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Happy New Year, my wonderful readers! This issue is one that I am incredibly proud of. With each passing day, I have been focusing on things that bring me joy and funneling it into these pages. I am so excited to present some amazing vintage ads, colorful layouts and above all, positive and interesting articles I know you will love. I am dedicating this issue to anyone who is sensitive, or has a tender heart like I do. This is not to be mistaken as a weakness, for you and I both know that we have the ability to help, have compassion and empathy far more than most people. But that’s where we have to be careful- to make sure that we protect this special gift so we don’t burn out. I know that it’s easy to focus on the world. To think it’s your job to make things better, to fix everything. To make everyone happy. And while it’s a noble thing to want to do, it should never come at the expense of yourself. That is a lesson I have learned the last few years! I thought this was the perfect issue to dedicate to the art of love, the art of loving yourself! Truthfully, this is something I never understood how to do. I confused loving myself with the need to be accepted by others. The thought or feeling of being happy to belong is not the same as loving and accepting myself! How often do you silence how you really feel, not wear the outfit you want to, or not follow your dreams out of fear for not being accepted, or being seen? Sometimes it feels more loving to be quiet, fit in, care for everyone first, to make sure everyone is happy. But what about you? I’m encouraging you to get to know yourself and follow the whispers of your soul. I’m encouraging you to listen to your inner voice and love yourself enough to show up for yourself. How often would you move heaven and earth to help another but not sign up for that yoga class that keeps calling your name? Or what about forgetting the negative comment section that is social media or the news and get outside and play! What if you decided to live your life with the word YES on your heart, but not just for others, but your dreams? This is your invitation to do so. I have always been inspired by the theory to be careful of “the holes in the boat of your life,” and remember that a boat floats because the water does not get in. I have learned to love myself by taking full accountability that the news and social media make me very unhappy- it’s why I rarely post and take long breaks. I started wearing pigtails with my new vintage orange cream hair courtesy of my amazing stylist, Heidi. I told Tony, better work balance is our new theme! The result? In a very short amount of time, many wonderful and truly miraculous things have come into our lives. Every day I feel more alive and able to truly make a difference in the world. So I encourage, invite, call for you to take a look at your life and remember that it’s supposed to feel good. If you’re burning out, worrying about the world, starting to lose faith, I want you to remember that there is something more important to focus on: your happiness. Fill up your cup of life so that it may overflow. Find things that you enjoy and give yourself permission to do so. Remember that it is just as important to receive as it is to give. It might feel strange to work on your inner happiness, at least it was for me! But you are worth the investment. I hope you read this magazine and feel joy in your heart. I hope you try that new latte at the coffee shop. I hope you start your book or paint your nails that neon pink you’ve been thinking of. I hope you put your phone down and pick up your favorite book. I hope you dance in the kitchen with your cats! May you remember that life is full of living that deserves to make its way to your tender, sensitive, and most worthy heart. I love you. Drink your water, eat your vegetables. Listen to your heart. Have a blessed, amazing and inspiring year. I’m rooting for you! Love,
Heather Niccoli Editor-In-Chief Home&Harvest Magazine
CONTENTS New Year, New Adventures 8 Love, Love, Love 14 Basements 18 Grilling + Love Language 24 Strawberry Brownies 30 Potato Chip Cookies 32 Carrot Dill Soup 34 Fluffernutter Banana Bread 36 Vintage Valentine Pie 38 Butterscotch Chocolate Muffins 40 A Reading For You 42 Yard + Garden Transformations 44 2024 ELR 50 Let Me Count The Ways 54 Ethiopia 60 Will You Be Mine 68 The Oh, Otis Shenanigans 74
The yawning cavern lay at my feet, an open mouth waiting to swallow me up into the darkness below. There was a single rope tied to a stump that would be my only companion on the descent. Wrapping it under my seat and grasping it with one hand above and one below, I felt more excitement than apprehension. After all, when I was a kid, my dad taught my older sister and I to rappel. At nine years old, I was swooshing down a seventy-fivefoot-high cliff in the Colorado Rockies, bouncing off the rock face with my feet, experiencing the exhilarating feeling of flying. This was only thirty feet down to a cave my family and I were going to explore in southeast Alaska. My daughters, husband, and I were on an adventure. Adventure is defined as an unusual and exciting (sometimes dangerous) experience or activity. Many adventures are outdoors, but not all. The adventure itself is not a family value, but it is the adventurous spirit you instill in the hearts of your loved ones. The why: There are many reasons that an adventurous spirit is a worthwhile family value to cultivate. The lessons learned are indispensable, and those lessons help individuals and families grow. This translates to being able to apply lessons learned in adventures to daily obstacles. I would also argue that nature and humans were made for each other. Finally, adventures create an awesome opportunity for family bonding. My parents raised me to love adventures, but I also think I was born with the adventure gene. I am excited to experience everything I can in life that is a healthy escapade. I married a fellow adventurer, and we raised our three daughters on adventuring in the outdoors. George Eliot, the classic author, said it well, “Adventure is not outside man; it is within.” With the coming of the new year, now is the perfect time to set the goal of creating an adventurous spirit within the hearts of your family members. Adventures bring positive learning experiences. Trent and I started taking our girls on camping trips and hikes from the time they were babies. Going on adventures teaches you about yourself. I grew up in Leadville, Colorado, which is 10,158 feet up in the majestic Rocky Mountains. As a kid, I had many adventures exploring in the mountains. One of my favorite things to do was explore the ghost towns that still lay scattered in the valleys. We found square nails, old buttons, and assay cups from the gold mining heyday. I had fun learning about history, and imagining what life was like for the tough-as-nails miners. One thing I had not gotten to do was climb Colorado’s highest peak, Mt. Elbert, which was just in our backyard. The 14,433-foot crag, rocky and snow-capped, reached into the azure expanse, beckoning. Trent and I took our two oldest, fifteen and thirteen at the time, and set out to conquer the summit. The day started out with a frosty sprinkle of ice outside our tent, even though it was August. There were chipmunks and camp robber birds and trees to keep the girls’ minds occupied for the first few miles. Once we were past the timberline, the trail was quite steep. With the thin air of the high elevation feeling scarce, we stopped fairly often. The usual trail songs turned into cajoling and reminding the girls of the prize of standing on top of the world. When that didn’t suffice anymore, we held hands and helped them along. At one point, they plopped down in the rocks by the side of the trail and declared they could go no further.
We assured them they could make it and reminded them how far they’d come. And look—there’s the summit! Eyeing the goal gave them a burst of energy. As we crested what we thought was the top, we realized that it was a false summit, and we had more hiking. Oh, the devastation! Time to regroup, have a drink and a snack. The girls were again sure they’d never make it. Being the good mother that I am, I finally told them that I was going to summit, with or without them, because I’d never get this opportunity again. I wouldn’t necessarily recommend that tactic, but it worked. We stood on the windswept summit, signed the register, and looked out at the five-star view, celebrating with whoops of joy and high fives over roars of icy wind. We really were on top of the world. If you’ve never been on top of a mountain, it’s hard to describe the feeling. The world is so vast and deep. Tall mountains with snow capes are below where you stand. It is beautiful and exhilarating, and something glorious and stirring fills your soul. Nature was made for us humans and we can feel it deep inside. My daughters also learned an important lesson for life, and we would refer back to this experience when they were facing a tough issue and didn’t feel adequate to overcome it. They learned they could persevere even through pain and disappointment. They learned again that Trent and I were there to guide and encourage…and then to celebrate with them. Their shoes filled with joy for the trip down the mountain, and they bounded along, full of energy once again. Adventure. Learning. With learning comes growth. Oliver Wendell Holmes said, “A mind that is stretched by a new experience can never go back to its old dimensions.” Trent and I took a road trip adventure with our family to Utah and Colorado. On the way, we listened to books on tape or read out loud to each other. We had a dinosaur theme going since one of our stops was Dinosaur National Monument. We were having fun learning. Adventures can be not only on mountaintops, but in museums, at historical monuments, or at events of your own making.
“A mind that is stretched by a new experience can never go back to its old dimensions.” Oliver Wendell Holmes Learning is adventurous! We homeschooled for a few years and decided we wanted to dig deeper into the colonial era of America. We read, researched, and had hands-on learning experiences. It was such a fun adventure that we decided to end the school year with a Colonial Open House to showcase all the knowledge we’d gained. It was a lot of work, but we had the adventurous spirit, so we were willing. Over a hundred friends and family answered the summons of our invitation. They first walked through a time tunnel we’d constructed that transported them back to the sixteen and seventeen hundreds. Everyone in our family picked a person from history to be our persona. We each made a poster to introduce our character and guests read the posters in the time tunnel while listening to time period music. Emerging into our backyard, they signed a guest parchment with a quill pen dipped in homemade ink and were greeted by our youngest daughter, Rylee, selling tarts for a pence.
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Our daughter, Erika, played songs on a penny whistle. We were all in authentic costumes I sewed, and we attempted to have conversations by speaking how people would have spoken back then. My husband researched then made a reproduction of a mid-1700’s flint lock rifle. We had a pot of succotash over an open fire, hardtack to sample, and other authentic foods. Our daughter, Allise, used a washing stick to clean clothes in a tub of water. Next to every project, the kids had written a report explaining pertinent information. The next year, we learned about the Civil War era and did much the same set-up. A super fun addition was a live fiddle band and a dance floor where we taught everyone the Virginia Reel. I’ll tell you, it takes special talent to dance in a hoop skirt! We also had horseback riding, poetry recitals, and a mock North vs. South battle in the pasture with water balloons. Everyone had to pick a side, and there was, authentically, a fence between the two armies. More adventures in learning! Without an adventurous spirit, we would’ve missed out. Sometimes, adventures are learning and growing experiences because things don’t go as planned, or they go downright wrong. As a family, we’ve survived a camping trip on Dworshak Reservoir when a funnel cloud ripped down the lake and through our camp. We’ve lived through sharp-fanged rattlesnakes and hordes of mosquitos on back-country hikes. These situations can reinforce in a positive way the importance of being a family team and can build resiliency, which is such an important trait. A great example of an adventure creating an opportunity to build grit and problem-solving skills is one we had in southeast Alaska. Our son-in-law, Josiah, took Trent and I and our last daughter still in school and living at home, Rylee, out in his skiff. We motored out into the ocean for some fishing. Along the way, we stopped to-
-explore an isolated island with a very old cemetery, saw grey wolves, and gazed at some ancient petroglyphs. We were happily skimming along, returning to the remote launch where we’d put the boat in, when disaster struck. The motor began spewing hot puffs of black, then sputtered and died.1. Try restarting the motor. 2. Realize the water pump isn’t working properly. 3. Try radioing for help with no response. I admit at this point, some apprehension was creeping in, but the men led the way. We had a plan. We got the boat to the rocky shore. Meanwhile, it was raining, but we all scavenged some as-dry-as-possible firewood. Josiah started a fire, and we warmed up while the engine cooled down. By now it was late afternoon. We tried the radio again but couldn’t hail anyone. We had to problem solve. Idea number four or five was finally one that worked well enough, but it would still take us a couple of hours to make it back. We tied a tarp between two halibut fishing poles for a sail. Two of us held the poles while one person in the bow paddled, and one steered the boat. The boat made slow, -somewhat zig-zaggy progress, but we finally made it back. Through-the adventure, we learned problem-solving, teamwork, and had practice controlling our emotions. I will admit, when we finally stepped onto land again at our destination, I jokingly got down on my knees and kissed the ground. Jokingly? Even though it is stressful, it is okay to put your children in uncomfortable situations. It’s important to do this as a family, so you support each other and learn together. Adventure is the spice of life. Do your children sit around the house and complain of boredom? Perhaps they need an adventure. Do they sit around the house and not complain of boredom? That would be even more concerning. They definitely need an adventure! Do your adventure planning as a family. Maybe even pick one thing that you can all learn on said adventure. “On this camping trip, we’re going to learn how to build a fire.” Study up ahead of time and have your proper materials gathered. Every family member who is old enough gets to participate. Younger ones could gather small sticks and help set up the structure of the fire. Others can use flint and steel, or a magnesium strip to get it started. Another one can coax the fire along while someone else cooks over the flames. Find a way to make adventures a family affair. This is a great opportunity for some bonding time. Part of the fun of adventures is reliving them, reminiscing as a family. This is a great bonding activity. Be sure to take photos, and it is awesome when you take the time to journal about your adventures. We keep a blank journal in our camper and in our cabin in Alaska, and we try our hardest to record stories of our escapades. Your children will love reading them, talking about them, and gazing at pictures. Even difficult situations will be looked upon with fondness after some time has passed. Record and preserve these memories. If you lack an adventurous spirit and never get out into this amazing world and experience things perhaps beyond your comfort zone, your mental and emotional growth will stagnate. With an adventurous spirit, you’ll be willing to apply to nursing school, write a book, change careers, travel, and so much more. So many challenges in life are mental. When you have an adventure and realize you can strap yourself into the zipline harness and fly down the hill, you can figure out how to cook with a backpacking stove, that you can deal with weather in the wilderness, that you can book a trip to explore new places, then you are a learner, conqueror, leader, and explorer. You go on an adventure and return to “normal” life a changed person. As parents, you are helping future generations to build the grit and resiliency to do the same. Heed the words of Gandalf in The Fellowship of the Rings when he says, “It is a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there’s no knowing where you might be swept off to.” Let your family be swept off into adventure, for it awaits those who seek it.
LOVE Diane Conroy John Lorang and Mary Gesellchen, then Henry Lorang and Marguerite Tobin, then Dan Lorang and Janet Shollenberger lived here, loved here; and traveled away and back. These three sets of lovers bore and raised 24 children at the White Spring Ranch in Genesee. Now the children have traveled away and back in the hopes of restoring this incredible time capsule. And most of our hopes have come true, with a whole lot of work, from an unpainted farmhouse with broken windows and a disappearing front porch to a beautiful historical and open farmhouse museum with color-coded sections of the home, depending on it’s age (C.1873-1904). From a rundown curio cabin with shingles of lace wood and an aging tin roof to a beautiful shiplap building that may well have been the first home on this property. We discovered a very old keyhole this year in the curio cabin door that only locks from the inside. It was an almost positive indication that this building was used as a home; since we know that John Lorang welcomed the children inside to help him and scurry about when this curio cabin was his roadside museum 1913-1926. A legendary 1878 log cabin that was storied in the family and journaled from a child’s perspective was tilting and being swallowed up by the ground. Now, it is bolstered and raised on blocks. Stained and chinked. This log cabin came from my great Grandfather John’s neighbor, Goswin Sievert, 100 years ago. John numbered the logs and brought it from over the hill just north of the farm to rebuild on this site in 1924. It was reassembled and covered with an additional roof at that time. Since then, the covering roof has been replaced and the original 1878 roof underneath is still intact. We plan to replace the covering roof one more time to insure the protection of the original. The still and bare 1913 fountain was developing cracks and had lost it’s decoration. Now it is sealed, repaired, running from the spring around the bend and has its statue of a little boy with an umbrella returned. This little boy has become our logo for the White Spring Ranch. The historical woods were overgrown and inaccessible, but now have a pathway through them all, with steps and railings, to be able to see the condition and variety of trees. The 1930’s Flint & Walling windmill, found in the 1910 calf barn, has been restored and set up. This originally came from the Borgen neighbors and stored away. We need to do further work to make it a working windmill. All this work from a loving family and descendants of John & Mary Lorang. We are also beginning to receive help for others who are interested because this farmhouse museum is an authentic representation of all other farmhouses in all neighboring families that no longer exist today. The Ranch represents all of the ingenuity and artistry of the entire community. This family of mine was just insistent that those memories remained.
There is so much to be said about what John and Mary, Henry and Marguerite and Dan and Janet thought was important to be preserved. Our letter collection dates back to 1877 and there are very few dates missing in between then and today. Here is a letter from Mary in 1880, when John Lorang was working in the woods, trying to earn money to travel west, hopefully with Mary Gesellchen; “Today the 6 of Sept. Oh Dear John, Finally I leave everything behind and am writing to you. Dear John, you wrote that you would come in two months. This makes me real happy and my brother-in-law and sisters too. The kids fondly talk about you a lot. Yes my Dear John, I am so glad that you are coming home, I mean I am lonely and I don’t care about nobody else in all of Calvary. (a small town in Wisconsin) Oh Dear John you write, that I should forget what you wrote in the letter before the last one. That is all right, Dear John, because you were right. Dear John, the carpenters are building a big college here. The walls are already quite tall. Thomas told me he is going there this fall. Oh Dear John, last week I spent three days at my Brother-in laws and he told me that he shared some great fish with you. Then you were able to fry you some fish. Oh Dear John I don’t know any news. Oh my, are the two months so long. The moon is light The stars are bright And so is my heart for you. Friendly Greetings from my Parents and Siblings and especially from me. Your true, so loving, Mary Anna Gesell. Mary Gesellchen” As soon as John received this letter, he wrote back to Mary: Today September 17, 1880 Oh dear Mary, I was over joyed yesterday to get your letter which I had been waiting for a long time. I had hope with much pain and almost give up hope and I dreamed every night last week that I would get a letter. Finally your letter came my dream come true. You can believe me that you couldn’t make me more happy. For three weeks I have been away from the old place where I worked. Now I am about 20 miles away from my old place. Here I make square beams of logs and get paid $20.00 a month. I am not so far in the woods like I was last winter. I am only one mile from the church so I can go to church every Sunday. Now I will close my letter. Many greetings to you from your always happy lover. John Lorang Collegeville Stearns Co., Minn. John and Mary’s son, Henry Lorang, and Marguerite Tobin wrote over 200 letters in 1918. During the Great War, Henry was stationed in Shrewsbury, England with the 247th; working on the fabric wings of aeroplanes, coating them with stiffeners. In this letter Marguerite is writing to Henry who is still in boot camp in Texas, Jan 25th, 1918 Moscow, Idaho My Dearest Henry, Your dear letter of the seventh was received yesterday. It sure was a long looked for letter. I can’t understand why you do not get any mail as I know of at least a dozen letters that were written to you. Charlie Whalen wrote while he was here at the hospital, Mrs. John-
Home&Harvest | Jan+Feb 2024
-Hall wrote, Alice wrote and sent a Xmas box, and I wrote five or six and also sent you a little Xmas present. In case you never get it, I will tell you what it was! A trench wrist watch. Only one of my letters has been returned so you might get them yet. John comes in class 1A so I guess he will have to go in. I do wish I could see you dearest, I would hug and kiss you to death. I have been over and over writing this letter and thinking about you. Now listen dear, if there is anything you want or need let me know and I will get it some way or another. Please let me know won’t you! If you tell me to get you something and will let me get you something I will know you still love me, and that I can still have hopes. With lots of love and kisses I am your waiting Margeurite. P.s. I have a little birthday present for you and will send it as soon as I hear that you get one of my letters. Be a good boy, Marguerite” Henry writes to his fiancé, Marguerite in 1918, from Texas “War Activities Camp McArthur Base Hospital, Waco, Texas January 26, 1918 My Dearest Marguerite, This morning, when we assembles for reveille, it was just six o’clock, our regular time for roll-call, and I was beginning to celebrate my thirtieth birthday, for I was born at six a.m. I regret very much to have to spend this day away from you and all who are dear to me, but, I hope that, after all, I am spending it to the best advantage for all of us. Since ten of us out of our squadron were transferred today to the hospital corps. as hospital- attendants, I feel that, maybe, I can do more to comfort the sick and dying, for they were very much in need of help. The aviation section here has about twenty-thousand men and each squadron about two-hundred and they all supplied some men for this temporary relief. This is the base hospital and in the various wards put together, there are something between fourteen to sixteen hundred patients. These patients, however, are not all from the Aviation section for there are three other Camps here, the infantry, cavalry, and artillery, and these are very large sections themselves. I cannot estimate the number of men, all told. You may think that I am a silly “man” see I’ve quit saying “boy” but I am going to tell you anyway. For a while I thought of sending you a telegram to get married by wire, before I was thirty, and you could still stay with your work and I could have all the more to fight for. Then I could know that you, above all, are my wife and I could make my allotment to you. Even now, that I think of it, a thrill of joy goes through me and I wonder why I did not do it. It intoxicates me, dearest, I wish it were true. You, have asked me to say so if there’s anything that you can send me, and I reply by saying that I want your latest photograph either in your uniforms or civilian clothes, for I did not take anything like that along, to my regrets now, for I have often wanted to kiss you in effigy as I was want to do before. Now send me the sweetest one you can get about a post card size or smaller- not larger. All I want is the head and bust so it will be small enough to carry around. The Y.M.C.A is clearing now so, goodnight dearest girl, I am your Henry” Henry and Marguerite’s son, Dan Lorang, met Janet Shollenberger in 1965 and he was smitten. They were married just a few months later. Dan and Janet broke from tradition and called each other. But one time Dan did send a letter containing a wishbone. Of course, Janet preserved it forever.
17
Basements When I waved farewell to the year that just passed, I felt like it was my best one yet. The warmth of summer had lingered long into the fall and kept showing up for roll calls nearly until its ghost ate all my trick or treat candy. Like every year, the Thanksgiving turkey leftovers got put into the freezer, holiday cards were mailed out by the dozens, the Christmas ham finally dispersed in countless sandwiches and Santa’s gifts politely acknowledged by sincere thank-you notes. The sound of champagne corks announcing the New Year had subsided into an empty echo and the typically cool and wet Seattle winter corralled me indoors against my will. The after-school hours seemed as long as eternity. Desperately restless within the four walls of my room, I desired a private place away from the household activity to be with my own thoughts, even if it was out in the rain. I was eleven. The rental house we spent that winter in was the biggest one we ever had. It sat on a large corner lot among much smaller homes that were crowded in as real estate in the older neighborhood became more scarce. There was a detached garage with an extended roof sheltering a picnic patio large enough to host a dozen guests. That became my private outdoor space. The translucent roof allowed what luminosity was available to pass through it and pacify my seasonal light deprivation. One day when I seized a break between the sheets of rain, I rode my homemade skateboard into the double-car garage and found that the previous renters had left some unwanted yard furniture and random items in there. Being familiar with the routine of moving and leaving things behind, I was saddened to think of another family having to leave such a nice house, and how memories and objects get lost along the trail. I knew they were not coming back for these things, but as I looked into the boxes I still felt that I was trespassing in someone else’s life. In that garage was a box, dangerously close to a puddle that had formed from a river of rain the slanting driveway had directed under the door. The weight of the box as I moved it away from the flood water made it hard to not be curious. I opened it to see a bunch of matching book covers titled NEW ILLUSTRATED ENCYCLOPEDIA OF GARDENING. Making several trips I took them into the house and found the set was complete. There was something paramount about the cover photo of a colorful, meticulously mulched bed of tulips and flowering shrubs. I checked each volume without opening them, just drawn to the cover photograph of the garden and blue sky. Nothing was wrong with any of them. How could someone leave something so valuable behind? I felt as though they had found me, not that I had found them. I wondered if I would be a gardener. I had to explore these treasures. I did not have good natural light in my room so I set up camp on the enclosed front porch that was full of windows. Wrapped in a nest of blankets I spent hours looking at the color photos of flowers and black and white pictures of men shoveling in baggy work clothing, women gardening in dresses, vegetables in rows and sketches of how to build greenhouses and garden arches until the unheated room forced me back into the house.
by Jacqueline Cruver
I considered loitering in the dining room with its traditional chandelier and ornate leaded glass windows but I had grown too big to fit under the table and it was just too close to my mom’s dominion, the kitchen. To avoid being scrutinized, I climbed down the laundry chute instead of using the stairway to enter the huge dungeon-like basement. Once down there, the daylight was limited to only small windows along one wall so the first thing to do was hit the switch to light the dark shadows. The surge of power turned on the buzzing fluorescent tubes that slowly lit a long solid workbench and dozens of empty wooden tool drawers beneath. The worn-smooth drawer handles spoke of many years of projects and repairs. I imagined a dapper dad humming happily while building bird houses and children’s toys. The rest of the area was vacant except for one full sheet of plywood leaning against a wall. It was painted with grass-green textured paint. I could see the faint marks from a mounted track suggesting a model train had once clicked along through miniature tunnels and towns. There was a separate room for entertaining company, lit with state of the art recessed lighting shining down upon a dark coffee brown formica bar and tippy bar stools. My parents never had company so the vacant living quarters were mine to claim. The oversized studio couch seemed to be begging for company so I carried some essentials down there like blankets, pillows, music stand, transistor radio and several more volumes of the garden encyclopedias. I requested a space heater and flashlight from my mom. She provided them, shaking her head in question, accompanied by a slightly annoyed, ”crazy kid” under her breath. I am pretty sure she was thankful to be separated by a solid floor and well insulated walls every day when I marched down to play scales of squeaks and squawks on my clarinet for an hour. I would usually extend my time alone down there after practicing, hoping to be forgotten about until called for dinner. Sweet solitude. There was a sense of freedom, like a potted plant getting placed in a garden to grow. However, much like a plant, I truly missed sunlight, fresh air and dirt. I was deliriously happy when I discovered a big high cupboard door behind the basement bar that led to a crawl space with a dry dirt floor. It was like the den of an animal. I enjoyed the seclusion of my secret place whisper-reading to my troll dolls. When I heard my mother coming down the steps looking for me, I could turn off my flashlight in time to be undetected. I was free of parental influence and control when I was alone with my thoughts in my fort. Many calendars and countdowns to the New Year have passed since then. “Pages are meant for turning and people are bound to change ‘’, as Jim Croce sang to us in 1973. I am not sure if I have really changed that much. As our days here on the Palouse remained short and quiet hours long, I felt my restlessness setting in. Corralled in my own house by the icy temperatures and missing my meditative hours outdoors in nature, I became acutely focused on the pressures of the world and the constant barrage of influences that control us. My own thoughts seemed out of reach. Pacing like a caged animal, I wanted to seek calm. I decided I needed a fort in my basement. The plan for a secluded sanctuary beckoned with the seduction of a siren. I had some serious purging to do in the vault beneath my house that had been collecting things for a dozen years. I marched down the steps to the battlefield with determination. I set a goal to let go of at least one third of the cache of stored items to make some me-space. Examining the shelves of-
Home&Harvest | Jan+Feb 2024
-organized totes lining the walls I tried to select my starting place. Camping gear? No. Tools? No. Fabric scraps? No. Books? No. Personal keepsakes? Collectables? Family heirlooms? The kids’ twin bed sheets? Precious pages of my grown children’s schoolwork and crayon dragon drawings?…I heard clanging of arcade bells, air raid alarms and imaginary sirens that officially proclaimed the meltdown: tilt, can’t do this, not possible, take a breath, retreat, retreat! Overwhelmed, I heard my shoes running back up the stairs, echoing my defeat. I was not sure I could achieve my goal and had no clue what was stopping me. Accepting defeat on the playing field or game board is one thing, but entirely another when the foe is internal. “What lies behind us, and what lies before us, are tiny matters compared to what lies within us.” Ralph Waldo Emerson “What lies behind us, and what lies before us, are tiny matters compared to what lies within us.” Ralph Waldo Emerson Time to reflect. What was causing my fear of letting go of untouched pieces of my past hidden away in boxes? The category of sentimental keepsakes was undeniably the trigger for my panic. The challenge of deciding what was worth keeping and what no longer served me was complicated by a deep respect for the past and seeing, touching and holding the things that are so heavy with stories. I had to separate the stories from the objects and release some meaningless things that were just crowding my present space. I kept the unique vintage items that reflected the lives of my grandparents and parents and labeled the boxes to explain the contents. I looked inside of a lot of closed boxes and inside myself to decide what was important to me today. I kept handmade heirlooms but I parted with the random pieces of my grandmother’s ruby red dishes that were hopefully found by an appreciative collector at the local thrift store. The boys’ Ghostbusters, He-Man and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle twin bed sheets were also sent off so another child could fall asleep with thoughts of heroes and mutant mayhem. It is odd what we become emotionally attached to and a daunting process to shed the weight of the past without feeling it is compromising the lessons and love we’ve stored there. Fear of feeling loss is what made me cling to things but memories remain in our hearts. I have learned there will be many people and things that we do not get to keep. My largest category was “I might need this” and since I am a practical and frugal sort of person, all of the items were useful. Without argument. I also knew there were things that had not seen the light of day for over ten years. I was buried in unused things that were useful enough to be kept but not essential enough to consume the limited square feet of my real estate. I praised my practical tendencies then granted myself permission to let some things go. The pile was not gone but shrunk when I identified what items were both useful and essential. I really felt like it was time to expel extra things from my life to avoid feeling stagnant and stuck. I learned in my twenties that when I found myself unable to control the environment I was struggling in, I had to seek one I could thrive in. Sometimes when we sense we need change, we need to change everything. After you realize you have more Indiana Jones courage in you than the weakness of Gollum, it gets easier to read the map and seek what allows you to grow.
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“The greatest adventure is what lies ahead. Today and tomorrow are yet to be said. The chances, the changes are all yours to make. The mold of your life is in your hands to break.” - J.R.R. Tolkien The sorting continued for weeks. When I arranged my new fort it displayed all of the things I had decided were important to my personal balance and well-being. There was room for my worm farm, creative projects, playing music, my stationary bike, yoga mat, turntable, speakers and a geranium plant I brought in for the winter and placed in a window so I could smell the peppery leaves. I scanned the retained labelled boxes and other items on the surrounding well-organized shelves and they read like the pages of a private diary; window paints, fishing gear, snowshoes, garden tools, leather tools, wood working tools, canning supplies, holiday decorations, emergency rations, totes of fabric, wool, leather and my Illustrated Garden Encyclopedias on a bookshelf full of titles that continue to speak to me. I was literally surrounded by my identity. I sat in wait for the feeling of success to flood over me but the only thing that came was silence. Slowly, I realized I had not found what I was hoping to in this me-space. I had initiated this quest in search of an escape from the pressures of the world but the world seemed to loom even larger in the stillness. Unlike that empty rental basement filled with only a little girl’s daydreams of things ahead and the excitement of who she might meet and what kind of person she would become, I was now just a grown-up standing in a crowded space filled with the accumulated debris of the dreams that had come to pass and puzzle pieces of who I have become in a closed box labeled me. I was just alone, talking to myself in a basement. When was my last exchange with a live person? I think it was last week while going through the check-out of the grocery store. A gentleman stepped boldly in my path and delivered an engaging “Hello”. “Do I know you?” I asked with a friendly smile but protective tone. I was plain mystified. He answered, “No. You just seem to be a nice person.” “Well, I wish I knew you, then. No one talks anymore. Thank you for speaking up!” I did not know anything about that man greeting me with a sincere hello and I was flat out suspicious. Why is he talking to me? Is he dangerous? Is he mentally stable? Then the biggest ugliest question came to me. Have I become so afraid that I do not trust anyone? If I felt the need to retreat to a bunker from the mere pressure of the world, perhaps what I desperately needed was human connection, animated faces and live voices. All the while I was sorting through my things I was reliving stories from yesterdays that made me wish I had more meaningful interactions in my todays. I found things that jostled great memories of grade school sleep-overs with my best friends, college dances, bonfires and get-togethers with everyone helping in the kitchen and lots of laughter. When my own kids were little we went on vacations with other families and friends, multi-family camp-outs, hikes and countless intentional and enjoyable reunions. Photo albums were filled with group photos of friends, parents and cousins all standing together. It is not a matter of my age. I know my -grandparents were active socially, always making time for old friends and genuine camaraderie. I had an uncle who was still writing music arrangements and leading a dance band in his retirement home. How did I get here and who have I become?
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What happened to the version of me that prioritized fellowship? That person has been misplaced somewhere along the trail long before the recent pandemic and it seems to be true today with people in general. Isolated and alone so many of us depend solely on a cell phone for companionship, carrying it around like a teddy bear with a talking face. A sad substitute at any age. Something besides the cost of travel has created this trend of living a solitary existence. Maybe this is the part of my environment I need to change. I don’t need things in my life to thrive. I need people. The very first and primary plan of my basement project was to make room for my son and I to set up his fifty gallon aquarium. He had been storing it for years and offered to bring it over as soon as I had enough space cleared for it. I was hopeful it would ease my longing to be outdoors watching nature. I painted a large concrete wall a deep ocean blue for the backdrop, adding an element of the natural world, or a sizable substitute for it. It was a wonderful excuse to do something together and I must say, we created a masterpiece. It is the dominating focal point I needed in the sanctuary. We were both surprised we worked together so well, ours not always being described as an alliance. I think life presents many new challenges today and there are those years that even family members seem like strangers. We discovered that we were no longer a controlling parent and an angry child and had evolved into two adults respecting one another’s uniquenesses and commonalities. We had a wonderful day together. Our acceptance and tolerance of each other rewarded us with a whole new dimension to our relationship and I recognized an unexpected outcome of creating my me-space. I may not have gained much extra room in my basement but I did find room for parts of me to grow. Fear of reaching out has frequently clouded my concept of how important people are to me. We are all very different. Strangers. Even after discounting fear, it is as if acceptance and tolerance of each other are somehow becoming outdated, unnecessary. These are virtues that shield us from becoming so divided and alone in our existence. People are only stronger together, raising families, forming bonds with other human beings and strengthening skills to cooperate and coexist despite different ideologies or interests. That seems crucial to everyone’s balance. Sometimes I wish we could return to a village where I imagine each person was confident that they were an essential part of the whole. Isolation does not offer that. Propelled forward with my new insights, I vow to arrange more get-togethers with friends and family. Watching all of the active life in the aquarium reminds me that I will not become stagnant if I just keep interacting with the other fish in the tank. I need to create a better balance between human interactions and quiet hours of solitude in my me-space. I have already carried my bone china tea cups up to my kitchen and started having visitors more often for a pot of tea and a bit of a chat. I am visiting more and texting less because I never want to lose my ability or willingness to extend kindness face to face. Out on my walkabouts, even in the rain, I am going to smile and say hello with confidence to every person I see and not allow it to affect me if they disregard the invitation to respond. Their basements are probably full and they just haven’t sorted out the things that are useful and essential yet.
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Grilling your partner’s
love language by Tony
Niccoli
So here is a little riddle. How can you best show someone you love them – on the grill? Well, I’ll tell you one way that definitely doesn’t work. Complaining about their tastes, or teasing them again about a specific food preference. Here’s the thing, we all know exactly how the world’s most amazing chefs suggest that every cut of meat is best prepared. And we know that means medium-rare for a great cut of steak, with no steak sauce! But what if your partner likes well-done with extra, extra, extra A1? Rest assured, that shoe-leather joke was funny the first time. And your sigh at having to stay outside longer to hit the final temperature was unnecessary at best, and certainly never needed to be repeated. But what about someone who truly wants to meet their partner on their level, and show that it’s not a burden to accommodate their preference or poor culinary decision to make things the way they want without any chance of ruining one in order to perfect the other? How can we adapt when our tastes don’t align, but our hearts do? I always thought the key was just in timing. Get one started early and learn to pull both at the exact same time, but cooked to completely different temperatures. But is that realistic for all grillers out there? Are people having one partner always forced to eat something cooked too long, or already cold just because it becomes more complicated to pull off medium-rare and well-done at the same time? I got to thinking about this the other day when picking up some grilling essentials. I was looking at veggies and planning a side, when a reader stopped me and said that they loved to read my article every issue, but hadn’t yet found the best way to get their partner to change. They had tried everything imaginable, but when it came to steak, it was well-done or none. Even at a fancy restaurant, where a professional chef could guarantee that it was completely safe to eat, they still wouldn’t budge off of well. So let’s take a look at how we could meet someone where they are – at least on the most important and romantic days – and both enjoy a steak with a little more or little less cook than we would normally choose. Forget the way you want to order it, and cook up two done exactly the same. I can tell you that as someone who never used to eat mushrooms, and then finally started grilling them on a semi-regular basis for Heather, -
-I’m glad I tried something new. I have slowly gone from no fungi to a really fun guy who loves to eat mushrooms and grills them, stuffs them, and can’t imagine going back. Who knows, maybe a well-done steak with a great sauce could be your new jam. And if not, at least you showed a little extra love and made sure that your partner’s meal was cooked perfectly and that you could both share the enjoyment of having the same thing. Judging temperature on a steak can be done in a few ways. One is time. This is the absolute least accurate, but can work if you are always using the same grill at the same setting with a same cut of steak. I can get up to high, throw on two strips, flip after 3.5 minutes, drop to medium-high by moving them out just a little at the flip, run another 3.5 minutes, and know with certainty that I’m going to end up with two perfect medium rare steaks every time. Unless it’s really windy, or cold, or I started just a little before the temp was high enough, or the steaks are cut a little thicker or thinner than normal. But for average days, its close enough that I often don’t take temperature. The next best is the touch method. Just open one of your hands and gently spread the fingers like you are pulling on a glove. Now take the pointer finger from your other hand and poke that fleshy bulge just below your thumb on the palm of the open hand. Feel the resistance, and way it bounces back as you poke it? Good, that’s what raw meet feels like. Now touch the tips of your thumb and pinky finger. It puts a fold in the center of your hand and increases the pressure in that bulge under the thumb. Poke it again while you have the pinky and thumb together and it feels quite a bit more firm. That is medium-well to well done. You might just want an extra minute of cooking if you want to get to fully well done temperature. To hit medium, touch your ring finger to your thumb and poke. Medium-rare is the middle finger touching the thumb, and rare is the index finger touching the tip of the thumb. As you move down the hand, and get closer and closer to the thumb, you create less crease in the palm and put less pressure on the muscles that are being poked. And since you always have your hands with you when you cook a steak, this is a pretty easy way to get an accurate gauge of temperature for any cook and in any conditions.
But if you want to be really accurate...get a temperature probe.
But if you want to be really accurate, just go the third route and get a temperature probe. This can be simple thermometer that you already have in the kitchen or grab at the grocery store for a few dollars, or a more sophisticated digital instant read probe that pros use. I like a simple and cheap digital model. It lets me know that temperatures are accurate (especially for poultry and pork) and I don’t mind a few extra seconds to get the reading if it means I don’t have to worry about an expensive gadget that could get dropped or broken. If you are newer to grilling, or just hate food borne illness and hospital visits then I highly recommend getting yourself a thermometer of some sort and relying on it more than your eyes and the color of the exterior. With just a little patience and attention to the temp you should be just about ready to pull that perfect steak off the grill knowing that it’s fully cooked but without going under or over. Now, to add a little more flavor, let’s add a little more fun. We want to play off the things that work best with a medium-well-
-or even well done steak. You already know that the crust is going to be perfected. That extra time over the direct heat has given the chance for increased caramelization and bark to form. This doesn’t mean that you’ve completely scorched it, and created an impermeable shell of charcoal, just that the surface is completely browned to the level of a darker grill line, and that a soft center still waits just below that firm and textured exterior. Pairing the mouth feel of that combination with a rich and luxurious sauce will be perfect. One of my favorites for any type of steak has got to be a compound butter. These are very easy to make, elevate your cooking to that top-restaurant level, and even look indulgent as they slowly melt away in front of your eyes while you are getting settled and ready to eat. Try just a little fresh garlic (or skip this for your Valentine’s date) along with parsley, rosemary, and black pepper, basil, and just a tiny shot of lemon juice. Mix it well into some softened butter, and use a teaspoon to scoop and then roll out a little dollop. I wait until the steak has had time to rest, and drop this on the top just before I serve so we get to watch it start to melt away and season the top of the finished steak. A reduced red wine sauce, horseradish cream, Romanesco, mushroom, or even classic Béarnaise can be found on menus around the world and for good reason. While a perfectly cooked steak, seasoned with only salt and pepper, and delivered to the table at the exact temperature requested should never need a topping, that doesn’t mean that it should never come with one. But especially if you are working on a compromise here, and possibly trying a steak cooked to someone else’s doneness, adding just a little flair and flavor can really go a long way. Don’t worry if the fancy sauces seem a little out of your comfort zone for now – try pairing your side to go with something premade and simple. Like steak and fries, with a drizzle of barbeque sauce on both. Taking that through-line of tangy and smoky sweetness and playing it off both the fried potatoes and grilled steak will unify them while highlighting the differences in taste and texture. No matter what you serve up, just remember to do so with an obvious attitude of appreciation for their company, willingness to try something outside your norm, and sense of honor to be creating something that your partner can truly enjoy. Having a great meal, without the guild of creating extra complications, or fear of having a mistimed and consequently under or over cooked cut of steak will be a gift in itself. But having you excited to be the one to provide it will mean even more.
Speak their love language while combining it with yours.
Speak their love language while combining it with yours. Take the passion you have for grilling and wrap it up art of seeing your partner and meeting them exactly where they are. Happy Valentines to you all, and have fun brushing all that snow of the top of your grills. This is the best time of the year to get outside and cook over an open flame, simply because its always the best time of the year to get outside and cook over an open flame. Valentine’s is only once a year, but every day is grill day!
STRAWBERRY cake mix brownies
Kitchen Heather Niccoli Make this super cute, super pink dessert for Valentines Day or just because! It’s simple, satisfying and packs a strawberry punch. I am not a huge fan of strawberry flavor but these are so delicious. I give them a 10/10!
INGREDIENTS | Brownies + Glaze 1 box strawberry cake mix 2 eggs 1/3 cup oil 1 cup powdered sugar 2 tbsp heavy whipping cream, milk or water pinch of salt drops of strawberry extract (optional) red food coloring (optional) STEPS Combine the strawberry cake mix with the eggs and oil. Spread into a metal 9 x 13 inch pan, lined with parchment paper. This is a step I am not a fan of, but I agree that it makes it much easier to lift out! I pre folded mine and just did the best I could. I felt the batter wasn’t too runny but I trusted the process. Bake for 15 minutes at 350 degrees, or until done in the center. I recently learned that many bar cookies or brownies won’t set up in a glass pan. I’m using the copper 13 x 9 I won from the Historical Society Baking Challenge! In a separate bowl, whisk the powdered sugar and choice of liquid. If you’d like a thicker gloss, I recommend the cream. You don’t have to salt these but it’s my theory that a pinch of salt balances out anything that’s too sweet. I poured my topping right when the brownies came out of the oven, but you can wait until they are cooled. Serve with a delicious beverage and see for yourself how strawberry brownies are the dessert you never knew you were missing!
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dark chocolate
POTATO CHIP COOKIES Kitchen Sara Raquet INGREDIENTS 2 sticks (1 cup) unsalted butter room temperature 3/4 cup granulated sugar 1/2 cup packed dark brown sugar 2 tsp vanilla extract 2 large eggs room temperature 2 cups all-purpose flour 1 tsp baking soda 1 tsp kosher salt 1 1/2 cup dark chocolate chips or chunks 4 cups crushed potato chips Flaked Sea Salt STEPS Preheat the oven to 375 degrees F. Line 2 baking sheets with parchment. In the bowl of a stand mixer, cream together the butter, granulated sugar and brown sugar on medium-high speed until light and fluffy, 3 to 5 minutes. Add the vanilla and eggs and beat on medium speed until just combined. Add the flour, baking soda and salt, then mix on low speed until just combined. Stir in the chocolate chips and 2 cups of the crushed potato chips. Put the remaining 2 cups crushed potato chips in a shallow bowl. Roll the dough into 2-inch balls, then roll them in the remaining potato chips so they are completely coated. Place the cookies 2 inches apart on the prepared baking sheets and bake until golden, 12 to 15 minutes. Let cool for 5 minutes, then transfer to a wire rack to cool completely. Sprinkle with Flaked Sea Salt.
Home&Harvest | Jan+Feb 2024
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carrot + Soup dill
Kitchen Emory Ann Kurysh
This carrot dill soup differs from most in that it has a combination of cinnamon and turmeric in it. It gives a naturally sweet soup a more earthy or woodsy taste. Or, one of pure perfection!
INGREDIENTS 4 tbsp olive oil 1 small yellow onion, diced 5 cloves garlic, minced 1 cup coconut milk 4 cups vegetable broth 2 lb bag (or 6 cups) baby carrots 1 tbsp dried dill 1/2 tsp turmeric 1/2 tsp ground cinnamon STEPS In a large pot heat up the oil over medium heat. Add the onion and garlic and lightly brown. Pour in the coconut milk and broth. Then add the baby carrots. Bring to a gentle boil and keep cooking until the carrots are tender, approximately 30 minutes. Once cooked through, remove soup from heat and carefully blend in a food processor or blender. Finally, add the dill, turmeric, and cinnamon. Serve warm.
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fluffernutter BANANA BREAD Kitchen Sara Raquet
INGREDIENTS | Bread + Fluff + Glaze Banana Bread Batter 1 1/2 cup mashed bananas (about 4 medium bananas) 1 cup granulated sugar 1/4 cup coconut oil 2 large eggs room temperature 1 tsp vanilla extract 1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour 1 tsp baking soda ¼ tsp salt 1 cup peanut butter chips Fluff Center 4 oz. cream cheese, at room temperature 4 oz. marshmallow fluff 1 egg 3 tbsp flour Peanut Butter Glaze ¼ cup peanut butter ¼ cup milk 1 cup powdered sugar
STEPS Preheat oven to 350F. Fluff Center: Using a stand mixer with the paddle attachment beat together the cream cheese and marshmallow cream. Beat in the egg, scraping down the sides and bottom of the bowl after. Beat in the flour and continue beating until the mixture is smooth. Set aside. Banana Bread Batter: In a medium bowl whisk together the flour, baking soda, and salt; set aside. Using a stand mixer with a paddle attachment add the bananas and sugar and mix together for about 3 minutes on medium-high speed. Add the oil and mix until incorporated. Add eggs, scraping down after each addition. Add flour mixture to the banana mixture and mix on low until the ingredients just start to come together. Remove bowl from mixer and add in peanut butter chips. Finish incorporating the batter being very careful not to over mix. Over mixing leads to tough bread. Spray a 9x5 loaf pan with baking spray and place a piece of parchment paper in there with the sides hanging out to make it easy to remove the bread. Divide batter in half and pour and smooth it in the pan. Pour the prepared fluff cream cheese batter on top of the banana bread batter. Spread with a spatula to smooth. Pour the rest of the banana bread batter on top of the fluff cream cheese batter. Bake at 350F for 45-55 minutes or until golden brown and toothpick comes out clean. Let cool on rack while you prepare the glaze. Peanut Butter Glaze: Whisk together the peanut butter and milk. Add the powdered sugar in ¼ cup at a time and whisk until smooth. You may want more or less powdered sugar depending on what consistency you want your glaze at. Pour glaze over bread. Let set up (about an hour) then slice and serve.
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Vintage Valentines
CHERRY cream pie Kitchen Sara Raquet
INGREDIENTS 1 prepared pie crust for a 9 inch pan (not deep dish) 1 cup granulated sugar ¼ cup corn starch 2 large eggs, well beaten 2 cups whole milk ½ cup maraschino cherry juice ¾ cup chopped maraschino cherries 1 tsp vanilla extract STEPS Preheat the oven to 425. Fit your prepared pie crust in a standard 9-inch pan not a deep dish pie pan, line with foil or parchment paper, and fill with pie weights or dry beans. Blind bake for 15-18 minutes, or until the pastry is golden brown. Allow to cool on a wire rack while the filling is prepared. In a saucepan over high heat, combine the sugar, corn starch, beaten eggs, milk and maraschino cherry juice. Whisking constantly, bring to a boil for 3 minutes, whisking all the while. The mixture should thicken substantially. Remove from heat and mix in the maraschino cherries and vanilla. Pour into the baked pie crust and smooth the top. Place in the refrigerator to cool for two hours. Top with whipped cream and maraschino cherries. Store covered in the refrigerator until ready to serve.
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Butterscotch double chocolate chip muffins Kitchen Emory Ann Kurysh
INGREDIENTS | Cupcakes + Icing (For the cupcakes) 2 cups all purpose flour 1/2 cup cocoa powder 1 tsp baking powder 1/2 tsp baking soda 1/2 tsp salt 1/2 cup butter, room temperature 3/4 cup sugar 3/4 cup packed brown sugar 1 cup premade butterscotch pudding 2 eggs 1 tsp vanilla 1 cup buttermilk 1 cup chocolate chips (For the icing- rough measurements depending on consistency) 4 tbsp butter 10 tbsp cream 2 cups icing sugar 2 tsp vanilla extract Sprinkles STEPS Preheat oven to 350F. Line muffin tins with liners and set aside. In a bowl whisk together flour, cocoa powder, baking powder, baking soda, and salt. In another bowl, cream together butter, sugar, and brown sugar. Beat with electric mixer until fluffy. Then add pudding mix, eggs, vanilla, and buttermilk. Mix well. Make a well in the dry batter and add the wet mixture. Add chocolate chips. Stir until just combined. Scoop batter into prepared muffin cups filling each cup about ¾ full. Insert into oven and bake for about 18 minutes or until a toothpick comes out clean. Let cool on wire rack. Prepare icing mixture according to instructions. Ice cupcakes. Store in an airtight container in a cool location/ refrigerator until ready to serve. Happy Valentine’s Day!
Home&Harvest | Jan+Feb 2024
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A Reading for You by Annie Gebel The question posed to the cards today is “What message about love do we need?” Then I chose a card from each of the minor arcana, which each represent an element, from The Unfolding Path Tarot by Athene Noctua. Tune into the cards to see which one or ones might hold the message that you need about love at this moment in time. Keep in mind that the answers that come through could be about the love you share with your children, friends, or partners. They could also bring up the love of a job or hobby, or maybe even love of yourself. Be open to what comes into your mind when viewing the cards or reading the messages. Sometimes we think we’re asking what to do about the man in our lives but the messages are all about some other kind of love. This is not a reason to throw your hands up in dismay, but a message in itself - focus on the area the cards call you to and see what love grows.
2 of Swords
The element of air is at play here, which often has to do with our thoughts and ideas or with changes in our lives. The 2 of Swords is about decisions, which could easily incorporate both. If you feel blindfolded in the process of making a choice about love, perhaps it’s best to pause and gain more information rather than going in blindly! Pausing is not the same as not making the decision, though. There’s no getting out of this one - sorry. And if you put that blindfold on yourself in an attempt to avoid having to pick a path, it’s time to take it off and see what’s in front of you. The choice is yours, breathe, be honest with yourself, and seek clarity to step out in the direction that leads toward whatever you desire.
x
Ace of Wands
What a fun card for a question about love! Wands is associated with the suit of fire, which represents passion, willpower, and determination. Although sometimes fire can burn or destroy, the Ace is the first card in the suit and it’s all about the spark! The little flicker could create opportunity, anticipation, or fear, but this time around it feels very much like the beginning of sometimes with incredible potential. The spark in your life could easily be a promotion or change in jobs as well as a connection with someone who interests you. Don’t jump into the fire quite yet, though, until you tend to the spark a little and see where it could lead.
b 6 of Cups
This card is from the suit associated with water and, therefore, our emotions, intuition, and relationships. It could still refer to any sort of relationship, though, not just a significant other, and you can see on the card a woman and a child - perhaps her child or her memory of herself as a child. However you interpret this card, the messaging contained is to connect with delight and innocence. Valentine’s Day is commercially focused on romantic love, but I know that my grandmother always used to give me a heart with a lollipop stuck through it as a Valentine, and I love that memory! What’s love for you beneath the roles you play, hats you wear, and responsibilities you have? How can you get in touch with that?
x
Queen of Pentacles
Home&Harvest | Jan+Feb 2024
This card feels very connected to your home or maybe your office space. Pentacles is about the earth element - material items, the land and resources, and stability. The Queen reminds us to curate the luxury we seek. How can you make your space a place you love to be in? What could be added, moved, or taken out? Consider the memories associated with photographs or items you’ve been gifted. Do you want that energy in your bedroom or your living room or not at all? Maybe you’ve had changes in your life and that isn’t yet reflected in your home? Let your spaces be a comfortable and honest reflection not only of where you are in life today, but draw in elements of where you’d like to be in a year or five. Even small adjustments can help you fall in love all over again!
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TRANSFORMATIONS in and
Yard Garden Spaces
We last chatted with coffee or tea in hand, figuratively relaxing by the fireside, with thoughts about taking on winter projects to prepare us for “springing” into a new season of growing; a hard vision to cast now through the haze of another January-grey day. Yet, it is such dreaming that keeps us expectant and motivated to dare the nippy winter air to take its best shot if our plans turn into early outdoor action. One thing that I love about gardening is the unexpected challenges it offers, though there are times when it would be nice to have crops just flourish without so many obstacles. I think what the original author of the term “green thumb” must have realized is, it is more than just luck or genetics that makes you good at gardening; there is surely more. I would suggest that the “more” starts with a healthy inquisitive mind toward things that grow and often ends with you on your hands and knees at 2 a.m., a flashlight in your teeth and a magnifying glass in hand, trying to catch a mystery insect or predator sneaking the life out of your precious flowers or raised vegetable bed. Yes, we so-called green thumbs are a bit crazy about our plants and ready to do nocturnal combat if necessary. It is that inquisitive mindset, and at times even an intense investigative approach, that may give us an edge as we plan for new seasons of growth in our garden and orcharding spaces. All good research starts with collecting data and be it through disciplined written notes season to season, which I recommend, or through less sophisticated means, we make incremental progress that outsiders may see as luck or a genetic growing quirk; we know it is not. We have made mental notes of experiments that worked or didn’t work in past seasons, logged failures and successes of plantings in new locations with experimental fauna, catalogued the subsequent results, and in doing so, collected data that helped us make successful changes, both big and small. And now as the snow flies, our minds still do not rest as we realize the off-season for gardening is a perfect time to contemplate more and even bigger changes from the cozy confines of dining or living rooms. Often, with this contemplation, we find ourselves adapting to desires and ideas for our gardens, based on limitations of available spaces, soil types, sun-exposure and climate, including microclimates. We have discussed much about making changes or amendments to soil which is a constant part of a good gardening plan in all seasons. However, bigger sweeping changes can introduce exponential jumps in efficiency, aesthetics, and crop production. They can even, if done correctly (and legally within the confines of city or county codes) add value to your property. Or, they may just prove to be necessary. Here, trees come to mind.
by Trent Morgan
Trees grow, create shade, and consume soil nutrients which affect surrounding plantings. They can be great for the fruits they produce and the shade they create, especially in growth zones like ours where their great canopies can cool an area considerably during weeks of super-heated air. A downside to trees is they can consume amazing amounts of nutrients and moisture from the soil or if diseased pose a danger. One particular mature maple tree is having a huge effect on my latest plans and influencing major changes on our hobby farm. Planting, watching the growth cycle, and sometimes taking down trees are big decisions. I have a friend who is an advocate for animal rescue and is always reminding folks with a proclivity to impulse pet purchases in the want for the cuteness of a new puppy, that it is a purchase with a many years’ commitment. When planting woody perennials, we should be asking similar questions as dog lovers do; how long will it live, how big will it be, do I have the proper space, and what are expected species traits, diseases or disorders they might be susceptible to? And what effect will it have on my yard and garden layout? Dogs as well as trees can have a big effect on yard and garden spaces. When we moved into our current location in the Lewiston Orchards twenty years ago, there were two large “middle-aged” trees, what I believe to be red maples. One I eventually took out but not before it became the scaffolding for a large treehouse, complete with a fourteen-foot climbing rope entrance and enough room for an eight-girl outdoor sleepover. It eventually outgrew itself as did the children who enjoyed it. With it gone, we are left with one large maple that definitely has had me listing out pros and cons of its existence. Has anyone else had this type of internal struggle? On the one hand, a big healthy tree offers wonderful shade and afternoon cooling to part of our yard, but on the downside, they do have maintenance and watering needs. They also have extensive root systems that can cause all types of mischief. Our remaining maple has an aggressive horizontal or lateral, sometimes called flat root, system common among maples, as well as ash, birch, and cottonwoods which can greatly compete for surface moisture, not to mention macro and micro nutrients. I once read that a mature poplar, which may have a tap-root system but also have extensive lateral root growth, can consume up to one hundred gallons of water on a hot day! Using a common equation, you can roughly calculate a tree’s water consumption by multiplying the diameter of a tree at its base in inches by ten, to give you an estimate of gallons of water it consumes per week. It makes sense why grass under our trees is thin and parched in a pattern representative of the tree root system. And this very observation of said tree has me finally making some big changes on our little acreage. In the twenty years since I have been gardening near this maple, I have slowly watched the productivity of a once vigorous garden space become more and more difficult to maintain yields of potatoes or corn while my other plots are doing great. Despite amending the soil, increasing watering, and modifying planting time I have come to realize a standard open garden till approach here is only an effort in futility, though the maple is healthier-than ever. So, what to do? I could take down the maple, which has a base diameter of about thirty-eight inches.
Home&Harvest | Jan+Feb 2024
Using my prior equation, this means the tree is consuming considerable water, pulling it from the surrounding garden area. I could stop gardening in this location but it has good unimpeded sunlight, access to water, and is a favorable aesthetic garden space. Hmmm…. Cons of taking out this tree also fit into another project I have been pining to take to the reality phase for years now; upgrading my greenhouse. You couldn’t really call what I have now for starting early plants a greenhouse. It is more like a box with clear poly-roofing for a front and a sloping hinged top. I have made it work with a combination of heatlamps and grow lights, but it is time to move up, and in collecting my data through observation, I believe the still- healthy maple can make the greenhouse more efficient and effective. When in foliage, it casts a great shadow in the mid and late days of summer onto the south-facing side of my shop, a nice feature in our dry and hot summers. Yet, in the later winter and early spring when it is dormant and leafless, it allows ample warming late afternoon light to cast its magical growing and heating powers. This I realize is a perfect complement to what I have always wanted; a real greenhouse. But what do to with the nearby garden space that will remain so parched and dehydrated? I bet you know where I am going with this. So, let’s talk raised beds first and then dream greenhouses. Of course, it makes great sense to convert the adjacent fifteen by thirty-foot bare ground garden space to raised beds and let the maple grow. I am often asked why I don’t have more raised beds, and to that I say, “That’s a good question. I probably should!” Especially as my back become less appreciative of weeding at ground level these days. Advantages of raised beds are many: better water retention if needed or water drainage if that is a problem, earlier soil warm-up in the spring, no soil compaction and less erosion, fewer weeds, and lower water usage if I decide to use a micro-irrigation system which I plan to do. The next step as my mind wanders deeper into the project is what type of raised beds do I want to make, or buy? I couple of months ago I made the mistake of clicking on an ad in Facebook for a particular prefabricated raised bed shell. How they knew what I was thinking is a mystery to me, or maybe I just don’t want to think about the implications. But having clicked that link, now every time I click the “f ” icon on my phone, slick ads for raised bed systems pop into view. There are plastic ones, galvanized systems, some white, some dark, some rectangular and some with covers; so many options. A couple of years ago I advised a local Eagle Scout candidate in his Eagle Project at a Clarkston church. It had a weed-infested, run-down raised bed garden for which the scout made a plan to create new beds from pressure treated lumber. He researched it well and showed me the plan which included the basic structure, side-lining and even best-practices for filling the beds for proper drainage. I think I will go with his template after I add ground cover to the area with the exception of in the beds. If I use plastic for an inner lining, these beds should easily last ten or more years and I can move them if I so desire. I might even ask this now Eagle Scout to come give me a hand in the shop constructing the boxes, as he already knows his way around the build. Scouts know how to pay it forward and backward. Now for the more complex concept of a greenhouse for which I have also been getting many pop-ups on my phone. Oh, the-
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-seeds I could germinate early and the perennials I could coax through the winter with a proper greenhouse. In spare moments I scroll through ads and do more searches in my quest, grateful for such information at my fingertips. The problem is no longer finding products but wading through so many options even for lean-to greenhouses. At first, I thought I would build my own greenhouse and attach it in lean-to fashion to the south- facing side of our shop. A stick frame and some clear poly roofing should do the trick; easy-peasy! I sketched out ideas, talked to buddies who are actually legit builders, and even consulted some friends with stand-alone green houses. Some told me they went with cheap materials and don’t recommend I do the same. The original idea began to lose some of its luster with this feedback and more research. That, plus my wise wife chimed in. I began to think bigger and look at professionally constructed options of which there are a dizzying number of choices in all cost ranges. My chosen spot will serve as a great location complimented by the big Maple, but cold and heat extremes not to mention wind and rain/snow must still seriously be considered and that means quality materials and construction. Almost all quality greenhouses are constructed of a durable molded frame and either glass or polycarbonate panels, I learn. For durability, longevity, light diffusability, and insulation capacity, often measured in terms of “thermal resistance” or R-Value, dual-pane Lexan seems the way to go. I learned that it is not necessarily desirable to have 100% direct UV sunlight streaming into a greenhouse as with glass panes, but rather have a more diffused, less intense light to prevent plant damage. My research then took me to seek out a reasonably priced reputable, American-made product that I could obtain relatively quickly and easily so I could start the project ASAP. And then the real fun began! I have always believed that you get what you pay for and I sheepishly look back at my original thoughts of a thin-sided and poorly ventilated add-on with a little embarrassment. I made some calls and learned more about options from many good companies. Here is where good customer service comes in and interestingly, I gravitated toward an on-line store based on the east coast. “Steve” is quick and gracious in answering my emails, texts, and phone calls. He also has experience with many different brands’ features far beyond what I can learn from clicking, swiping and scrolling and his on-line store gives me dimensions, features, and prices at my fingertips. Steve even takes the time to update his website to display more features I show interest in. This is the type of customer service I am willing to pay a little extra for. I know I want a French door, appropriate ventilation which means temperature activated intake vents, good air outflow, and a weight-bearing roof with good slope to shed snow. I have decided on dual pane polycarbonate and also see the advantages of other options such as misting systems, temperature control, and pull-down shades for those super intense summer days. I also realize I will have some work to do for flooring; a plan is forming and I realize I will need to obtain more information before I order my greenhouse, but I am close. I do know what I need to do to start assembling some raised beds however. With the realization I have work to do, a clear direction to go and renewed motivation to do it, I note the fire has grown low and my coffee cold; time to turn my dreams into action. Outside the fog has lifted a little and I am no longer searching for a vision for positive changes in my garden space, it is before me! I grab my work coat and hat and brave the cool breeze to do some real work in starting the transformation of my garden space. More to come!
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Start of the 2024
ELR
Season
King of Two Miles in late September marked the official end of the 2023 season, and with that comes the “off ” season when changes are made. Personally, it would mean retooling the 375 EnABELR into a 300 Norma Mag. This is a relatively simple process: swap the bolt out from a Cheytec to the Lapua bolt face and get a barrel chambered. That’s the advantage of getting quality components from the start. This change needed to happen as I didn’t really need two heavyclass rifles, and at the same time, I needed a better light-class rifle. I will keep that 375 barrel, and if the need arises, I can always spin it back on and change the bolt back. On October 26th, I had surgery on my right arm to reconnect my bicep to my forearm. I had torn it loose about a month before attempting to lift my garage door when the spring assist broke. Learn from my mistake, and don’t attempt this feat. Nothing good will come from it. Just call the garage door people and have them come fix it. To repair my arm, the doctor made an incision on the inside of my forearm just below the elbow. Once the muscle and whatnot were moved out of the way, he drilled a hole through the bone. Then, a second incision is made in the bicep, allowing the muscle and tendon to be fished through down to the new hole in the bone. The doctor then attaches the tendon to a pin inserted through the hole and out the other side. The pin is then flipped sideways to establish it as an anchor for the tendon. The tendon is then pulled down into the hole, and a “set screw” is inserted into the hole alongside the tendon, forcing the tendon to stay in contact with the bone and promote the body’s healing process. How does this relate to the subject of long-range shooting, you may be thinking. I’m getting there. I was sitting in my chair in Vegas, bored out of my mind since I was off work, but I couldn’t do anything while my arm was healing. The phone rings, and it’s John. “Give me one good reason you shouldn’t drive up here and go to the Great Basin Precision ELR match on November 18th with Stanley and me?” I listed off about a dozen reasons, but none were considered “good.” We debated it at length, and I decided to leave it up to the surgeon that I would see the Monday before the match. If he gives me the go-ahead, I might just as well since I don’t have anything else to do, and it beats going crazy.
by
Chad Kinyon
Love is now bigger than ever.
2024 Subaru Ascent
After a discussion with my doctor, where I described what would be involved if I attended this match in Oregon, his only concern was lifting anything over one pound. I assured him that I had commitments from my teammates that they would shuttle my gear to and from the firing line. The only things I would be on the hook for are the trigger pull, which is only eight ounces, and dropping the cartridge into the action, which isn’t even close to a pound. He gave the plan his endorsement, and I headed home to start packing. The first task was figuring out how to get everything loaded into the Jeep. The only way I could keep myself from using my right arm was to put it back into the sling and force the use of my left arm to load out. It took a lot of trips back and forth, but everything was loaded up Thursday afternoon for an early Friday (3:30am) departure. It’s time to go have some fun with the boys. I arrived in Madras, OR, late afternoon on Friday. It’s a town of about 8,000 residents that sits northeast of Redmond, OR. It had been a long drive of about 13 hours, and I was wiped out and very hungry since I had not stopped to eat all day and didn’t bother to pack any food. I hadn’t been to Madras since 2019, when I attended my very first actual ELR competition, so this was a full-circle kind of event for me, and both the town and I had changed considerably. I asked the lady at the hotel’s front desk where would be a good place to get something to eat within walking distance since I was sick of driving. She directed me to The Madras Pub just up the street. I find it funny how people look at you when you enter a “local’s” place and you aren’t local. After a short conversation and debate with a witty bartender, it was decided that chicken strips, tater tots, and a draft of Coors Light would be my dinner. I’m not saying that hunger makes food taste better, but the food hit the spot and was quite good. The beer came in a glass that was fresh out of the freezer with ice covering it. Really, it’s the only way to have a beer, in my opinion. It will be a long day tomorrow, so I returned to my room and went straight to bed. Saturday came early, and I was up, showered, fed, and off to the range by 6:30am. I would meet John and Stanley there since they were driving straight to the range from home that morning. As I drove in what my phone said was the direction of the range, I ran into thick fog. This isn’t going to be good for seeing targets that are thousands of yards away, I thought. When I arrived at the firing line, about a dozen guys were milling around, complaining about the cold and fog. We all chipped in, and the firing line was ready to roll when they returned from setting up the cameras down range. Now it’s a waiting game to see if the fog will lift and let us even play this game we love. We stood around kicking rocks and discussing what is shaping up to be the best ELR venue west of Raton, NM. This new venue is a collaboration between Dane Lentz of the Great Basin Precision Rifle Club and the landowner Brent Fessler. They will offer monthly ELR light and heavy matches that will stretch to two miles. This will be a God send to the folks in the Pacific Northwest to not have to travel 20+ hours to make a match at one of the major venues. They have big plans to continue developing this venue to improve it. The next thing I knew, Brent had pulled a chainsaw from his pickup and dropped a small juniper tree on the edge of the parking area. In just a few minutes, WHAMMO, we had a bonfire. The consensus was that a permeant fire pit would be a very nice addition for use in the colder months. We stood around visiting and poking at the fire with sticks, which-
Home&Harvest | Jan+Feb 2024
-is very therapeutic for the soul. Just before 1:00pm, Dane called it for the day. The fog just wasn’t going to lift, so shooting was off the table for the rest of the day. We would reconvene Sunday morning and attempt to get the heavy match in before starting into the light match. The weather forecast was for rain overnight, and then the wind would make its presence known. We can’t seem to have one of these things on a dead calm, sunny day. Team Longshot, for the most part, was nursing some injuries with my arm, and Stanley was having some back problems from a spill he took a few months back. We were tired, so the remainder of Saturday was spent laying low at the hotel with a few adult beverages being consumed. Sunday morning came way too early, but thankfully, the fog had moved on, and we could deal with anything else Mother Nature wanted to toss our way. We may not like it, but at least we can deal with it. The wind was blowing up our backsides at about 14-20 mph with small switches from 6:00 to 8:00, which made getting close enough to the target to see anything that we could make a correction off of challenging but not impossible. The overnight rain added another level of difficulty, making anything landing off target hard to see due to the lack of dust. I don’t know if it was just luck or the fact I had been gathering data on this rifle and cartridge all year, but I was able to get close enough on the first 3 targets to get corrections from John and Stanley that led to impacts on each target. After the first round, I was sitting comfortably in first place, and John was sitting in third place. The second round was equally brutal on everyone, yielding just one impact by Mahmoud Elbalawy at 3,226 yards. Which is actually kind of a funny story. Mahmoud had lost the part of his bolt that grabs onto the case rim, allowing it to be extracted from the chamber. So, without help, he would be done. In steps John Beloit with a long cleaning rod, “You just open the bolt, and I’ll punch the cases out for ya; I got ya; just call me The Extractor.” We couldn’t see anything to give Mahmoud a correction off of, so on a hunch, I told him to come down one mil. Sure enough, he got a fourth-round impact. Round five, well, nobody will ever know where that went, but it wasn’t on the plate. I was the last shooter of the match, and as I said earlier, I had been sitting comfortably in first place before round two. As it turns out, it was a good thing I didn’t need to hit any targets in round two because the range would skunk me. It’s hard to be upset with how you shot a match when you took 1st place. In my gut, I really feel John (3rd), Stanley (10th), and I would have finished 1,2,3 in the match had they been shooting their regular 416 Hellfire match rifles. They had both elected to shoot a couple of prototype rifles being supplied to them by Barrett for testing. Neither of them had time to put enough rounds down range to gather solid data. After the heavy match had ended, nearly everyone but me headed off to the light gun firing line, where Stanley would eventually take second place with his 33XC. On the other hand, I needed to get back on the road a day late to get back to Vegas to pick up my wife at the airport and prepare for Thanksgiving and guests. This match would count as a 2024 match, and Team Longshot was heading home with half the trophies that were given out. As for me, it was a full circle moment to be taking home a 1st place trophy from where this whole adventure of ELR started five years ago. Time sure does fly when you’re having fun.
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Let Me Count the Ways... by Annie Gebel
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We would n’t be able to d o this without o ur amazing voluntee rs
How do I love me? Let me count the ways. You’ve probably heard the line slightly differently, from a sonnet Elizabeth Barrett Browning wrote in the 1800s. This year, though, I didn’t want to talk about all the ways I love “thee,” but rather about the ways I love ME!!! Actually, I want to talk to you about loving YOU. I’ve done a lot of work to fall in love with myself. If you haven’t, though, I hope to get you started today. We’ve all been through some stuff, right? If you’ve read any of my last dozen articles, you’ve probably gathered that I’ve been deep in grief, living through depression, and experiencing change after change after change. If you’re anything like me, when life throws everything at you, it’s easy to feel less than. It’s easy to feel all that heft from everything that you’re carrying and not be able to put your shoulders back and your chin up. It might be hard to meet your own eyes in the mirror.
“First of all, what is love?” All that might be true, but you know what else is? What is real right now is that you can feel all that and you are still deserving of your own love. So, let’s explore the heck out of that! First of all, what is love? According to Merriam-Webster’s online dictionary, there are a handful of definitions that could apply to loving one’s self.
1) 2) 3) 4) 5)
Having a strong affection for Feeling tenderness toward Warm attachment to To have benevolent concern for To hold dear
Do you naturally apply any of these definitions to the way you feel toward yourself? Maybe not. But what if you did? I know I didn’t for a long time and even when people started to talk about self-love in my circles, I only reached the surface for a while. I was like, “Of course I love myself. Pft.” But then, did I really? Did I like my body? Did I appreciate my wisdom? Did I care about my mental health? Did I put my wants anywhere on the list? Did I even know what they were? The answer to all of it is no. I think it’s super easy to recognize a lack of self-love and immediately fall into blameful, berating behaviors. Truthfully, though, none of that is necessary. It’s the opposite of what the goal of this article is, at the very least. My recommendation? Let it go. Put it on a shelf to visit with later or let it not matter at all. When figuring out what loving yourself means, just don’t start with focusing on why you don’t. So, what can you focus on to dig into the idea of loving yourself?
Well, again, let’s start with the definition. You can strengthen your affection for yourself by reminding yourself, every chance you get, of what’s special about you. Give your own self grace and compassion. Treat yourself gently. Go ahead and roll your eyes at me if you must. It doesn’t change the fact that you are worthy of your own love and ESPECIALLY if you scoff at the idea of recognizing what is lovely about you. And it won’t change the fact that paying attention to the ways you care for yourself can reveal if you really love yourself and how. Simply count the ways you love you. Leave yourself love notes sticky notes on the mirror, messages in your lunch box, a coffee mug with a warm message. Journal what you’re grateful for about you! Literally use your fingers to keep track of five things every morning and/or every night that are great about you. Five achievements - one, two, three, four, five. Five things about your body that are lovely - my eyes are bright, my hips are holdable, my feet support the many steps I take in a day, my hands are beginning to remind me of my grandmother’s, and my shoulders look good when shown off! Praise your mind, your personality, your stubbornness, your brilliance. Whatever you want - it’s all about you! And the more you begin to recognize in yourself, the more you’ll feel genuinely warm and affectionate toward yourself. And as that happens, you might start to realize that you deserve a little of your own compassion and grace. We tend to dole that out to others without much thought but beat ourselves up over minor mis-steps. That’s not self-love.
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So, I’ve said ‘self-love’ a couple of times. You’ve probably heard of self-care, and that’s great and all, but it can very much be a surface level thing. It’s even marketed as a way to refill our empty energy cups. The problem with this is that self-care without self-love requires us to empty our cups! We’re expected to give everything to others first. The emphasis is on over-extending ourselves and then nurturing ourselves a little, you know enough to give some more.
“Count the ways you love you.” If you start with self-love, it’s easier to fill your energy cup to overflowing and give from the excess. It’s easier to say no without guilt and say yes only when it excites you. When loving yourself is the reason for caring for yourself, those massages, healthy meals, nights out with friends, and whatever other selfcare practices you enjoy are fueled by that love! Let’s repeat that…caring for yourself in a way that’s fueled by the love you feel for yourself allows you to give energetically to others without depleting your own resources. Good stuff, right? So, give it a try. Hold yourself dear. Openly show your affection for yourself. Start counting the ways you love YOU!
thiopia E
Josh & Jill Quaade
Imagine yourself sitting down with a book. On the cover, it looks ordinary, like hundreds of other books, but you buy it anyway. You open it up and start reading…. Boy meets girl and they become high school sweethearts. They marry. They move to the Palouse so she can attend vet school. She finishes school and they decide to start a family. But then…fertility struggles. After a couple years of fighting the good fight of trying to have a baby, they are finally blessed with Baby #1. But was that it, or did God have more in store? They hoped for more children. A fairly common scenario, except the part where infertility leads to the part where they help hundreds of street people on a different continent. Wait?! What?!…PLOT TWIST!!! And with that, let me introduce you to Josh & Jill Quaade, two regular people with a story like none other. Like most people, you marry and usually the pitter patter of little feet is the next step. For Josh & Jill, after a bit of a struggle, the blessing of daughter #1 came along. But then came the decision of what else would God have them to do. Should they maintain with one child or add to their family through another avenue? After much prayer and research, they were led to Ethiopia to adopt Baby #2. After selecting an agency, they were sent regular updates on available children. One day in the Spring of 2008, the weekly summary, complete with pictures of various children available, spoke to Jill, she knew God had a daughter for them. She handed the flyer to Josh and said, “do you see our daughter”. Josh took one look and pointed out a picture of their future little girl. They both knew instantly, independently yet together, the one God had for them. They had decided that her name had to be connected with the word “Joy”, for there was so much joy in those eyes that had seen so many struggles in the few short months of her life.
by Gayle Anderson
Adoption proceedings began and after what seemed like a very long year of waiting, Josh and Jill learned that the orphanage home to their daughter had to move the children to a different location. Josh volunteered to assist with the move and flew to Ethiopia. During the taxi ride to the orphanage, the driver began explaining to Josh about his mission to help the street kids who lived without home or family in the city. He gave detailed insight to the plight of these young people and how every Wednesday he somehow eked out enough money from his $30 per month wages to feed these hungry, impoverished youth as well as some women & men. With hesitation in his voice Josh, called Jill that night and told her of the taxi drivers’ tale and asked what she thought about helping. They agreed to pray about it. After Josh returned home from his trip, it was clear that God was asking them, “will you go”? Will you help my people?” The answer was then “YES”. They would help this random taxi driver with his mission of Wednesday food for the youth and whatever else God put before them. Together, Josh & Jill knew this was their calling – with a “heart for Jesus”, they knew they had to help nourish the souls and bellies of this vulnerable population. As Jill put it, “feeding the belly lasts one day, but feeding the soul with Jesus lasts an eternity”. So in 2009 they formed a 501c3 nonprofit corporation called “One Changed Life”. A board of directors was assembled. Twelve kids were initially sponsored, wherein it provided life necessities. The taxi driver and they, side by side, strove to feed the body and the soul. Josh began traveling to Ethiopia regularly and witnessed how great a work God was doing not only with the sponsorship kids, but also in continuation with the street ministry. At first churches would allow the use of their building for the weekly food sessions that drew about 75 kids and adults. But as time went on the churches raised their rent, forcing the program to move and regular meetings became a struggle. After 8 years of doing this, Josh & Jill knew they needed some kind of permanent compound. The Ethiopian government began to crack down on the need to separate humanitarian work from evangelical work. One Changed Life worked with a “humanitarian license” to feed the kids” but to formally teach the gospel, they needed their own area where they could house a second licensed entity with an evangelical license. With a clear vision, a sister organization, under the umbrella of One Changed Life was formed. A donor stepped forward and donated 3 months of rent. After discussion with their board, a decision was made to go forward when and if they could raise rent for 80% of a year. They started praying, and within 3 weeks, donations to provide enough rent for one year were donated. An entire compound was rented and the work to move forward to again provide food and gospel teachings side by side was blessed. The ministry began feeding about 280 people 5 days a week and the sponsorship program blossomed. At the new compound, through donations and much fundraising in the states, staff was hired and programs were established to help the sponsorship now serving 109 kids, widows with job training to help them be self-sufficient, feeding and teaching the Gospel to 35-75 kids per day with ages ranging from 3- 18 years of age, and feeding, teaching and counseling about 180 men and women from the street. All who come into the street ministry get a meal and a short biblical message daily. The facility also has allowed them to host annual programs for the sponsorship kids such as putting on biblical musical productions to bring joy, singing, and music to enhance day to day life and vacation bible-
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-school programs. And life continued on for Josh & Jill in America as well. While all this was going on, they adopted frozen embryos and were blessed in welcoming their twin “snow babies”, Baby #3 and Baby #4. Time continues to march on and Josh & Jill now home school their 4 children which allows them the ability to typically spend 3-5 months a year in Ethiopia. Josh is self-employed. His employees keep the business afloat while he is away. Jill works part-time and says she has the best employer ever, who allows her all the time away she needs. With the increasing time Josh & Jill have spent in Ethiopia, it became obvious God was calling them to do more. Homeless mamas and babies would make their way to the compound, as they had no place to call home. After much prayer and discussion with their board, it was decided to open another compound as well, where the mamas and babies could go live, learn the essentials of life and faith, along with the tools to make it on their own. And once again the funds came in. In 2021, the Women’s & Infants Transition Home was opened. With another full home of Ethiopian staff, 10 single moms with nowhere else to go are able to live at the women’s home. Over the course of a year, they receive training in basic life skills, parenting, and the Gospel along with skills training on how to make items to sell. Items they make include bracelets, soaps, cards and scrubs. They are taught the basics of business and sell their items both in Ethiopia and to friends of OCL in the U.S.A., all with the goal of being self-sufficient. All these funds are saved for their transition into life out of the home. They are also given training in trade schools lasting 3-4 months for learning how to become a cook, housekeeper, seamstress or childcare (being a nanny). Each mama is provided 3 months of rent upon securing a job and moving from the Women’s Home.
Over the course of a year, they receive training in basic life skills, parenting, and the Gospel along with skills training on how to make items to sell. And it has just kept going. Just after the Women’s home was opened, a boy’s home was opened just down the street. In this home, boys from the street who wanted a fresh start could live and grow in the home, go to school, and learn how to be a productive citizen. Now, the boys who live in the home help out voluntarily with the feeding program and Vacation Bible Schools that minister to other street boys who are still stuck in the street life. Always seeking ways to make the most of Gods provision and to make the most of the space, the basement of that home, by God’s provision, was converted into a daycare and was opened to provide care for the babies of the graduate moms during the day as standard daycare is overwhelmingly expensive. Still, God had more, a discipleship program was started, -
-typically, with about 75 men signing per session. Unfortunately, the dropout rate is high and usually 12 men graduate. The men who stay receive job training, help do outreach to other street men, and often help donate money back into the program as they are eternally grateful for being shown a new way to live, skills to help them be stable but most importantly living a Christian lifestyle. All this is accomplished by 18 full-time staff members: two feeding programs, a discipleship program, a women’s and infants transition home, a boys home, women’s empowerment training and 109 sponsorship kids. Affectionately Josh and Jill relayed the story of one of their first sponsorship children, Ephrem, who was sponsored since he was 9 years old. He is now a 24 year old young man and an active part of the staff ministering to the boys from the street and helping with translation. The excitement and joy of their life work for Josh & Jill was evident as they were telling me their amazing story. Both feel beyond blessed in working to make all the things that most of us take for granted such as a roof over our head, clothes on our backs, enough food to eat and the opportunity to be self-sufficient, not to mention knowing basic life skills. Today these children, men, and women have found a soft landing with Christian love that has forever changed their lives for the better. Josh and Jill are grateful to God to help them see the need and be instruments in lessening human suffering. When I asked if the taxi driver was still driving his taxi, Josh proudly said the man, with the help of an investor, opened several businesses and employees 90 people, many of whom he has hired after graduating from the job training programs. His heart still joyful in serving the God who gave His all for him and happily giving so much of his personal time and resources to the ministry. Then Jill happily said the next program that they hope to focus on is a coffee shop that will be a gift shop wherein the women from their home can sell their crafts, work, make a good living and be self-sustaining. Once again, they give it to God in prayer. As we finished the interview, I was seeing firsthand the beauty and faith of two ordinary, but beautiful God filled people doing exactly what the Bible has taught us. I swear images of Mother Theresa were flashing in my mind as I was talking to them. When I inquired if they were affiliated with a church, they replied no. They were just filled with a Jesus loving heart and doing what God had led them to do. And then as we sat, taking in the moment that this amazing journey all began because of infertility issues. And in reflecting at each occurrence along the way with just the right person entering into the story at just the right time, coincidence? Nope, I personally do not believe in coincidences, however, I do believe in serendipity by God’s hand. All you have to do is have the eyes to see it. Sometimes words aren’t enough to describe the wonderous beauty of seeing in real life what it looks like for two people to take a leap of faith to help their fellow mankind and walking a Christian life. To find out more about their organization: website is www.onechangedlife.org email is info@onechangedlife.org And as the promise of the new year awaits for each one of us, what kind of story will you be living? Where does your heart lead you? May we all find the faith and courage to live our best life in 2024 and beyond.
“We’re gonna need a bigger box,” I explained to my mom with the same deadpan face and tone that made the classic quote about a boat so memorable. And I was serious too. This was the year that I was really going to clean up. We weren’t in kindergarten or first grade anymore. Valentine’s cards were getting serious these days. Some would be stuffed with candies, like those chalky little hearts that aren’t actually intended for human consumption, but act as little cards unto themselves with adorable one-liners about love and devotion. Others might have a little treat taped to the envelope, or even a clever pop-up design. The class had nearly 30 kids. The requirements were clear – a card for every student. Yes, I could already tell that much like the all too important selection of a perfect Halloween candy bag or plastic Jack-O-Lantern pail, much of my success in the following week would be riding on the ability to receive and store copious amounts of punny cards and all the accompanying candy. I looked down at the diminutive box in my hands. A size 4 Buster Browns box? Are you kidding me mom? “What’s dad got?” Tuns out there was actually a boot box lurking down in the bottom of the closet. Just the thing! All that was missing was the layers of construction paper, cut-out hearts in varying shades, a tiny sprinkling of glitter, and then the artful calligraphy of my name proudly written in deep purple (grape scented) marker just below the cutout for the cards. What a perfect mail box this would be!
by Tony Niccoli
A few days later it was carefully transported to school, sitting atop my lap for the entire bus ride. Standing out in a sea of personal mail boxes that rode atop other tiny legs whose owners couldn’t touch the floor. Most sized appropriately for the little feet that bobbed this way and that with the swaying of the bus. Mine however, glorious in capacity, exquisite in design, embellished in every detail, obviously a work of art. Let the card giving begin! We arranged them precisely on the edges of our little desks. Each aligned to the corners and hungrily awaiting the cards that would soon come. Then in a movement that can best be described as a crescendo of juvenile chaos, or a swarming of disoriented locusts, we made our rounds. Home-made beauties, with colored construction paper sensibly cut by a plastic-sided safety shears, and messages in crayon or marker were the fashion of the day. You could spot them easily. Those store-bought cards might have the more current themes or more memorable puns, but it was the custom cards that revealed who you most wanted to impress. The envelope was the give-away. While the standard cards all had similar dimensions and machine-pressed creases, the coveted custom cards rode in style, contained within and origami of an equally unique hand-made envelope.
“The humble shoe box sure does a lot of extra work when it comes to cards and keep-sakes.” You knew you were really important to someone when they delivered around 20 cards from the store and you got to be one of the few that were bespoke. It was hard to keep your eyes off your own box in anticipation, manage not to run over other equally distracted students, and still faithfully delivery the pile you carried to all the proper containers. And when the blur of postal acumen subsided and we all resumed our seats, eager to see what our box held contained. Some were predictable – others entirely unexpected. Never knew I ranked as hand-made with this one, and shocked to get the duplicate of my neighbor from that one. I could see other boxes were stuffed to the brim, cards laying out on the desks once capacity was reached or the opening overwhelmed. My precious box however was a feat of architecture and engineering. Not a card too big or without a place. I cherished them all, keeping the box for months and the cards it contained – a treasure trove of sentiment (though the candy disappeared on day one). I think of that happy boot box every time I see children’s Valentine cards. The humble shoe box sure does a lot of extra work when it comes to cards and keep-sakes. Both in the way of delivery and preservation. I bet at least half of you reading this are picturing a special old shoe box that’s down in your basement today, or tucked away carefully on the upper shelf of a linen closet. Sure, many people have moved on to the superior preservation of a sealed plastic case, but those old shoe boxes are still out there getting the job done in millions of homes.
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I know exactly where mine is at this very moment, and even remember the first few cards and photos that greet me every time I pull it down from its quiet hiding place in our reading room closet. The outside might be well faded, and claim to house a pair of Adidas size 8 Gazelles that have long since worn out and passed on, but the interior is so much more. The top photo is the only one I have with both of my grandmothers. We are standing in my parents’ front yard with me in the middle. Just below that is the last birthday card I have from my mom and dad a few months before he passed. And next in the queue is the first Valentine’s card from my wife – though at that point we were still a new couple. Best Valentine ever! You know, its not all just commercialism and children wanting a box that can capture all the candy possible. Valentine cards actually serve a very historic purpose. Long before the custom had been taken over by children, with millions of paper depictions of action heroes, and questionable puns flying off the shelves every February, the proud tradition of the Valentine card had spread across both Europe and America. Cards became all the rage at the very end of the 1700’s and still make up the bulk of the exchanges today. Early cards were of course all hand-made, and guide books and pamphlets dictating style and poetic content even popped up on the market. Before that, the ultra-practical exchange of gloves was actually the fashion. “I love you, and February is cold so please enjoy warm hands.” It makes more sense than a pun about otters on folded cardstock but it definitely has a little less pizzazz. Celebrating love (and fertility) in February actually goes back thousands of years, though the customs have definitely changed. The original St. Valentine himself, or themselves as it seems there might have been two people who contributed to the legend of Valentine, was either a humble priest and physician, or a well-regarded bishop. But their tie with the idea of love clearly comes from a story that took place during a government-ordered prohibition and preforming marriage. This tender-hearted match-maker refused to acknowledge the ban, and continued to wed the couple in secret.
“Before that, the ultra-practical exchange of gloves was actually the fashion.” It was for this crime that he was martyred, and centuries later to become the patron saint of love. And as it turns out, also the patron of tooth-breaking candy hearts. Still, today it’s the chocolates, flowers and cards that we most associate with the tradition of this day honoring love. So when Haley Noble, the executive director of the Latah County Historical Society, and one of our wonderful contributors here at Home&Harvest, sent over a bunch of vintage Valentine card images, I was overjoyed. Here was a chance to glimpse the loves, laughs, and bonds of some local residents of decades past. We have some wonderful examples shared here, and even more can be found at the LCHS Collection: LC Greeting Cards.
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These cards tell local stories and give such a meaningful glimpse into the lives of couples and families living here in the Palouse region throughout many generations. A few with signatures and specific dedications, others are blank and only serve to tell the story of a moment in time. A joke that resonated in that era, with their slang and style. Art that depicted the cultural norms and personal styles of an era long passed. Even handwriting and personalization that gives us a quick view of a special moment in time. Some would still be perfect for use today – others might make you cringe a little with a joke or drawing that would no longer be appropriate. Many are sweet and platonic like a signed card from a son to his parents, and others are clearly more romantic in nature. But all are still around to view because the first recipients valued them enough to hang on to these special mementos until the time that they became old enough to be valued as historical and preserved.
“I found that pre-loved greeting cards made a perfect addition to any gift.” I personally love to re-use vintage cards. It’s something I started early in my relationship with Heather. After discovering her absolute love of vintage design and nostalgic or historical curiosities, I found that pre-loved greeting cards made a perfect addition to any gift. I’ve since tracked down some incredible birthday, anniversary, Christmas and Valentine’s cards ranging from the early 19020’s all the way through the 70’s. I’m always careful to make sure that they aren’t just appropriate occasions and messages, but also check to see what was written by the original sender if the card has been used. Some are just old-stock. Forgotten items found when a store or warehouse is cleared out. Or possibly a long forgotten card that was too cute to pass up in the store but languished in a desk drawer for decades before eventually making its way to a donation pile or online store. But for many, these are actual used cards that have exchanged hands – clearly been valued enough to be saved up unto the point of being antiques, and then passed on the enjoyment of a new generation. For those, I always like to see what that original party had to say. Were they wise-cracking, getting wordy with a poem that spans the majority of the inside, or simply signing a first name and allowing the sentiment of the card to sand on its own? To me, knowing that the vibe and intention of the fist delivery fits my own is paramount. And beyond that, its just fun to be a little part of that first exchange. As I pen my message to Heather, I always take a moment to think about how the card is changed in the repurposing. Now a combination of two special occasion. Two couples sharing some love. And I have to wonder, who will be next? Like so many other people out there, Heather also has a special shoe box. But some day, will these cards – many over 100 years old already and possibly museum quality finds by then – make their way to a third sender? And unless the ink fades to a greater extent on the first round, will they even know that I was the second message? Through context and the popular vocabulary of the time, along with the general belief that a first sender would-
Home&Harvest | Jan+Feb 2024
-be most likely to sign the main portion just below the printed message, I’m sure that third couple will figure out how the card progressed though the various hands and made its way to them. Or perhaps, when some day our closets get cleaned out, and those shoe box treasures find new homes, some of the vintage cards that we have exchanged will make their way to the Historical Society. While I cherish the idea of them passing through another holiday exchange and bringing joy to another generation in their original purpose, its also fun to wonder who might drop by the old house on 2nd street and ask to see the LC Greeting Cards collection 50 or 80 years from now. Maybe, you grandchildren, or even their children will see that first Valentine’s card that Heather gave me. And just below it in the stack, my favorite 1960’s card that I gave her. This February 14th – our first one outside the flower shop in many years – I plan to have a few surprises in store. A meal lovingly prepared with her favorites and the chance to share a romantic table for two that comes with a pair of cats circling our legs while hoping to catch an errantly dropped bite, a brace of candles flickering on the table, soft light dancing along the wall, and perfect music softly echoing from an Elvis record that has our song. Romance in the air. Flowers in the vase. And most importantly, and simple card that has a few sentences that I know will mean more to her than all the other things combined. Well, maybe all but those cats. It might be a little late for you to track down a perfect vintage card this season. But there should be plenty of time to be the first sender on one that stands the test of time. And if that ideal sentiment isn’t already in print for you, just bring out the glue stick, construction paper, glitter, and child-like whimsey. Its okay to be an adult with a hand-made card! No one is going to see it except your special love (and maybe a few thousand readers in a magazine many years from now).
“Maybe your grandchildren, or even their children will see that first Valentine’s card that Heather gave me.” Focus on what is lasting. Its both the card that shows you remembered them – like all those classmates in school – and the card that will be preserved. Long after the chocolates are gobble up, the flowers are pressed or photographed but forgotten, the special dinner is a distant memory and no longer even an extra notch in the belt, and the perfect movie is out of your watched list, somewhere on a special shelf, inside a beloved shoe box, just below a dusty old document, will be the card you select today. Coming back into view on those days its needed most. Still serving out its purpose throughout someone’s life, and maybe even doing double duty in the next generation. May your love age as well as a fine wine – or better, a well selected card. And may your shoe boxes ever be full. Happy Valentine’s Day!
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The Oh, Otis! Shenanigans Episode 21
A Hazy shade of Glitter by
Temple Kinyon Otis stood at his bedroom window and stared at the bleakness outside. Several hues of gray painted the sky, and the once-pristine snow from the storm that blew through a few days ago melted into slush piles and mud puddles. The song Hazy Shade of Winter popped into his head, and he immediately knew that whoever wrote his dad’s favorite song must have looked out a window and seen a dismal scene just like this. On top of the dreariness on the other side of his window, Otis suffered from a severe case of boredom. It was the second Saturday in February. All his siblings were off working or doing something fun, and his dad and Grandpa Ed had jetted off to look at a new tractor. Otis and his mom, Mavis, were the lone Swans at home. His Christmas spirit and New Year’s cheer had worn off weeks ago, leaving him in a gloomy funk. He heaved a dramatic sigh and turned to his bed. His big Rottweiler lay stretched out long on the comforter, belly side up. Zeus’s soft snores were soothing, and Otis snuggled next to him and started scratching his tummy. “Buddy, I’m bored,” he told his best fur friend. “I wish I could sleep all day like you.” He patted Zeus and stood. Immediately, the dog was wide awake and jumped onto the floor. His large, black tail wagged as if to say, come on, let’s go play! Otis and Zeus thumped down the stairs and entered the kitchen to find his mother’s blue-jeaned rear end sticking out from the oven. The familiar smell of cleaning supplies and the sound of the soft scratching of steel wool assaulted Otis’s senses. In the Swan family, cleanliness was next to Godliness, and priests worldwide would probably consider his mother’s stove for sainthood. “Hi, Mom!” he shouted above her cleaning. Mavis jumped and hit her head on the inside of the oven, which made Otis wince. She whirled around and glared at her son. “Oh, Otis!” she snapped. “You scared me.” “Sorry, Mom,” he quietly responded, desperately trying to hold in a giggle. The giggle won out, though, and a snort escaped. “You think that’s funny, do you?” she stated but then chuckled. She flopped into one of the kitchen chairs and flicked a fallen lock of hair off her sweaty brow. “Cleaning the oven is one of the worst chores I can think of. I hate it.” “You do?” Otis thought his mother loved every cleaning job that existed. “Yeah, I do,” she replied. “What are you up to?” “Nothing,” he lamented. “I’m so bored, Mom. And it’s so gross outside.” Mavis stared at Otis for a few beats, and then, without a word, she jumped up and barged to the back porch. “C’mon, Otis. You, me, and Zeus are going on an adventure. Get your boots and coat.”
Mother and son donned their winter gear and, along with the rambling Zeus, bounded out in the blustery day. “Where we going, Mom?” Otis asked. “To see Grandma Helen,” she stated. “I bet she’s bored, too, sitting over there alone without your Grandpa Ed. Or us!” They crunched down the muddy gravel road. Otis jumped in puddles and ran through dirty leftover snow piles, and Mavis didn’t even stop him. When they arrived at Helen’s back door, they didn’t even get a chance to knock before she opened it. “I saw you coming down the driveway,” she gushed. “Lucky me to have such wonderful company! Come in! It’s quiet around here. Ed took Zoinks with him and Marvel so I’m feeling lonesome.” She fussed around getting out cookies and making a fresh pot of tea on the stove as Otis and Mavis took off their muddy boots— Otis’s more so than Mavis’—and the rest of their winter attire. They scuffed into the kitchen in socked feet and settled in for a mid-morning snack. Zeus turned around four times on the rug by the sink and clunked down on the floor with a contented sigh. “What brings you here?” Helen asked as she poured the steaming tea into big red mugs. “We’re bored,” Otis and Mavis stated flatly in unison. Helen giggled. “Me, too. It’s so ugly outside and cold. And I hate the after-holiday feeling. Such a letdown when Christmas and New Years are over.” “You know,” Otis said with a mouthful of cookies, spraying a few crumbs onto the table. “Valentine’s Day is on Monday. That’s a holiday you could look forward to.” “You’re exactly right, Otis,” Helen said. “Way to find a silver lining.” “Oh, Otis, I forgot!” Mavis squealed. “You need Valentines to pass out to your classmates!” “Yep,” Otis said nonchalantly and slurped his tea loudly. “It’s no big deal, Mom. I was going to use all the old leftover Valentines in your desk drawer. You don’t need to fuss. Besides, I don’t really like Valentine’s Day. The girls get all mushy and stuff. But you guys are girls, so maybe you like it.” Helen and Mavis exchanged glances. “I have an idea,” Helen said. “Why don’t we cure our boredom and make your Valentines? I have a whole bunch of construction paper and glitter.” “That’s a terrific idea,” Mavis said. “Then they’re special for each person. We can help you. How many in your class?” “There’s fifteen kids in class, sixteen counting me,” Otis said. “But no hearts for the girls. There’s no way I want them to think that I like them like a girlfriend. Yuck.” He stuffed another cookie into his mouth. “I’ll get the supplies,” Helen said. “We can do it on the dining room table. Grab the tea and cookies, and we’ll snack while we craft.” *** Red, pink, purple, and white construction paper, mounds of red glitter on paper plates, and several sizes of lace paper doilies littered the dining room table, along with scissors, glue, and felt-tip markers. A stack of finished Valentines sat off to the side, square ones for the girls, round ones for the boys, and no hearts for anyone. Zeus dozed on the floor next to Otis as the humans worked on the final three Valentines. They were heavily motivated to finish so they could have lunch. Grandma Helen had-
-supplies for pizza. Suddenly, Zeus’s head popped up out of his deep sleep. Otis watched his fur pal sniff the air and then cock his head. “What’s up, buddy?” he asked Zeus. Zeus tilted his head to the other side. Quicker than scat, he jumped up, rumbled a low growl, and emitted a quiet “woof.” He trotted over to the fireplace and leaned into the opening. Again, his head angled one way, then the other. Otis stood and walked cautiously over to his dog. “What do you hear, boy?” he asked again as if Zeus would turn around and answer him. He leaned into the fireplace beside Zeus to check if he could hear something. “Woo, woo, woo,” Zeus barked loudly, amplified by the fact he did it up the chimney. “Shhhh,” Otis commanded. He peered into the dark chimney and closed his eyes to focus his hearing. There. A soft scratching noise so faint he had to hold his breath to see if he could hear it again. Scratch, scratch. There it was again. He brought his head out from the chimney area and turned to Mavis and Helen. “I hear a funny noi…,” he started. Zeus barked loudly, then launched himself off the hearth and up the chimney opening. Otis tried to duck but couldn’t because Zeus jumped and landed on him over and over. A flurry above Otis’s head caused Zeus to bark again and whine frantically as he tried to claw his way up into the darkness. Suddenly, something grabbed onto Otis’s mop of curly hair. He quickly reached up to get off whatever was on his head and felt something hard entwined in his locks. “EEEEEWWWWW!” he shouted and pushed past Zeus and away from the melee. Whatever it was released his hair, but the ruckus followed him and spilled out onto the living room floor. A black bird violently flapped its wings, desperately trying to get away from Zeus’s impending chomp of his large, pearly white canines. Caught in the middle of the uproar, Otis managed to crawl away from the chaos. Helen and Mavis had jumped up from the Valentine-making station and stood in complete shock as the bird got away from Zeus and flew up and banged against the ceiling, then the wall, then the ceiling, then the window, then the ceiling. Over and over, the bird tried to find escape as Zeus jumped into the air repeatedly to try and catch it. Like a kamikaze, the bird dive-bombed one of Helen’s antique lamps. A direct hit by the frantic feathered foe sent the lamp flying into the air. Otis reacted with the speed of a nine-yearold, flinging himself into the air to save the precious family relic from landing on the hearth and shattering. Helen tore off into the kitchen while Mavis opened the doors to the outside. She and Otis tried to wave the bird to freedom, but Zeus had other plans, thwarting their attempts and barely missing the bird’s tailfeathers with every jump. Helen came roaring back into the living room with a broom and, with Otis and Mavis’s help, started veering the bird into the kitchen, where the open door awaited its departure. “ZEUS!” Otis shouted above the commotion. “GO SIT DOWN!” Mavis looked at her son in amazement and started laughing. Breathlessly, she shouted, “You really think Zeus is going to sit down?! He wants that bird for lunch!” She continued to flail her arms to help steer the feathered menace out, but the bird diverted into the dining room. “Noooooooo…!” Helen shouted as she tried to stop what she saw was about to happen but to no avail. It was too late to stop the trajectory of Zeus heading toward the dining room table littered with Valentines.
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And glitter. Lots and lots of glitter. In a fraction of a second, Zeus landed in the middle of the table, using it as a springboard to try and nab the flapping mass of feathers and fear. Valentines flew into the air, the glue bottle shot out and hit the wall, scissors propelled and landed stabbed into the carpet, and the copious amounts of red glitter flurried into the air like snow. Zeus missed the bird and crashed onto the table again, and in the brief moment it took for him to figure out how to jump down, the bird finally saw the light from the open kitchen door and clumsily flew outside. “Oh, thank the Lord,” Helen huffed. But Zeus wasn’t finished. He darted out of the kitchen door after the bird, who wasn’t flying with much gusto. Otis ran after him, furiously yelling, “ZEUS! STOP!” But the canine’s mission wasn’t complete, and as he hit the top of the house’s back steps, he launched his final attempt. Mavis and Helen rushed up behind Otis, and the trio stood with wide eyes and mouths open to witness Zeus gracefully flying through the air, jaws open, and make purchase. CHOMP!
”And glitter. Lots and lots of glitter.”
He landed with a thud on the hard, frozen ground and ran around the yard with the doomed bird in his mouth. “Oh. My. Gosh.” Otis breathed. How could his trusted best friend do that? “He…he just…” “That poor bird,” Helen whispered behind her hand covering her mouth. “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Mavis stated. “What are you two? New? We live on a farm. It’s the circle of life and all that jazz.” She marched down the back steps and headed toward Zeus. He’d finished his lunch and stood with feathers hanging from his slobbery, floppy lips. “Get your buns to the shop, now!” she ordered him. Zeus pranced his way to the shop as Mavis followed behind him. “I’ll be right back,” she told Otis and Helen. But the dog’s mind switched into super-zoomer mode, and he whirled around, lowered his front end, stuck his buns in the air, and wagged his tail. His pink tongue hung over his lower jaw, creating a big, toothy smile. Let’s play! He dodged one way, then the other, and zipped around Mavis. “ZEUS! STOP!” she yelled. He didn’t. Bowling between the still-in-shock Otis and Helen standing atop the steps, Zeus darted into the kitchen with Mavis hot on his heels. For some unknown reason, only dogs know when to roll in stuff they shouldn’t. Usually, it’s smelly dead stuff, but when a pile of red glitter is around, that will do. Mavis watched in horror as Zeus slid on his belly across the dining room floor through a massive mess of glitter. He rolled over on his back and wiggled, then rolled to his belly and started furiously licking it off the floor. “Oh, Zeus!” Mavis said in defeat. “Why?” Helen and Otis joined Mavis, watching the dog roll around and frolic in the red glitter. Due to the dry winter conditions, static-
Home&Harvest | Jan+Feb 2024
-electricity acted as an adhesive. When Zeus finally listened to the humans to stop, he stood, completely covered in red shimmer from head to tail…which he wagged enthusiastically. Otis knew his dog well and shouted, “Don’t you DARE…” Zeus shook his whole body and sent some of the sparkles into the air once again. “…shake,” Otis finished. He smacked his hand to his forehead. “Look at the mess you made! And you ate a bird! You’re not licking my face for at least a month. That’s GROSS!” He walked over and grabbed the dog’s collar. “C’mon. You need to go outside to de-glitter.” The two walked out the back door, leaving behind a trail of red glints on the floor. Helen and Mavis surveyed the destruction in the living room and dining room. “Well, at least we’re not bored anymore,” Helen stated. She looked at her daughter-in-law, and the two cracked up laughing. “I’ll get the vacuum cleaner.” “I’ll start picking up the mess,” Mavis chuckled. Otis led Zeus down the steps outside and started vigorously rubbing his dog’s fur every which way to dislodge the glitter. “Dude, you have glitter in your ears, your teeth, and Lord only knows where else.” Zeus helped by shaking several times. Satisfied that Zeus’s coat was clean enough—although it still sparkled—they trotted back into the house. Zeus immediately walked over to the kitchen rug, turned around four times, collapsed in a heap, and immediately hit nap and snore mode. “Great,” Otis groaned. “You get a nap after causing all this trouble, and I gotta help clean up.” He rolled his eyes and went in to put things back into order with his grandma and mom. *** On Monday after school, Otis came charging through the back door to find his mom sitting at the kitchen table with a plate of cookies and two cups of hot cocoa. His brothers and sisters were at the school Valentine’s Day dance. Otis had opted out of that particular shenanigan.
“Oh, Otis, she likes you. I hope you weren’t mean to her.” “Happy Valentine’s Day, kiddo,” Mavis smiled. Otis ripped off his coat and boots, knowing the plate held his mom’s special sugar cookies, the ones she only made on holidays. “Bring in your Valentines and show them to me,” she asked. Otis threw a decorated box on the table and dove into the cookies. He slurped his cocoa and watched Mavis peruse through the holiday sentiments from his classmates. “So, how’d your homemade Valentines go over?” she asked him. “Great,” Otis said through a cookie shoved into his mouth. “But when I stuffed Carla’s into her Valentine’s box, she kissed my cheek! Can you believe that, Mom?! Right in front of the whole-
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More than retirement. It’s restaurant-style meals made daily. One thing we hear constantly is how much our residents enjoy our food! At Evergreen Estates we provide three meals a day so you don’t have to do the grocery shopping, cooking, or cleaning afterward. Invite your family to join, we would love to see them! Each of our residents are free to enjoy a worry-free lifestyle, because we provide the necessities. Things like housekeeping, laundry services, and group activities are all included in the monthly rent! Plus, we’re located on TriState Health’s campus. So come by and take a look around!
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-class!” Mavis giggled. “Oh, Otis, she likes you. I hope you weren’t mean to her.” “I don’t think I was,” he replied. “What did you say to her?” “Nothing. But I rubbed off her gross kiss right in front of her. But all the guys laughed and teased me, especially Fertis and Clark. Kinda made me mad.” “I’m sorry, Otis,” Mavis smirked. “Say, you want me to show you something that will brighten your day?” “Sure!” Otis loved having time alone with his mom, especially when she shared cookies, cocoa, and cool stuff. “Follow me,” Mavis stood and walked to the back porch with Otis following. “Put your boots on, at least. This will be quick.” Otis never got to go outside without a coat, and his smile broadcasted that he was starting to feel much better about his day. Mavis opened the back door and chunked down the steps with Otis. She walked over to a frozen patch of grass on the far end of the house, stopped, looked at her son with a smile, and pointed at something on the ground.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Otis, I have never had a more memorable one in my life. Thank you for helping kill my winter doldrums.” Otis scampered over to inspect the object. He crouched to get a closer look. There, on the whitish frosted blades of dead grass, sat one of Zeus’s massive deposits. Only this particular pile was different than any other he’d ever created. These fragrant lumps boasted an extra pizazz of red glitter. Otis stood, looked at his mom, and cracked up. Mavis joined in, and they made their way back into the house, laughing all the way. Inside, Otis kicked off his boots, and suddenly, Mavis grabbed him by the shoulders and planted a red lip-sticky kiss on his cheek. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Otis,” she said. “I have never had a more memorable one in my life. Thank you for helping kill my winter doldrums.” “Thanks, Mom,” Otis replied. “I guess Valentine’s Day isn’t so bad. Maybe we can do it again next year without all the glitter and a dead bird.” “Deal,” she agreed. “Let me go get a washcloth to wipe off your cheek. I left lip prints.” “No, Mom,” Otis said. “I’m good. I’m not wiping this one off.”
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