of the sidewalk, so look to see if perhaps he's stumbled to the side. It’s not uncommon for him to be near a friend, so if you’ve found Mr. Bottle Cap, be sure to look for his wife! He is most commonly found where there is a lot of foot traffic or where he might tumble out of a trash can (parking lots, alleys, parks, construction areas). And, of course, he's VERY OFTEN found atop bottles!

These caps can be rusty, squished, and bent. They can be fresh off the bottle, shiny, and pretty. There is a place in the world of art for every bottle cap in every walk of life. If you’d like to join in the game, I’ll pay shipping for any donated caps. Donated caps will ALSO make it onto the Cap Counter!

We’ve got a long way to go!

STAIRMASTER

Do you know about the public stairways in Lewiston? Regardless of specific history, they all represent a by-gone era when folks walked to town as a matter of course. I think it was 1989 or so when Mike and I took Milo, Clinton, and Hallie for an afternoon hike on Normal Hill to locate all the stairways.

There’s a new geocache, “Stairmaster,” that celebrates six public stairways in Lewiston and ends in Clarkston. Mike and I undertook it yesterday. The idea is that you climb one set of stairs and near the top you find the cords to the next set. It starts with the ones at the old Carnegie Library which are now condemned. Mike readily found the cords to the next stairway, and we set off in an easterly direction. However, as we began to think it through, we both realized that the cords in hand would take us beyond the next logical set of stairs. We stopped in our tracks. Discussion ensued. The cache appeared to involve a circuitous eastward route that would necessarily have to bring us back to the park. To my surprise, Mike was willing to avoid the walk. “We know where the stairs are and we know the cords are near the top, so we can do this intellectually,” Mike said. [Hallie truly would love this, I thought.] So we went to the stairs on the other side of Pioneer Park – the ones that come out on New 6th – and sure enough, we located cords without cords. But now we’re not interested in traveling east, knowing we will have to return to those stairs on the west. So we crossed the park again to the Vollmer steps on 5th Street across from the old library [photo right] and found the cords at the top of the steps. Those cords took us to the steps off Prospect [see photo left] and there we gained the cords to the stairs at Beachview Park where the cache was located. We then drove to Beachview. Finding the last set of cords to actually locate the cache was a bit problematic but we managed. Chalk another one up for M/W.

We didn’t find bottle caps but Mike did spy a set of lifetime dog tags on the ground at Beachview. He was able to contact Bob, the owner, and he came for the tags. Nellie recognized this stranger as a dog lover and friend even before we opened the sliding door. She and Bob were fast friends immediately. Bob said that he takes dogs from the animal shelter, some of them badly abused, and trains them for eventual adoption.

SENIOR CITIZENS OF YESTERYEAR

I think that “frumpy frocks” is basically about what it was like to be a senior citizen in the 1930s, including dates a little earlier and somewhat later. I have not studied the era in depth, so I make observations on the basis of my photos and letters. In the early 1930s, Social Security was being discussed but hadn’t happened yet. Jack poked fun at the concept; Ina didn’t think a national old age pension would ever happen. People were poor in the Depression Era.

When I was a little girl, I saw my aunts as very old-fashioned. Their dresses weren’t stylish, even when new. Their hair was still kinked in curls that had relaxed somewhat in the world I saw around me. When LJ was born, I was not yet six, and my mother told me that I would be “Aunt Kathy.” I said no – I didn’t want to be his aunt; I would be a grandma with her. It took some time to convince me that being an aunt would not make me like Aunt Lynn or Aunt Ethel. I hasten to add that they were dear people; I just didn’t want to be like them.

I have thoroughly enjoyed reading and presenting “my Ina character,” and I phrase it that way because in her letters a warmth comes through which was probably borne of her love for my dad. She passed away when I was eight and I did not have a positive relationship with her. If she loved me, she didn’t let me know, and I felt rather guilty for my lack of feeling for her. When I was a young adult, I said to my mother, “Grandma Dobson didn’t like me, did she?” Mother did not look up for a minute, so I knew I had touched the truth. Mother said, “It wasn’t that. She just couldn’t hear you.” Eventually we discussed this again, and Mother said, “I never understood. How hard would it have been for her to put her arm around you when you kissed her cheek?” It must have been hurtful to my dad, and I always felt I was to blame. I never discussed this relationship with him, and I’m not going to waste time regretting that. Perhaps it was best.

Though I didn’t talk about it much, all the while we worked on the farmhouse – Ina’s dream house in her day – it was difficult to think that this house was my house. I knew the Ina of my childhood would not necessarily be pleased. When I began reading and sharing her letters, I realized that I needed to drop my childish feelings. Perhaps my dad saved those letters because of the depth of character and caring that came out. So, I call her “Ina” and she is someone I never knew.
[This photo of Grandma Ina Dobson with her granddaughter, Kathy, and great-granddaughter, Patty, was taken at Christmastime, 1952, when I was two. Patty was two years older than I.]

MORE DRESSES

At my request, Chris sent the picture on the left as another example of typical dress for the mature woman in the 1930s. Chris writes: "Here is the picture I mentioned. My great grandmother, Sarah Jane Collett Whitworth is the one on the far right. The two aunties on the left look a little weird. Dan scanned the picture out of a family history book a distant cousin of Dad's put together a few years ago. I think the cousin must have tinkered with the picture somehow and given Emma, far left, and Annie, left of center their strange jaw lines. The sister next to Sarah Jane is Carrie. The picture was taken in Missouri in 1939. The sisters are all in their sixties with Emma in her seventies. There was one other sister who lived less than four weeks (their mother died at her birth), and there were also four brothers. All lived to ripe old ages."

Debbie makes the point that these dresses are undoubtedly their Sunday best. They wouldn't be photographed in anything less. KW