Home&Harvest Mar/April

Do you ever feel like there’s no point to trying to make a difference- to making things better, to show up or be kind? I know exactly how you feel- and I wanted to share a story with you that I hope inspires you to adapt the motto, “do it anyway.”

A few years ago when I had just moved back to Moscow, Tony and I took a trip to McCall. It was during a time when my anxiety was at it highest- so that meant I was always on edge and exhausted. One of the gifts it gave me was I was always on the lookout for beauty, kindness, and acts of community. It made me happy and hopeful to see a world on the outside that didn’t always reflect how I felt on the inside, and at the very least, seeing these things made me smile. It was during this trip to McCall that I was enthralled with the overflowing flowers and planters most of the businesses and downtown had- the beauty and gift that was nature. I knew that the moment I got back to Moscow I would try to create something similar.

We had just opened the floral shop and I remember walking around downtown all the time, taking note of the beautifully planted planters and also the forgotten ones and feeling totally inspired to bedazzle them. I didn’t have a lot of money but I was able to buy the discount plants and knew I’d bring them back to life. I truly had so much joy in planting all those I could afford to, and it wasn’t long until local businesses started asking me to do it for their planters. I was in heaven. There was just one little annoying thing about it.

Trash.

That’s right. Trash. Cigarette butts, beer cans, gum, and once when Tony was watering he reported there was almost a whole cheeseburger and pickle in one of the planters. I mean, trash is bad enough but no one disrespects a pickle on my watch. In all honestly, there came a time when we’d get really upset about it and I wished people wouldn’t do things like this- I just got into the mind frame that no one cares. Why even try? But more businesses kept calling, wanting their planters done. I started thinking to myself- I know there will be trash. But I’m going to do it anyway.

The funny thing is, while I was constantly cleaning up trash, I was constantly getting positive messages, emails and letters about the planters. It really kept me going. It was something that brought me so much joy- why put all of the reflection on what was irritating me and not on how much I loved it? It was then that I learned that people will put trash in your planters- in some cases steal your plants. Some will make fun of you- it doesn’t matter. If it makes you happy, do it anyway.

I say this to you because when the world feels like too much, the first thing you want to do is to stop doing the things that make you happy. You feel like, what’s the point? Or maybe sometimes you might feel like it’s ridiculous to focus on the positive when someone is suffering. I say to you, this is when the world needs your positive spirit more than ever. It’s because the balance is off. And if you are one of the sensitive souls caring enough to see it, it means now is your time to find every reason to smile, celebrate, and be the friend and change you wish to see in the world. It means it is now YOUR time to create the happiness, the peace and to not rely on seeking it from an external source. You never know who is watching you try your best, and who is inspired by your willingness to show up.

I say this to you because I got the most delightful surprise when almost every business, on their own, started planting their planters. I would walk around downtown and just admire the different styles of them. I cried that others really did care!

I felt so inspired by this that I felt gratitude and happiness, even when I could see trash in THEIR planters! Some things never change, but we can certainly change the way we look at things, and our ability to react or act on it.

I want to encourage you to smile, to laugh, to plant planters knowing that there is war, stress, sickness and division. People might laugh, people might be mean, People might throw a perfectly good pickle on your roses. Don’t let it drag you down or harden your heart. If there was ever a time to let your light shine, to try your best, to do things that make you happy knowing it might not go as planned, it’s now.

Tis the season of spring and new beginnings. Tis the season to celebrate ‘anyway’.

Love,

Heather Niccoli Editor-In-Chief Home&Harvest Magazine

Home&Harvest Magazine editor + sales + design heather niccoli heather@homeandharvestmagazine.com

tony niccoli

contributors joe evans temple kinyon keith crossler annie gebel gayle anderson emory ann kurysh con diane conroy steven branting sara raquet dulce kersting-lark chad kinyon jacqueline cruver heidi pederson tony niccoli heather niccoli

contents

8. How Are You 12. T he Trouble W ith Squirrles 18. F rozen F ires 22. Very Valuable Veggies 28. Blueberry Cream Cheese Muffins 30. Brioche Porkchop Sandwiches 32. Cannoli Pie 34. V intage Coconut Cake W ith Seven Minute F rosting 36. Connections 42. T he Vs. Vs. V s. Debate 44. T he Pressures of Competition 52. T he Rationale Behind Rationing 58. Book Review by Heidi 60. A Reading F or You 64. Love and the Lorang F amily 70. People of the Palouse 74. T he Oh, Otis Shenanigans

How Are You by annie gebel

How Are You? It’s a greeting as much as hello is now-a-days.

“Hey! How are you?”

“What’s up? How you doin’?”

“It’s been so long, how are you?!”

Do you struggle with how to answer this as much as I do? I’ve totally answered with the generic ‘fine’ or ‘okay,’ but they feel like lies and I don’t love that. I’m rarely just fine or okay. I’m great or relaxed or content or frustrated or hungry or tired. But, fine? Meh. I’ve also not answered with my answer. “We don’t have time to get into it” or “That’s a complicated question” or “Too personal, just give me my coffee, please.” I like being authentic, which takes people by surprise, but sometimes I just need my cashier to take my money and leave it at that. No hard feelings. I know they have a job to do. I’m just keeping it polite and real.

On occasion, though, I want to just lay it out! Especially when I’m overwhelmed and don’t want to think about how I’m doing, I just want to let the asker know exactly how I am.

I’m devastated, exhausted, and ignoring things like my children (who thankfully are capable of taking care of themselves) because the emergent needs of my husband (who is in the hospital as I write this) are taking up all my energy. I know you don’t know what else to say and/or you’re really wondering how I’m doing but I’m trying really hard to hold it together right now and being honest about how impossibly hard this feels doesn’t sound like something I want to do. (And why would they even ask that at the hospital check in desk? I’m coming to a hospital to visit someone, how should I be?)

I’m confused by the tangle of feelings that seem to get tighter as I try to unravel them. I’m grieving, again, a man who has filled up so much of my life in real and wonderful ways…and is still here but changed. I’m relieved that he’s still here but already, just days after his latest and most serious stroke, resentful of couples who aren’t where I am. I’m scared. I’m oddly and thankfully confident that I’ll be okay, but worried about him. I’m incredibly grateful for the network of friends and family who are asking how I am at the same time I’m so annoyed that they’re asking how I am. I’m angry and sad and drained. But I still have to drive home at the end of the day, so I really don’t want to deal with any of these feelings right now. You asked, though, so there you go! So…yeah. How are you? …and exhale…

Here’s the great news, no one has asked me in a Joey Tribbiani voice and there is no wrong answer to this important question.

There is absolutely room for all of these feelings and more. There is absolutely nothing wrong with lying and saying I’m fine. There is absolutely nothing incorrect about laying it all down in an emotional waterfall of stress and angst and tears. It’s all good. It’s all necessary. It’s all how I am.

So, what’s my point? Why even write about this? Well, as much as I sometimes dislike this question, I do think it’s a good one. I think we keep asking people how they are as a greeting, to give them the opportunity to think about how they actually are, to encourage mental health. As much as it annoys me sometimes, as much as I don’t always know how to answer, it’s really a good question.

We’re so much better at checking in on others, finding out how everyone from people that we just met to our dearest friends are.

Maybe we can use this social cue to actually examine how we are.

If it’s the cashier that asks, maybe you go with a more subtle verbal answer, but then take an honest look at how you really are. If it’s someone who cares about you, explore how you’re doing with them. Let them hold you (physically or emotionally) as you check out your joys and sorrows. Let the tears flow or the laughter roll.

It’s so much more healthy to check in, especially when we’re dealing with complicated responses, then to let them simmer, ignore them, or find out in the future that they got stuck and covered up in your system.

That’s why I do yoga. It’s why I ask myself every morning what I need that day? It’s why I sometimes just tune into the last fifteen minutes of Braveheart so I can cry and release some sort of tension that needs an escape. It’s also why I write. It’s part of why I’m writing this - for myself and for YOU. I know I usually write fairly deep, but mostly positive articles and this one might seem a little out of sorts. Truth is, though, that this fits right in when we acknowledge that ‘negative’ emotions are simply emotions too.

Denying any part of our emotional bandwidth is actually what can be negative for us, not the emotions themselves.

Trust me when I tell you that I know feeling any version of pain is uncomfortable at best, but feeling it nonetheless helps you process it, learn from it, and grow through it. I also find that after getting it out of me, I feel better. Like right now. After sharing the stress of answering this question again and again lately, on top of all the stress that makes the question hard to answer…I feel better.

Go ahead and ask me how I am, if you don’t believe me.

The TRoubLe wITh SQuIrrLEs

by Steven Branting

F

If we had a keen vision of all that is ordinary in human life, it would be like hearing the grass grow or the squirrel’s heart beat, and we should die of that roar which is the other side of silence.

— George Eliot, Middlemarch, 1872

Fellow English novelist Horace Smith defined scandal as “what one half of the world takes pleasure inventing, and the other half in believing.” No community is too small to escape a scandal or two, some of which are clearly crimes, others idle rumor, and a few somewhere in-between. In the spring of 1887, Nez Perce County commissioners found themselves out-maneuvered and embarrassed by a political ploy equal to any twenty-first-century feint.

The original Idaho Territory of 1863 comprised what are now Idaho, Montana and most of Wyoming, organized into five counties: Boise, Idaho, Missoula, Nez Perces (now Nez Perce) and Shoshone. The Montana and Wyoming Territories soon followed, and the shape of Idaho stabilized. By the mid-1880s, Idaho had thirteen counties, and trouble was brewing.

The trail of events in this story began on January 21, 1885, when the Thirteenth Idaho Territorial Legislature passed “an act to encourage the destruction of wild animals in the different counties of the territory.” County commissioners were empowered to determine bounties for “varmints.” The bill specifically named the “cayote [sic], wild cat, fox, lynx, bear, panther, cougar and lion” as subject to the bounty system, the monies for which were to be paid out of the “Current Expense Fund” of the respective counties.

In the meantime, political turmoil characterized Nez Perce County. Residents of Moscow had long insisted that travel to the county seat in Lewiston was far too difficult.

The old Uniontown Grade built by ferryman John Silcott in the 1870s was tortuous and prone to washouts. They even proposed that Moscow could sponsor a second set of county offices. Lewiston dismissed the proposal out of hand, quickly pointing to the fact that Moscow was an unincorporated town. The 1880 census had counted only 76 people in the village, but the arrival of the Oregon Railroad & Navigation Company’s tracks in 1885 had set off a building boom. Subsequent events would divide the county and its commissioners—Harvey Bundy, Charles Leeper and John Naylor. Bundy and Naylor lived on the Palouse, while Leeper lived in Lewiston.

Latah (originally Lath-Toh) and Kootenai Counties were first formed in part by an act of the territorial legislature in Lewiston on December 22, 1864, and attached to Nez Perce for all civil and judicial purposes. The act provided that when fifty or more inhabitants desired to complete a county’s organization, they should apply by petition to the governor, who was authorized to appoint three “discreet and well qualified citizens of the county as a board of county commissioners” with power to fill offices by appointment until an election could be held. Foiled in three attempts to formalize the county and after a spirited media campaign, Moscow residents ambitiously changed their tactics.

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March April 2022

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In early 1887, the commissioners received a petition signed by the required one-tenth of the “qualified voters” who were tax payers in the county. An analysis of census data demonstrates that no more than 150 signatures would likely have been required to place the matter before the commissioners. Although the document has long been lost to history, conclusions can be easily drawn from the events that followed.

The petition sought to enact a bounty on local ground squirrels, which were not named in the original “varmint act.”

On April 11, the first day of its 1887 spring term, the commission responded with a 4-cent bounty for each squirrel killed in the county. Today, that is about $1.10 based on the costs of caring for the food, clothing and shelter of an average family. The commissioners invoked section three of the bounty bill to fund the project with an ad valorem levy from the general fund of 50 cents per $100 of “taxable property,” or .5 percent. An official “Squirrel Fund” was established. To put those numbers into some perspective, ½ percent of $100,000 is $500, which would be about $14,000 today, to control the local Urocitellus columbianus. With so much money at stake, a plausible case would have to be made painting the cute little squirrels as dangerous and deadly pests deserving mass eradication.

Bundy, Leeper and Naylor had no idea of what they had unleashed.

Given the farming and sometime ranching economy of the county, humans came into contact with the squirrels. Columbian ground squirrels do eat many of the same foods as free-ranging cattle, but no one raised that complaint.

Today, unlike the medical community of the 1880s, we now know that squirrels can be hosts for spotted fever ticks and may function as natural repositories for the St. Louis encephalitis virus after being bitten by infected mosquitos.

Contrary to popular belief, squirrels rarely if ever carry rabies and have not been known to cause rabies among humans in the United States. The dog whistle that fired the public’s imagination in 1887 was “plague.” While it is true that squirrels are a common carrier for the fleas that transmit bubonic plague, no cases of the “black plague” were confirmed anywhere in the inland Pacific Northwest until 1936.

Armed with an ill-informed public opinion, poison and rifles, local hunters responded with a vengeance, and political events took some strange and coincidental turns.

What no one mentioned was that both sexes of Columbian ground squirrels in Idaho do not come out of hibernation until early May. The county commissioners assembled in Lewiston on Monday, July 11, 1887, for their summer term. On Tuesday, they incorporated Moscow as a result of a petition from a majority of the now six hundred residents of the town.

Spearheading the Palouse group were two local well-heeled businessmen—William McConnell, described in an early history of north Idaho as a “merchant prince,” and Willis Sweet.

Lewiston, Idaho Territory, street scene, December 1885. Nez Perce County Historical Society

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Meanwhile, the commissioners seemed to be having second thoughts about the squirrel fund. On Wednesday, July 13, they requested a legal interpretation from Alfred Quackenbush, the county’s district attorney, regarding the powers of the board to enact and maintain the fund. However, there were bills to be paid.

On Friday, July 15, “upwards of $5,000 worth of scalps were presented” for validation and payment. The county clerk noted $4,789.76 in the margin of the second page of entries. Adjusted for inflation, that amounts to $133,000.

The largest bill—$1,915 ($53,000)—came from McConnell, McGuire & Company, which submitted nearly 48,000 scalps. Yes, William McConnell’s company. Following closely in the list of payees were the firms of Durnham and Kaufmann and the M. J. Shields & Company, also Moscow businesses. The total bills from just those three Moscow groups amounted to $3,445.92 ($96,000). On close examination, one finds that commissioners Harvey Bundy and John Naylor submitted bills for payment. The first list of more than fifty individuals and companies contains few names identified with Lewiston. So that answers the question as to who signed the petition.

On October 15, the commission authorized a final payment of $60.20 ($1,700) for an additional 1,500 scalps.

More than 121,000 squirrels paid the price in Moscow’s plan to drain the county coffers and weaken Lewiston’s hold on the county seat.

By the time the commissioners reconvened in January 1888, the tensions between Lewiston and Moscow were the subject of debate in Washington, D.C. Fred Dubois owed Sweet some favors. Following Dubois’s election as territorial delegate to Congress, Sweet was appointed as U. S. attorney for Idaho, although he was not admitted to the bar until the following year, when he was appointed judge of the first judicial district of Idaho and later an associate justice of the Idaho Supreme Court — a curiously fast career track indeed.

Dubois teamed up with Senator John Mitchell of Oregon to successfully steer a very unique bill through Congress.

President Grover Cleveland signed the legislation on May 14, 1888, to create Latah County — the only time Congress has ever created a county. McConnell and Sweet had finally gotten their way. Both would be elected to Congress, and McConnell would become Idaho’s third governor. Sweet successfully arranged for the placement of the University of Idaho in Moscow in return for his opposition to the longtime and popular secessionist movement in North Idaho. During the 1870s and 1880s, Nez Perce County had been the focus of several attempts to create a new territory combining northern Idaho and eastern Washington. The initiative was finally defeated by an 1887 presidential pocket veto and a congressional rejection in February 1888, a move that would pave the way for statehood.

Two dusty, hardscrabble Idaho towns would now take very different paths. As actor Donald Crisp says at the end of the film National Velvet: “How can there be so many currents in such a little puddle?”

Above: Moscow, Idaho Territory, street scene, 1884. The McConnell store is seen on the right. University of Idaho Library Special Collections, 5-001-13c Next: Nez Perce County Commissioners, 1887. Left to right: Harvey Bundy, Charles Leeper, John Naylor. Branting Archives Below, left to right: Fred Dubois, circa 1890. Library of Congress, William McConnell, circa 1883. University of Idaho Library Special Collections, PG 3-0148b, Willis Sweet, circa 1893. Library of Congress

Home&Harvest

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There’s an old saying in the fire service, “your turnouts will keep you warm in the winter and hot in the summer”. It really couldn’t be any truer than that. They are big and bulky with multiple layers, designed to protect you from the flames and heat. They aren’t completely protective of everything, but they are resistant to water and flames, plus give you a nice overall protection from the heat when you’re in the hot zone. Naturally, in the freezing cold temperatures they are perfect for keeping you warm when you must be out in the elements. On the flip side of that, once you do get wet, they aren’t only heavier, but you are more likely to have them freeze on you making it harder to move around and stay warm.

Nighttime fires also tend to be the coldest and give us the highest level of exposures. In the wee hours of the morning, we were dispatched to a structure fire in town. Even though most fires dispatched in the night are usually real, this one was no different when the update was given that it was a confirmed fire. It was a normal winter night, temps dipped below freezing with a small layer of snow on the ground. I rolled out of bed for the call and slipped into my clothes before running out to the call. I remember rolling over a hill and seeing the faint glow in the sky as I was approaching the house. I could see now that it was indeed a real fire. Parking up the street, out of the way for the apparatus to park, I wiggled into my (at this point) extremely cold turnouts. Cold enough that as you start walking towards the house, you force your legs to move the stiff pants into a form other than “stuffed into a gear bag” form.

The house was rolling pretty good at this point. The bulk of the fire was in the living room, dining room, and kitchen space.

It had blown out the big picture windows on the front of the house and the all the roof above that section of the home was burning. Our Incident Commander was making a plan as the first engine arrived. Our first task was pulling the attack line.

After it was stretched out, I hollered for water. As the line came to life, we did a quick knock down on the roof. Most of that fire seemed to be exterior (the fire had rolled out the windows and caught the roof on fire and not burned up through the ceiling yet). Once that was completed, we were instructed to take our line around to the back of the house to make entry. We were going to hit the fire from the rear and try to continue the push through to the front of the house.

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We worked our way up the slippery stairs on the deck, up to the sliding glass door. Kneeling down and getting set up on our air, we quickly forced the door open and we hit the fire hard. Crawling and flowing the water to the left, knocking out the kitchen. Forward further through the dining room and into the living room. The floor was still solid so we could continue our advance. Now we realized the fire had spread into the stairwell and up through the ceiling. The house was a split-level construction- meaning, there is a short flight of stairs up and a short flight of stairs down. Fortunately, the fire only traveled up so we could continue to chase in one direction and not have to worry about the downstairs.

As our low air alarms starting sounding, the backup crew was coming in. We gave them a briefing of what we were doing before we rotated out. Just as we turned to head out, I looked up to the stairwell and saw that the roof had burned through, and the fire was swirling like a tornado.

Being like a wind driven fire, it was burning hot and fast.

The next crew would have to work hard and fast to get the fire stopped before it took off in the attic space. My crew went out and went up to rehab. Fresh air bottles and to get our vitals checked.

Now, back to the frozen part. Being inside the burning building, I certainly wasn’t cold coming out. Oh, how it was cold outside. It didn’t take long to cool down. The exhaust from the engines were also wreaking havoc on the streets. The hot exhaust melts the snow then add in the water that comes out of the engine. Now most of the street was solid ice. The city’s street department had come by to help throw some sand on the road so we could keep our feet under us.

By now, we had a few crews working the fire. The bulk of the fire had been knocked down, but we had a lot of work still ahead of us. My crew rotated back in and was assigned overhaul. We were to get access into the attic space and make sure the fire was completely extinguished along with pulling out insulation that was still left smoldering.

That is a messy and dirty job. With the big picture window gone, however, it was easy to get that insulation out of the home. It took some time, but we were able to get the full extinguishment and start pickup up our equipment.

This is one of those calls that would be considered a good save. Sure, there was lots of fire and about a third of the home really burned. But it was still standing, and it wasn’t a total loss. It could be rebuilt. Calls like this one also reminds me of the other risks that are out there. It isn’t just about the safety during the firefighting efforts, but all around the operation. Slick streets, freezing water, cold exposures to those not in the heat of the work. I was glad that we all came out uninjured and able to gain the experience and lessons learned. Every single incident will give us the benefit of experience. Things you can’t learn in a book or class. Hopefully, as we gain those experiences, they can be shared with the “rookies” to help them better understand what we’ve already seen.

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k n a l F to E M A L F

By Tony Niccoli

Very Valuable

Veggies Are you the master of the protein, but the jester of the side dish? Don’t worry – you’re in good company – scores of us have been there before!

Picture this, you have a few ears of corn, another side of onions and peppers, and just for extra fun, slices of eggplant thrown in. But that’s not your meal, it’s just the little flair that is going to take your cookout the next level. You’ll be managing all this while you try to time a perfect chicken thigh. Be honest – did your palms just start sweating a little? Have you been victim of cold main dishes because those sides just wouldn’t seem to cook in time? Or horribly burned veggies when you needed just a little longer for the protein?

There is no shame in it. In fact, when I started grilling I couldn’t even get most proteins to come out correctly when they were the only thing I was serving. Imagine the deflating feeling of serving a salad with a burnt, over-cooked steak. Nothing to hide behind there. But through practice, patience and examination I’ve been able to reach a point where doing an entire meal, with appetizers and deserts, and finding time to socialize with friends and family while grilling the side dishes and main protein at the same time is now just an afterthought. Nothing to it!

I can’t get you to that point in one article. But I can get you on the road for success quickly. If you caught the last issue, you know that I committed to dedicating this year’s series to what I call the 3T method of grilling. That is, we focus on Taste, Texture, and Temperature whenever we want to attempt to cook something new, or to improve on a recipe that we already have. Let’s take just a moment to review the 3T and look at how it will help us with our multi-tasking feat of running veggies and proteins at the same time.

Just like our discussion last time, we see with veggies that the 3T elements are always interconnected. We aren’t facing the risk of food-borne illness if we don’t get to a correct cooking temperature, but we do still have targets to get each ingredient to be at its absolute best quality. For example, with asparagus, it’s an absolute shame when you buy a premium side but then allow it to cook too long creating something that is soggy and limp. Similarly, cooked at too much heat, you can end up with a burn exterior and still have too much snap just like eating it raw. So, in this example, our best way to prepare for the cook is to establish the 3T requirements for our end goal and work backwards from there. For texture, we want just a little bit of char and grill marks on the exterior, we want the asparagus to be firm, but cooked through, and we want the surface to be free from oil so we can apply a sauce or basting rub if desired. Our taste is directly connected to the texture – we definitely don’t want a greasy surface where-

-we taste singed oil that burnt on the grill, we need to avoid too much char or burnt sections, and with any finishing flavoring we still want that amazing asparagus flavor to be able to shine through. Temperature breaks down to both our serving ideal and the cook here. It’s going to be much shorter than most proteins we work with, and even shorter than a lot of other veggies, but the heat need to be sufficient to serve it still warm. So where does all that leave us?

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Knowing how we want the end product to arrive at the table we can work backwards. Asparagus won’t really need an extended rest period like a protein that has much more flavor and juice to reabsorb in a thicker cut. But it will take a few moments to plate it and get it to the serving area. So we know we have about a minute to rest built in. We are going to be over direct medium or medium high heat to make sure we get that temp up and get our grill marks! To some extent the exact heat will be determined by the main dish we are working, and it will almost certainly have gone onto the grill before the asparagus. We go onto a clean and lightly oiled grill to avoid acrid taste from searing and just use washed, salted, peppered asparagus with about 1/3 of the bottom cut to avoid the stringy and chewy bottoms. I normally plan for about 6-9 minutes total with a little rotation in the middle – always keeping them across the grates and not in line because I hate to leave a single green buddy behind. With this backwards planning, we look at the rest time and cook time for the protein. Let’s imagine that I was doing some inch and a half thick New York Strips and I wanted a perfect medium-rare with a 4-5 minute rest. I know my grill will take about 12-13 minutes total for the steak. I’ll shoot for 3-4 minutes on the planned rest knowing that there is always a few extra things to grab as I’m plating and serving, plus saying grace, so I know at around 5 minutes after they leave the grill we will be making our first cut. With the grill up higher for the steak, I now know that the asparagus goes on with about 3-4 minutes left on the steak. It’s just one extra lid-lift and I might even give the steaks a 90 degree rotation as I’m in there to show off with crossed grill lines. When I pull the steak around 4 minutes after the asparagus went on, there is still 2-3 minutes on the cook so it’s just about time for that rotation and basting.

Lid goes back down and steak goes inside. And you can easily tune this backwards planning for any protein or combination of items that you want to cook.

Expect the timing to be on the longer end if you are using medium heat for your protein and the shorter end of you are up at medium high or more, and keep it covered during the final cook. If you are using a basting like butter with garlic or other flavors, try to push the rotation out until it’s about 2/3 done and then baste so you don’t burn off the fats. It’s also perfectly acceptable to baste as they come hot off the grill if you want to add flavor that won’t benefit from grilling! And remember, unlike our proteins, it’s safe to double dip. You can baste veggies shortly before the end-

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-of the cook and then dip that brush again as they come off without worry of cross-contamination.

You can learn this and practice slowly. Just cook the foods you love best and always work in an extra side. Start with basics like zucchini, asparagus, bell peppers, onion slices or corn. And before you know it, you’ll have potatoes and Brussel sprouts doing a quick parboil before you grill, or carrots, artichokes, cabbage, tomatoes, and broccoli going right alongside each other. If you want to really kick-start you learning try this experiment – get five or six different veggies and cut them in to slices sized for grilling. Salt liberally and pepper lightly and put them all down on a medium-high heat grill that is cleaned and oiled. Keep a plate handy and some tongs and occasionally taste one along the way.

Do this with the lid off just to learn the comparative timing. You will quickly learn just how much longer corn really takes and how quick a green onion can go on and back off. As they are reaching a finished state, examine the 3T elements. Are they too hard or soft, is the texture set on the outside? How do they taste with the grilling and could they use more flavor a char? Would they be best served hot like your first sample bite, or a few minutes later after an extended cooling period? With this one simple day of running a bunch of your favorite veggies at once, you end up with a big plate to share. Go ahead and serve them along with something you whipped up earlier and didn’t grill so that your focus can be all on the veggies for this test. Some chicken grilled previously and now cold would be an amazing add for a pita with veggies, or maybe even a tuna salad. And along the way as you cook keep a mental note of how each one progresses. Some will seem to be completely raw and then be done moments later, others take a little more time and effort. Your final cook times will be much shorter if you are doing with the lid closed later, but at least you will have a starting idea for relative timing and know exactly how you want each item to be served.

Whatever approach you take I want to leave you with one challenge for this spring. Choose a veggie that you have never grilled before. Don’t run off to Google or YouTube, but instead examine the 3T grilling approach and come up with your own plan for Texture, Taste and Temperature. Expand your confidence, increase your grilling portfolio, and create something new on your own. Trust me, it’s addictive!

muffins

blueberry cream cheese MUFFIN 1 1/2 3/4 1/4 1 1/3 1 1/3 2 1 ICING 1/4 4 1/2 2

INGREDIENTS cups all-purpose flour cup granulated sugar tsp salt tsp baking powder cup oil, any kind large egg cup milk tsp lemon juice cup blueberries, frozen

INGREDIENTS cup unsalted butter, room temperature oz cream cheese tsp vanilla extract cups icing sugar

KITCHEN

emory ann kurysh

1. Heat oven to 400°F. In a large bowl, combine the flour, sugar, salt, and baking powder. Set aside.

2. In a medium bowl, add the oil, milk, and lemon juice. Mix. Then pour the wet ingredients into the dry ingredients.

Stir until just combined. Fold in the blueberries.

3. Line each muffin cup with a paper liner. Using a tablespoon or ice cream scoop, drop the batter into the 12 liners evenly. Place in the oven and bake for 15-20 minutes or until a toothpick comes out clean. Remove and let cool completely.

4. For the icing- Combine butter, cream cheese, and vanilla in a bowl and mix until smooth. Add icing sugar 1 cup at a time until desired consistency. Spread on top of muffins with a utensil or piping kit.

Note: because the frosting is made of cream cheese, these muffins can be frozen and thawed after they are iced!

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March April 2022

29

BRIOCHE BUN

INGREDIENTS

1 1/4 1 1/2 4 1/2 1/2 3 Oil 2

cup milk, warmed cup granulated sugar tsp active dry yeast cups all-purpose flour tsp salt cup unsalted butter, room temperature large eggs (any kind), to grease tbsp sesame seeds

PORK CHOP 8 4 2 1 1 1/2 1/2

INGREDIENTS

KITCHEN

tbsp oil, any kind boneless pork chops large yellow onions, sliced cup mushrooms (any kind), sliced tbsp salt tbsp black pepper tsp garlic powder Cheese (any kind), sliced

1. For the buns- Add the milk, sugar, and yeast into a large bowl. Stir, cover, and let sit for about 15 minutes.

2. Once mixture becomes bubbly, combine the flour, salt, and butter. Make a well and add 2 of the eggs. Continue to mix with a baking spatula until it is mixed enough that you can now use your hands. Begin to knead right in the bowl for a few minutes. Then place in a new greased bowl and put in the oven with the light on (but heat off) for 1 hour to let rise.

3. Remove from oven. Punch the dough down and transfer onto a floured surface again. Roll out the dough and cut into 10 equal pieces. Form each piece into a ball. Place onto a oil-greased oblong casserole dish. Repeat 9 more times. Beat the remaining egg and brush each bun with the wash. Then sprinkle with sesame seeds. Cover with a tea towel and let rise in a warm location for 20 minutes. Meanwhile, heat the oven to 350°F. 4. Once risen for the final time, place the buns in the oven for approximately 25 minutes or until golden brown. Remove and let cool. Store at a room temperature in an airtight container until ready to eat! (They will keep for up to 3 days.)

5. For the pork chops- Heat 4 tbsp of oil in a skillet. Slice and add the onions and mushrooms, seasoning them with half of the salt and pepper. Fry everything over medium heat for approximately 20 minutes. Set aside.

6. Using the same skillet, add the remaining oil. Next add the pork chops, seasoning with the remainder of the salt and pepper as well as the garlic powder on either side. Cook for about 5 minutes per side. Remove from heat.

7. Set the oven to broil on high. Let heat for at least 10 minutes. Slice each bun in half and place the cut side up onto a cookie sheet. Bake for around 30 seconds or until nicely toasted.

8. Finally it is time to assemble the burger! Place a pork chop in each bun. Top with the onions and mushrooms, cheese, and any condiments that you might like!

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30

“

When making up any recipe, I usually go online first or scour my recipe books- pulling inspiration from multiple sources before I begin. Upon looking online, I saw a caption for one recipe that said “this little piggy went to the sandwich shop.” It gave me a laugh, which then motivated me to make them.

However, it seemed to easy to just fry up pork chops and onions and throw them on a store-bought bun, so I decided to make brioche hamburger buns from scratch instead.

This was the end result. I hope you like them as much as we did!

”

h e a t h e r ’’ s cannoli pie

FOR THE CRUST 12 1 1/8 1

KITCHEN heather niccoli

waffle cones, finely crushed tablespoon granulated sugar teaspoon salt stick of butter, melted

FOR THE FILLING 1 1/2 8 1 2 1 1 1/8 1

cups ricotta cheese drained ounces mascarpone cheese cup powdered sugar teaspoons vanilla extract teaspoon fresh orange zest teaspoon ground cinnamon teaspoon salt cup mini chocolate chips

STEPS

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Generously spray a 9-inch pie plate with nonstick cooking spray. Spray one more little spray for respect. Pulverize your waffle cones into a fine dust using a food processor. Add in melted butter, sugar, salt and a dash of cinnamon. Press crumb mixture into the bottom and sides of pie plate. Bake for 4 minutes maximum and LET COOL COMPLETELY. Don’t skip this step. Your Italian grandmothers are already mad you’re not making legit cannoli so please appease them and do this step right and that goes for straining your ricotta as well. Ain’t nobody like runny cannoli. In a separate bowl, combine together ricotta, mascarpone and powdered sugar until well combined. Beat in vanilla, orange zest, cinnamon, and salt. Mix in the mini chocolate chips. Taste test as much as your heart desires. I SAID DESIRES. After your crust is cooled, spoon it into the pie dish and refrigerate overnight- or at least a few hours. Top with crushed pistachios, more mini chips or orange zest. Bizzle bam, you have just made the best pie you’ve ever had. Prepare to be adored!

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March April 2022

33

V I N TA G E

coconut cake with 7 minute frosting

CAKE INGREDIENTS 1 2 5 1 1/2 2 1/2 1 1 1/4 1 2

cup unsalted butter two sticks, at room temp cups granulated sugar eggs large, at room temp teaspoon vanilla extract teaspoon coconut flavoring found near the vanilla extract cups all-purpose flour teaspoon baking soda teaspoon baking powder teaspoon salt cup buttermilk cups shredded sweetened coconut for garnishing cake butter and flour for preparing the pans

STEPS Preheat oven to 350. Lightly grease and flour two 9-inch round cake pans.

Cream together the butter and sugar in a large bowl with an electric mixer at medium speed until very smooth, at least four minutes. Add eggs, vanilla, and coconut flavoring and beat well to combine. In a separate medium-sized bowl, stir together flour, baking soda, baking powder, and salt. Add flour mixture and the buttermilk to the butter mixture and beat with an electric mixer at medium speed, scraping down the sides as needed, until thoroughly blended and smooth, around two to three minutes. Pour batter into the prepared pans. Bake until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. This is about 25 to 30 minutes for round cakes. Cool completely and frost with seven-minute frosting.

Sprinkle with coconut and press coconut into the cake’s sides immediately after frosting.

KITCHEN sara raquet

STEPS

7 Minute Frosting 2 1/2 1 4 6 2

cup sugar teaspoon salt teaspoon cream of tartar egg whites tablespoons water teaspoon vanilla

Combine all ingredients except vanilla in a stainless steel heavy-bottomed saucepan.

Place mixture over medium-low heat and beat with an electric hand mixer constantly for 5-7 minutes, or until icing is fluffy and stiff peaks form when beaters are removed. Remove from heat and stir in vanilla and ice the cake.

Connections - by -

Jacqueline Cruver

Our existence consists of daily routines and patterns whether we are in the workforce or actively unemployed. We eventually get comfortable in our habits. Each morning I start the coffee water, pick up my cell phone, check the weather forecast, and read the local headlines. New day. Repeat. It is easy to fall into habits. When the winter doldrums visit, I tend to make daily excuses to avoid my exercise schedule. All habits are not good and I will be the only one to regret my stubbornness when spring arrives and I can’t walk up a hill without fainting. My mind and body need to be connected so I will set better goals.

There are very few things that I allow to alter my routines, be they healthy or be they otherwise. One is a full moon. If I notice on the calendar the date to expect it, I will make a point to withdraw from the artificial light of my house and sit where the street lights are not competing to allow it to hypnotize me with its reflected light. I retire to my bed and leave the curtains open to let it light the room. When I close my eyes, I sense being connected with it. I can feel it envelop me, controlling the tides in me as it does the seas. As I awake the next morning, I feel openings in the fabric of my life allowing places to put new goals and dreams. I am not sure about the explanation of this, but it is undeniable.

Another alteration is a visit from my sons. Sometimes one at a time and sometimes both together which resembles a comic-con as their sense of humor and pranks take over. Yes, I am the preferred target of their pranks. It is never clear what they will have on their social agendas while in town so I wing-it to accommodate them. On their most recent visit my oldest son Micah offered to scan my family photos so I pulled out the three large boxes of random prints spanning my grandparents, my parents, my childhood and the-

-four bulky albums of the years of their childhood. Over two thousand photos and three days later, the digital records were finally on a thumb drive that was literally the size of my thumbnail. We were burned out and exhausted from how long it took. I will be spending a lot of time organizing them into files and including the names of the ancestry captured before smiles were invented. The childhood prints will return to their correct places in the pages of the albums where handwritten dates and captions mark each event. Remember, I am a lover of books and these are my most cherished. The obvious advantage to the digital copies is two-fold: 1) if my basement floods or the house burns down, I will have backups and 2) my sons now have sufficient photos for my memorial service (in the very distant future) without mining through the boxes. They are very clever.

The boys liked seeing the photos that proved their parents were young and fun. You know, the years before we-

“pages keep turning and time changes us all ... “ -became stupid and mean. I am quite certain that the revealing photos did not affect or alter my sons’ daily routines once they returned to their respective homes. Nor has reviewing most of the chapters of my life changed my daily routines. However I think it will alter our patterns.

Pages keep turning and time changes us all while keeping the same body and spirit. My sons have quietly noted my advancing age and are already calling me more often.

For me, I will pick up the phone and try to connect with all of those other faces before any more of them fade away.

There are so many people who were important in my life that I have not spoken to in years. If I trace back to when I lost contact with old friends, cousins, uncles and aunts, it was when options to phone calls began to invade our lives.

The frequent urge to pick up the phone when thinking of someone got disconnected. I cannot figure out why that is.

I just know it happened. I have email addresses that have remained the same, but somehow it fell into the category of later and very few emails were exchanged. A name of a person. . . disregarded as just an email address. Then time filled in the mote and made it awkward to cross. The silence translates, albeit deceptively, a message of ”I don’t-

-care about you anymore”.

We have put a typewriter and camera in our pocket but emails, texts and photos have replaced our voices. Our human interactions are how we get a glimpse of ourselves through others’ eyes. I could not have grown without these interactions. The stories illustrated in my archive of photos reveal lessons of compassion, humility, vulnerability, virtues, kindness and the importance of a positive outlook just to name a few. Am I the only one noticing that these are the very things becoming harder to find in our technologically saturated society? From my experience, a zoom meeting hardly resembles a human experience. A group meeting is like being a contestant on the old game show The Hollywood Squares. I’ll pass.

Here is a word for you; phonetically pronounced “tuhleh-fuh-nee” (accent on the second syllable). No, this is not something I heard from the radio station that broadcasts from Kamiah offering daily lessons of the incredibly difficult language of the Nez Perce people. Definition from the Miriam Webster Dictionary: “Telephony. The use or operation on an apparatus (such as a telephone) for transmission of sounds as electrical signals”. I want to note the apparatus is for SOUND. West 5-6734. That was my grandma’s phone number. I could put my tiny index finger into the open circle hole on the dial that corresponded with the correct number and turn it clockwise to the shiny silver stop and let go and watch it return to its original place then place my finger in the next corresponding circle hole on the dial until all of the numbers had a turn then the dial tone would stop in the comfortable receiver speaker at my ear and I would hear the click of being connected to WE 5-6734 then the sound of ringing would thrill me with the anticipation of her picking up her phone and saying a warm and welcoming “Hello”. The hand-held receiver became her hand on my face.

I still have my father’s heavy, black rotary phone. I used it until today’s technology would not support it even after the cord had been refitted to accommodate the more recent plastic wall jack. I occasionally set it out for display on a side table. It is my reminder to call someone. It is a tribute to days gone by when we sat in the living room and indulged in nice long conversations. Oh it was grand.

It involved two people, more only if others were in the room. A social activity with someone whom we had a bond of some kind and had a desire to carry on a verbal conversation. There was laughing and tears and silences and passing of time. If I remember correctly it was quite comfortable to sit and relax and talk. I am anchored to-

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March April 2022

-the phone that is attached to the short cord that is attached to the wall and I have to sit down, resulting in giving the person on the other end my full attention.

My grandparents have been gone from this world some fifty years now so I can not call them on my magical rotary phone. They will not answer. Sadly, when I call a valid number from my fancy contact list today, the chances of getting someone to answer the phone that you know is in their pocket even if they are not home, are about as good as getting Grandpa to pick up from the pearly gates.

Not getting anyone to answer when I call them, I leave a message. No return call for a month but I am patient. I am understanding and believe they are so busy that they just have not checked their voicemail messages. For the past month. When I do get someone to hear my voice and I get to hear theirs, because I am not anchored to my heavy phone attached to the short cord attached to the wall, I am pacing during the entire conversation and they are pacing and we are in a trance, pacing like cats in a zoo. Or worse yet since we can, we are multitasking or driving a vehicle while on speakerphone. My least favorite advancement is the device attached to the ear of a person talking to themself. This is not a hearing aid. This is what is going to stop them from hearing you as the two of you pass on the sidewalk and will not be able to take advantage of this serendipitous chance to exchange a friendly smile and hello. This is a very effective tool to avoid personal interaction. To me, we should be seeking out more opportunities, not creating barriers. But what do I know?

I am from a time when we spoke into a phone that wasn’t smart enough to give us driving directions, restaurant menus or take our picture. Recently I saw a meme of two smiling college age girls posing for a selfie and holding up the corded receiver of an old telephone. It was funny because I am from the group that enjoyed using a telephone for conversation and preferred the face to face presence of someone instead of a photo. True, not many of this group really want to take a selfie. Aaagh! Just call me.

40

Reloadin Joe

Vs V s Vs

T he Debate!

By Joe Evans

257 Weatherby Mag Vs 6.5 PRC vs 264 Winchester Mag Comparing these cartridges reminds me of the old 270 vs 30-06 debate. All are similar but there exists some significant differences. Really, sort of like apples and oranges. Actually, what prompted this article was an essay by Brad Fitzpatrick comparing the 257 to the 6.5. I tossed the 264 in because nobody says too much about it and 3000 to 3100 fps is readily achieved, a little more than the PRC. The 257 and 264 both have the word “magnum” in their title and were designed for long range hunting. Barrel life of either is a little short. PRC stands for “precision rifle cartridge.” This cartridge was designed for long range target shooting and matches where more velocity than the 6.5 Creedmoor would be desired. Barrel life is definitely better than the 257, could only be marginally better than the 264 due to somewhat less velocity. The 6.5 PRC is an entirely new modern design which overcomes many problems endemic with older designs. Short and fat, the PRC does away with the old magnum belt which is generally considered a plus. Personally, I don’t think a belt makes much difference one way or another. The case would undoubtedly be a little easier and less expensive to manufacture. I have run into a situation with belted cases where the belt was positioned properly for correct headspace but head to shoulder length was far too short for a handloader to headspace off the shoulder. Safe case life is dramatically reduced. Fat case design of the PRC could possibly lead to feeding failures, but I don not know this for certain. The current interest in long range shooting has stimulated the development of a number of new cartridge designs with the 6.5 PRC. The manufacturers have stepped up to bat and are offering a superior quality product. Quality of brass in older hunting cartridges such as the 257 and 267 cannot compete here. The 257 and the 264 both consume more powder than the PRC. Well, there is no such thing as a free lunch and if you want more velocity you will have to up the powder ante. The 257 and 264 both, at one time, had light bullet weights available in factory loads for use on varmints and predators. None of these cartridges could be considered as being desirable for varmint hunting. I’ve used the 257 with both 87 and 100 grain bullets on ground squirrels but did not enjoy the experience. With anything of this magnitude it is necessary to have a spotter. . It is said that the 257 and 264 have an advantage in that there are more rifles on the used rack. Well, maybe, but these rifles may be on the used rack because of worn bores, caveat emptor. The 257 and the 264 are criticized for having a loud muzzle blast. Just wear your hearing protectors. By the way, don’t forget your ear protection with the 6.5 PRC. Just like most any powder burning device this 6.5 can injure your hearing. Barrel length? 24 or 26 inch barrels are required for any of these cannons. No carbine length tubes for any of the three! The 6.5 PRC has no old classic rifles available. I guess if you want one you will just have to build one to your specifications. That doesn’t sound like a bad deal at all!

Ammo availability? Right now good luck with any of the three. I did find some Remington 264 ammo at $80.00 per box of 20! Hopefully, better times are around the corner. So what do I like? I have a 257 Weatherby and I love it to death. Actually, its been kind of a love-hate relationship. Seriously, I could be happy with any of the three. Having said that, I prefer the 6mm Creedmoor for match work over the 6.5 PRC. For medium game the 257 or the 264 will work equally well. Fact is, I just might have a 26 inch barrel 264 built just to have fun with. After all, it makes a helluva noise and packs a helluva wallop! Really, though, any of these three will work for you. Better yet, considering the increase in the amount of disposable income, why not just acquire all three? Good shooting, make every shot count and conserve ammo!

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March April 2022

43

The

of Competition

pressures

by Chad Kinyon

As I head into the 2022 Extreme Long Range shooting season, a quote from Henry Ford comes to mind, “Whether you think you can, or you think you can’t, you’re right.” So as I reflect back on the year-end Top Gun match at the Boulder City Rifle Pistol Club and my performance, I realize the truth and gravity of that statement. The Top Gun match is the most anticipated match of the year in Southern Nevada since it carries with it bragging rights for the next year and some fabulous prizes. The fellas that run the match don’t do it for the money, just $10/month. Scott and John Armstrong do it for the love of the sport. They take all entry fees and simply buy prizes to give away. No prize can be earned; Scott just picks a prize and draws a name. They don’t want the match to be all about the prizes but instead about the competition and camaraderie. This recipe has been quite successful as the competition is intense. Whether they want to admit it or not, everyone is hunting that Top Gun trophy and the hat that goes with it, including yours truly. Let’s begin by backing up a couple of months.

In the late fall of 2021, my competition rifle started to speed up. Not just a few feet per second (fps) but 100+ fps. I tried to ignore it, but at some point, something had to give. This extra speed put the barrel in what I would term an unhappy place. The grouping at 100 yards had opened up to about an inch, with the bullet speed being everything but consistent. Clearly, some sinister force was at work and messing with my world. Time to make some changes and get things back under control before the Top Gun match.

Remember in the last issue, I said gunpowder can vary from lot to lot? I believe this was the root of the problem.

As we all know, supplies are short and hard to find, so I had purchased some Reloader 25 from a friend of a friend.

The powder was several years old and obviously different than the new powder I had been using. Not sure why, but it is what it is. So into Quickloads (QL) I went to find a new combination (of things I had on hand) that would rein this thing in and get ready for Top Gun. There were a couple of slight tweaks, and my competition rifle and I were back in our happy place. I cooked up a recipe using Reloader 26, a slightly slower powder, and 190 grain Berger Target Hybrids. Although QL missed the actual load I used by .2 of a grain, it got me reasonably close.

The bullet speed was back down to 2849 fps (which made the barrel harmonics happy), where the standard deviation (SD) was 2 fps, and the extreme spread (ES) was 4 fps.

Pretty sure this load was going to put me in the hunt for the title.

Fast forward to Dec 11, 2021, the day of the match. I was out of bed, showered, and loading my gear into my Tundra well before the sun would make its appearance, excited as a kid awakening to the first rays of sunlight on Christmas morning. Registration and trash talk would start about 7:00am, and I had a 45-minute drive south to get to the range. As I drove, I allowed my mind to wander. Oddly, it would wander more into the future and less into the past, which was a little out of the norm for me. Today was going to be my day; I had done the work, and that top spot would be mine. This was the thought that I was allowing to occupy my mind.

When I arrived at the range, it was just getting light, and it was quite cold, or at least for Southern Nevada. It was chilly at 44 degrees, and the wind was starting its shenanigans again. The wind is something we have all become accustomed to, but the cold had a real bite to it, and none of us were really used to it yet. I started loading up my gear into a collapsable wagon for transport up to the firing line. Cut me some slack, it’s a lot of stuff, it’s heavy, and I’m getting old.

All I really needed was my rifle and a box of ammo. But that didn’t stop me from bringing a spotting scope, two tripods, chronograph, range finder, wind meter, extra ammo, stool, carpet square, three shooting bags, two Poweraids, and a partridge in a pear tree. Some of this stuff wouldn’t even come out of the wagon, but I had it there if I needed it. I paid my entry fee and went looking for my chorines; some trash talk needed to happen.

As I suspected, I found most of them down on the far end, standing in the new day’s sunshine, trying to stay warm.

Again, as I suspected, there was a lot of “brace yourself buttercup because I’m about to start handing out a$$ whoppings.” A disproportionate amount of this was directed at two people. The vast majority went to a fella named Tony Wong, with only a slightly lesser amount going to Joe Hank.

Don’t get me wrong, they are both top-notch marksmen.

Tony had won the title the last two years and was on the-

-hunt for a three-peat, clearly the man to beat, and everyone knew it. Joe, while also being a really good shot, and it pains me to say that, draws on this kind of energy. He feeds on it like a vampire would on blood. Scott’s voice rang out over the PA, “Gather around, you knuckleheads and let’s go over our safety briefing and the match format.

“The match format will run like this,” Scott continued. “We will be putting everyone’s name into a bowl. I will draw two names from the bowl, and they will square off head to head at a distance that will be drawn randomly from a second bowl. If both shooters miss, they shoot again up to five times, then we will draw a new distance and start anew. This will be a double-elimination event. When one shooter hits and the other misses, the shooter that hit stays in the winner’s bracket; the shooter that misses has to take the walk of shame to the losers bracket. Lose once in the loser’s bracket, and you are a spectator. Good luck to you all.”

He began drawing names and filling in the first round of the tournament-style bracket. I was slated in the fifth pairing and had some time to prepare and stew. My “stewing” can be good and bad at the same time.

I took a few moments to stage the things I would need close by, so when it was my turn, I wasn’t scrambling. That last-minute scrambling can really derail your mental game because you lose focus on the actual goal, scoring well, which leads to winning. My name was called, along with Cliff Peterson, Target #6, a 9” target at a distance of 930.8 yards. It’s go time!

That first target proved to be tough on both of us. It was a 9” target sticking about two feet in the air on top of a ridge.

Any miss that was close in elevation would offer no feedback as the bullet would disappear into the gully behind the target, thus hiding the impact. Neither of us hit it. On to a new distance. I want to say the next distance was target #1 at 4” target at 421.6 yards. Cliff missed his first shot, and I sent him to the loser’s bracket with mine. Dead center impact. That felt good. Filled with confidence, who’s next?

As it turned out, it was a shooter by the name of Sam Gass.

Sam won the coin toss and elected to shoot first at target #6, a 9” plate at 930.8 yards. He missed. I had missed this target in the first round, so I decided to game the stage a little.

Since you can’t get any feedback from a close miss, the wind was starting to become a real factor. I decided to take aim at a rock near the target’s base. I wouldn’t hit the target, but I would get an accurate read on what the wind was doing.

The impact was .6 mill to the right, and the elevation was perfect. “Smart move,” Scott chuckled with a wink and a fist bump. He knew what I was up to. I got ya now, Sammy boy!

He missed his second shot and my second shot sent him to the losers bracket. That’s two down in head-to-head competition. I’m in the zone, and I will own that title. Who’s next?

What do you mean it’s Tony! Well craaap!

Tony and I slugged it out for 3 distances. Not because we were missing but because we were both hitting. If both-

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-shooters hit the target, the distance gets changed. The third distance was target #1 at 421.6 yards. I had been on this target before. It was a 1.1 mill elevation adjustment and then just held the left edge to offset the left to right wind. I don’t think Tony had been on this target yet, and he missed. My shot hit precisely as I had pictured in my mind.

Hold it!

I just sent Tony Wong to the losers bracket. This had not ever been done before … by anyone, ever, and everyone knew it. I’m 3/3 and feeling invincible. Who’s the next victim to be led to the slaughter?

One of my cronies, Ashley Williams, drew the short straw.

I’m pretty sure I had taken up residency in his head and was like a bull in a china shop. Ash missed his first shot, and I cold bored mine, sending him over to fight it out in the loser’s bracket. I’m a machine, my equipment is dialed, and my ammo is perfect. Clearly, I’m the one to beat at 4/4.

These thoughts are somewhat retroreflective as my mind was focused like a laser on the next target and my goals.

Bring on the next shooter.

The next round would be the matchup of the two undefeated shooters for the top spot in the single-elimination portion of the match. I knew who it was going to be hours before this point, Scott Neidrick. I had been watching him shoot, and he was on a run just like me. He was shooting a 300 Norma Mag, which eclipses my 7 SAUM in size, weight, and strength. No matter, as long as I make my shots, he can’t beat me. Only I can beat me. Scott went to the loser’s bracket on our second distance, which was target #8, a 10” target at 1076 yards. He missed by 1/4”, and I didn’t. That’s it, I’m the last man standing. At this point, someone will have to win out through the loser’s side and beat me twice for the title. The way I’m shooting today, that will not happen.

For the next two hours, I froze as I quietly watched shooters battle it out, trying to get in a position to snatch the title from me. I knew who was coming. He just had to jump through a few hoops to get back to me. Before long, Scott was back, and he wanted revenge, but he had to beat me twice, and I only needed to beat him once.

We started off on target #8, a 10” target at 1076 yards. It was fitting, it was the furthest target, and it was for the title. We both missed slightly on our first three shots. Scott connected on his fourth shot, which put some pressure on me to make my shot. I missed. We were all tied up now, so the next distance was literally for the title. The tile was drawn, and it was #7. A 10” target at 1021 yards. We both made our adjustments, and Scott shot first. He missed. This allowed me the opportunity to game the stage like I had done earlier in the day. I picked out a rock near the base and sent it. As was my plan, I hit below the target, but my elevation was off. The round hit a bit higher than it should have, almost .9mil higher than I was expecting. This should’ve been a clue. But I got my wind call and made the appropriate corrections. We both missed our next two shots.

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As Scott closed his bolt for shot number four, I got down on my scope and watched. “Impact!” Yelled Scott Armstrong.

Wait! What?

I was watching the target, and I didn’t see any splash. That wasn’t a hit. Then like a frozen wave consuming my entire body, I realized I had been shooting at the wrong target.

“Hey, guys, what target are we shooting at?” I asked.

“Number seven,” came from the crowd.

I explained that I had been shooting at the #6 target, but that was my problem, not theirs. To keep the match going, I had one shot to cold bore the #7 target at 1021 yards. I moved my aim onto the correct target and went with my original elevation call. The bullet trace told me that I was roughly 1” off the right side. I had lost …

A voice from behind me rang out, “I’m not winning like that!” It was Scott Neidrick. “You can have one more shot, but that is the limit of my generosity,” he proclaimed.

This took some real guts and was a display of true sportsmanship since I had just had a shot to get my wind right. I chambered another round and settled in. You got this, nothing but hits. I squeezed the trigger. Right as I squeezed the trigger, a gust of wind blew in from the left, making the windsock stick straight out like it was frozen, but it was too late; the bullet was on its way, nothing I could do at this point. As I watched the trace slide just past the right edge, it hit me like a ton of bricks. Second place, or as the trophy says, “the best loser.”

What’s the point of my story, you ask? My mental focus was rock solid all day. I wouldn’t even allow myself to consider missing a shot. Did I miss? Yes, and plenty, but I never dwelled on it. As my good friend Jim Mehl once told me, “You can’t do anything about that last shot; just learn what it’s willing to teach you and dedicate yourself wholly to making the next shot count.”

That day, I lost my mental edge when we moved from target #8 to #7 and allowed myself to get distracted by the peanut gallery.

Now, a second-place finish at this venue and with this group of skilled marksmen is no small feat. I will proudly display the trophy in my trophy case as a constant reminder of just how vital it is to stay focused mentally on the task at hand and the goal that has been set.

In the spring of 2020 I was confronted with a scene that I had never encountered before in my thirty-something years of life. At first I hardly noticed it, dismissing passing news stories about this occurrence as a fact of life in places other than my quaint little town. Within a few weeks, however, the growing magnitude of the problem was inescapable. Perhaps if I had grown up in hurricane country I’d have been better prepared for the realities of the situation, but I was blissfully naïve of how frustrating it could be until it smacked me right in the face. The source of my consternation? Bare grocery store shelves.

Americans who lived through WWII were no strangers to the supply shortages we abruptly faced during the onset of the current pandemic. Scarcity of goods was common in the early 1940s when large parts of the American manufacturing industry were retooled to serve the war effort overseas. Making do with less became a point of patriotic pride, as citizens saw their sacrifice of material comfort as a meaningful contribution to the war.

Managing access to limited products is a tremendously important task. Anyone who elbowed their way through a store to grab a pack of toilet paper in April 2020 knows that shoppers cannot always be trusted to self-regulate their purchases. One of -

T he Rational Behind T he

Rationing by: Dulce Kersting-Lark

-America’s greatest experiments with directing commerce and individual consumption was the war rationing system that was put in place to manage scarcities brought about by WWII. Through rationing, and a companion program of price fixing, the federal government intended to keep prices stable and ensure that Americans had roughly equal access to scarce goods, which might otherwise be exclusively available to the highest bidder.

Even before America officially entered the war, President Franklin D. Roosevelt realized there was a need to address growing pressures on the country’s economy as a result of the war escalating in Europe. In May of 1940, the National Defense Advisory Commission created a Price Stabilization and Consumer Protection division. It could set standards for the price of scrap metal, but little else at the time. By August of 1941 the responsibilities for protecting consumers from price gouging had been shuffled to the newly formed Office of Price Administration. Following the December 7th, 1941, Japanese bombing of Pearl Harbor, the OPA instituted a formal rationing of rubber tires. As American servicemen and women shipped out for duty in early 1942, rations rules were placed on a variety of valuable commodities stateside, including automobiles, gasoline, and sugar. Limits were subsequently placed on meat, processed foods, -

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Some rations were necessary because the supply of raw materials needed for production was disrupted by the war. Rubber, for instance, came largely from Southeast Asia where fighting made it difficult to maintain normal supply chains. For the better part of the war drivers were encouraged to take great care of their car’s tires because replacements were nearly impossible to come by. Other products were scarce because the means of production had been reallocated to wartime needs, like automobile production lines. Still other goods, like canned foods, were needed supplies for American and Allied soldiers.

Consumers were asked to scale back their reliance on such products so that they could be used to feed hungry troops abroad.

The ration system implemented by the OPA with very little notice in the spring of 1942 was fairly complex and involved the use of physical ration stamps, issued in booklets to every man, woman, and child in America.

At least five ration books were issued by the OPA between 1942 and 1945, each with slightly different looking stamps that had number and letter combinations that indicated their value and when they would expire. After the first ration booklet, which was used exclusively to purchase sugar, the collections contained stamps in multiple colors or with different imagery to signify the items they could be used on.

With such a complicated system, it’s little wonder that news agencies played a central role in helping families make the best use of their rations. An Associated Press article from the time provided a series of important dates for holders of ration books, including notes about household staples. “Processed foods – Book 4 blue stamps H2 through M2 good through June 2; N2 through S2 good through June 30; T2 through X2 good through July 31; Y2 and Z2 and A1 through C1 good through August 31.

Shoes – Book 3 Airplane stamps 1, 2, and 3 good indefinitely, OPA says no plans to cancel any. Next stamp valid August 1.”

The papers also published lists of the point values set on common goods. Such a table was included in the March 25th, 1943, edition of the Spokesman Review and was clipped by an anonymous Latah County shopper for reference. Meats of every variety were listed, including beef tripe valued at just three points per pound and bone-in sliced ham for 11 points per pound. The essential nature of this information even inspired Moscow’s Daily Idahonian to run a subscription advertisement proclaiming “don’t penalize your family by ignorance.” It went on to advise that “the only way to keep fully informed…will be through The Daily Idahonian. For the Idahonian will publicize all additional rationing regulations, and will keep its readers informed on the various ‘points’ allotted each item of food and each coupon in the new ration books.”

The system, while complicated, became a fact of life for-

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-Americans who believed their collective actions would benefit their country’s ability to win the war. One Moscow resident recalled later in life that there wasn’t much choice but to “learn to live by the ration books.” Norma Zenier described life on the WWII home front in wonderful and vivid detail in an account now housed at the Latah County Historical Society archives. “Filled with small numbered and colored stamps,” Norma described, “a special stamp would have to be presented for such items as gasoline, sugar, meat, butter, coffee and shoes. If a purchase, such as meat, did not use a whole coupon, ‘change’ was given in tokens smaller than a dime. Those little, round, hard cardboard discs were hard to keep track of. When stamps were gone, it was wait until a new book was issued before more of such a rationed item could be purchased.”

Not everyone, it seems, could so easily “live by the ration books.” Both good-intentioned rule bending and outright cheating of the system were easy to find, if you knew where to look. Much of the OPA’s expansive rationingHome&Harvest

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March April 2022

-program was administered by volunteers from each community, who made up local ration boards and used social pressures to persuade retailers and consumers to honor the rules. The ration board serving most residents of Latah County was chaired by Milburn Kenworthy, owner to two theatres in downtown Moscow. All applications for ration booklets passed through Milburn’s committee, as did petitions for additional allotments and other special requests.

One account of a Latah County resident’s dealings with Milburn and the ration board was recorded for posterity in 1975 in an oral history interview with Emmett Utt of Princeton, Idaho. During the interview, Emmett recalled how he and his wife Anna were having trouble stretching three gallons of allotted gas between their two cars. Anna worked as a teacher about five miles from their home and Emmett worked at the Potlatch Mill, plus he farmed and needed to deliver milk and cream into town. Although he requested additional gas rations from the official rationing board in Moscow, he was denied. With no other options,

56

-he turned to the gas in the farm barrel, which was only to be used in farm equipment. In order to get your weekly ration of gasoline, however, you had to provide your odometer reading to verify that you were not cheating the system. When he was found out after about a month, Milburn called him in and said “boy, you sure are getting good gas mileage.” When Emmett admitted to his actions, the chairman was livid. Emmett explained his situation again – that his wife was teaching and he was working and farming – and the decision was reversed. The next day he got home and found a string of tickets for gas so long that he figured he might never use them up. Stories like these demonstrate how such an enormous program was difficult to apply uniformly across the country. Although it is less well documented in the community archives, there was no doubt a local black market for rationed goods existed if you knew where to look.

For those committed to upholding the ration system as best they could, there were a number of ways to enhance a family’s mealtime. As had been the case in WWI, Victory Gardens were promoted as a patriotic endeavor. Growing one’s own fruits and vegetables meant industrial agriculture could be focused on supplying troops, less gasoline would be needed to transport food to grocery stores, and packaging materials could be spared. Victory Garden guides were distributed widely to aspiring gardeners. As one such guide proclaimed, “growing a Victory Garden is easier than you may think and there is a lot of satisfaction in picking fresh, crisp vegetables just a few minutes before they are served.” Further assistance could be obtained through local Extension Service offices, a program that was and remains a collaboration between the USDA and land grant universities like the University of Idaho. The Extension Service offered thousands of classes across the country on ways to preserve food and minimize waste.

According to the USDA, an estimated 4 million cans of sweet and savory foods were preserved by Americans in 1943 alone.

Making thrifty use of rations was another subject of interest for home cooks during the war. Pioneering columnist and radio host Marjorie Mills wrote an entire book on the subject in 1943, titled Cooking on a Ration, or Food is Still Fun, in which she promised that “the plain, down to earth foods we’ll be eating for the duration – and for a while after – could be made exciting.” “This book is planned,” she goes on, “for women who have been whirled into a dizzy series of readjustments. They are showing, nevertheless, dauntless spirit, courage, and the resolve to turn out delectable food with whatever materials may be available.” Marjorie’s book included more than 120 recipes for meatless main dishes, a special appendix on clever uses for leftovers, and a list of twenty fundamental rules for using one’s ration points wisely. Many of Marjorie’s pointers are in fact timeless, like “watch your local papers carefully for abundant supplies and seasonal wealth of fruits and vegetables. Buy in season.”

Even the physical book was a reflection of the ways that rationing reshaped American lives. Inside the front cover of Cooking on a Ration is a note reading “war has made people eager for books. It has also created a scarcity of paper. Books must be smaller now and thinner than the ones you have been used to. However, on the average such books are not shorter and your dollar buys as much reading matter as it ever has.” With so many recipes and suggestions, readers no doubt found Marjorie’s book worth the $2.00 cover price.

Over the last couple of years I’ve spent quite a bit of time thinking about how history can help us better process the unprecedented era we are living through. Learning about the war rationing system has helped me appreciate the sacrifices made by my fellow countrymen and women, put my own experiences with scarcity and inconvenience in perspective, and consider how we might all be better prepared for the next major challenge to our collective community. Americans have weathered enormous disruptions to their normal lives before, and emerged in relative good health and humor. That gives me hope that there are brighter days ahead.

APRIL 8-10 | uidaho.edu/parentweekend

HEIDI’S

book REV IEW

by heidi pederson

BOOK: One to Watch by Kate Stayman-London

Bea Schumacher is a stylish plus-size fashion blogger who has amazing friends, devoted family and lots of Insta followers, as well as a broken heart. One night Bea sits down to watch her weekly binge Main Squeeze, the hit reality show that everyone is obsessed with. Bea loves the fantasy dates, the kiss-off rejections but is sick and tired of the lack of body diversity on the show, it is like being a size zero is a prerequisite for getting engaged on the show.

Just when Bea decides to swear off dating altogether she gets a call from Main Squeeze asking HER to be their next star. They want her to be surrounded by men vying for her affections. She agrees on one condition – under no circumstances will she fall in love. She will do this to help her career, inspire women, get free fun and subvert harmful anti-fat beauty standards. But when the camera starts rolling, Bea realizes things are not what she anticipated. Between Internet culture wars, sexy men, couture and real-life love in the midst of this TV fairy tale Bea is starting to question everything.

As a plus-size woman who loves to indulge in watching the real life dating shows on TV this book was like someone crawled inside my head and wrote everything out. I couldn’t get enough of it. I think that the dating shows on TV are very narrow-minded when it comes to the contestants. The average woman is a size 14 in the US. (I googled this fact. Not sure how accurate but I do believe it is fairly true.) All the women on the shows tend to be a size 2 or 4. Is this on purpose? Probably. Is it good for the American culture and image we portray to our youth girls? No. We live in a cultural where sex sells and good looks gives Americans something to dream about. We also live in a culture where other people are quick to judge a human based on their looks. Almost as though someone who is a plus size can’t possibly be healthy, smart, funny or even (God forbid) attractive.

Kate Stayman-London did an amazing job of building Bea’s character in this book. When I started reading this book I was skeptical. Could an author possibly pull off writing about what it is like to be a plus-size woman in America? I had my doubts. But I was quickly proven wrong. The thoughts the character had were ones I have had. Stayman-London does an excellent job of showing what being a plus-size woman is like. The supporting characters in this book even act like some people in real life do, with unsolicited advice, judgements that are meant to come off as concern and more.

Stayman-London does an excellent job of writing between the characters narrative, the bloggers, media and social networks. She manages to seamlessly integrate all parts of real life into this book so the reader really feels like they are along for the ride in Bea’s body. Experiencing the critics, support, and the world around her. I would love to interview Stayman-London and ask her how she came up with the media and blogger posts in this book. Did she read real life blogs and get permission to share? Or did she interview plus size women and ask what has been said to them? She did an amazing job of nailing what the media, bloggers and social networks say about plus-size women.

If you are looking for a great Rom-Com with real life issues thrown in, this is the book for you. If you love the dating shows on TV and think they are not realistic this book is for you. If you are or know a plus-size person, this book is for you. This book is also a good book to start a conversation about what it is like to be a plus-size person in America and how they are treated by the media, bloggers, social media and people in general. Like I have said, it is like someone crawled in my body and lived my life for a week. I have recommended this book to all my friends and will even have my daughter read it, when she is older.

I rated this 5 books out of 5 books. This book dealt with real life issues but also was fiction and kept true to that as well. I could go on and on about this book but I don’t want to spoil the fun of it. So be sure to pick it up and read it soon, you won’t regret it. Until next time fellow readers. Happy Reading!

A Reading For You

by Annie Gebel In this reading, I’m using one of my first decks - The Wild Wood Tarot. It’s a stunningly honest and beautiful deck and beautifully connected to nature and the wheel of the year, which turns with the seasons. In that, each card is connected to a different part of the calendar year. So, today I pulled cards from the minor arcana suit of Arrows and the major arcana cards related to this time of year - the end of winter melting into spring.

The suit of Arrows also represents the element of air. So, think about the gifts not only of new sprouts but also of your own creativity and ideas. Your wishes, desires, and dreams are a gift too! How do you put a voice to them?

What strategies do you employ to bring them from their airy, conceptual quality, to something that’s beginning to take form - not necessarily a solid form, but something you can begin to truly visualize and feel as a possibility?

Think about these questions as you look at each of the cards and choose which one brings an energy and message you want to continue into spring with. Take a few breaths and read more about each card below.

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Nine of Arrows Dedication The woman in this card might be seen as a little confused at first glance. Clearly she’s not holding the bow and arrow like a huntress, yet she looks so at peace and comfortable with the way she’s cradling the bow like an instrument. I can imagine that she might even be able to make music with the arrow pulled over the string of the bow. What do you think?

She’s a dreamer and exists in a reality that is outside the box of many. Maybe that’s something you identify with. If so, look at the tools around and within you and consider how you might use them…differently, more uniquely, or with new inspiration. Know, though, that it takes great dedication to learn and master a new skill, especially one that no one else understands.

If you don’t see yourself as a dreamer and wonder why you were called to this card, it might have to do with the peace on her face. She believes that all can exist in any scenario and teaches this by example. Where can you lead others in exploring differences, honoring uniqueness, and respecting each other? When you feel a certain peace with your thought or idea of how to do this - dig into that more! You might not know how to make it happen, but don’t discount it because it sounds a little crazy to you. Turn it around, share it with others, journal about it…and begin to turn your conceptual thought into a possibility!

The Archer This is a major arcana card, which simply means it’s something to sit up and take notice of or pay a little extra attention to. This card is all about potential energy and preparedness. Often we think of the winter months as a time of non-action. What’s actually happening, though, is a lot of literal beneath the surface activity, at least in the case of trees and plants. What about humans? Well, certainly we need rest after all that happens in the fall and early winter, but how else can we prepare for spring?

The Archer reminds you to gather all the tools you might need for what’s coming next for you. What will your new growth look like? What will blossom in you or for you this spring? What physical, emotional, social, and psychological tools do you have that can help you tend to whatever seeds have been germinating and just waiting for the right time to poke through to the surface? Journaling, coffee with friends, meeting with a bank for a small loan, practicing your skill? All of these things - and so many other things - are tools that can help you tend to your sprout as it comes up in the next season.

So, this card is an invitation to think about all this, gather and prepare, and then hold that potential energy at the ready! So often we want to rush. We’re told we need to be doing something to get ahead or make our mark. If you’re a mighty huntress, like The Archer is, you know that part-

-of the key to success, though, is in waiting for the right moment to let loose your arrow. This waiting can feel excruciating or exciting. Maybe you can breathe with it like it’s the calm before a storm of activity comes with nicer weather. Maybe you’ll need reminders from the supportive people you have around you that patience can pay off in a big way. Maybe you simply need to look inside yourself to remember that you will know the perfect moment to act, and you’re not at that moment…quite…yet.

However you react to holding yourself in the ready position, know that preparing now will help you turn that potential energy into an amazing adventure in the next season of your life. It’s coming!

King of Arrows Kingfisher This message is a lovely one for this time of year. As we start to wake up from long rests or move more into the world this spring, how can we be precise and clear, both with our intention and action? The Kingfisher is a mighty hunter, diving from the air above into the water to catch its prey, because it knows exactly what it wants and doesn’t want. You’re being asked to be very clear about what you need and don’t need in your life to move toward your goals. It’s time for spring cleaning!

This card is asking you to not focus solely on the dust bunnies under the furniture, though. You’re being asked if you need the furniture. You’re being asked if cleaning a space is something you want to do or if you’d rather hire out for that or delegate that job to someone else. You’re being asked to inspect all the areas of your life that pull on your energy - people, things, thoughts, tasks - and declutter. This doesn’t mean that you need to get rid of everything and everyone, only that you’re being asked to make a conscious and deliberate decision to have what supports you in your life and to let go of what doesn’t, or at least to set clear boundaries.

The other bit about Kingfishers that I love is that both the male and female are beautifully colored. Let this serve as a reminder to you, as you refine your approach in the world, that there are very few set rules or roles. Let this spring cleaning with Kingfisher be the time you recognize your focuses and goals and pursuits in life without the clutter of societal pressures or outdated belief systems. You do you, with calm clarity and wisdom. You’ve got this.

No matter which of these cards called to you today, as you let winter melt into spring, let your dreams and intuition guide you forward. I’ll leave you with an Einstein quote as one final thought…

“The intuitive mind is a sacred gift and the rational mind is a faithful servant. We have created a society that honors the servant and has forgotten the gift.”

Remember.

, e v e o h t L - and g n a r o y l L ami F e n a i by: D

y o r n Co

In Feb. of 1965, Henry Lorang is safely home again from his trip abroad where he was quarantined in a Beirut, Lebanon hospital. You can read this story in the last November, Home&Harvest. The Lorang family story continues.

Grandson of Genesee pioneers John and Mary Lorang and the son of Henry and Marguerite Dan Lorang was now running the White Spring Ranch; but at this time Dan was in the hospital in Spokane for back surgery. Let’s just say he wasn’t doing very well with his pain meds after surgery and he needed some help. One nurse after the other came in his room and tried to help with his constipation. Dan refused and lay on his bed, until the next nurse came in. The next nurse, Janet Shollenberger walked in his room and said, “Turn Over!”. Her first words to her future fiancé. Nine months and 3 dates later, Dan and Janet were married, on Nov. 6, 1965. Janet Shollenberger, now Lorang, was soon introduced to the Genesee Ranch.

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It was a whirlwind romance. Dan brought his new bride to the Ranch and Janet soon learned to can and cook on the old 1919 wood Majestic stove. Pigs, chickens and a rooster were cared for during the summers and entertained the two young boys who would soon come along.

They decided that they would get a home in Lewiston to spend the winters. Then when school was out they would go up to the Ranch in the summers to keep it up and take care of the animals. Dan’s son, Roch Lorang has a story of when their Black Bantam rooster would find his way to Roch’s downstairs bedroom window very early each morning and raise a lot of cackles when the sun rose. One day Roch couldn’t take it any longer and he crawled out the window, bare feet and all, and chased that rooster all the way to the barn.

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WW1 Letter from Pvt. Henry Lorang

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Mary Lorang’s Journal - 1910

The letters are so revealing of the moment in time, that it is much better than anything I can say. Here is a letter from Janet to her mother Lois when Roch was a young boy.

“1968, August 26 “Dearest Mom, Paul & Marilyn, Received your letter today and was so glad to hear from you it seems so quiet now without Marilyn. For a couple of days Roch was saying her name. She was good for him he will now go and find something to play with and seems to enjoy his toys more.

Thought maybe I would bring his trike up and he could learn to ride it here in the house. He really has been quite a good little boy this week I have been busy canning peaches. Yesterday did 40 qts couldn’t believe I did that many, didn’t start counting till I was all done. So far have a total of 71 qts. And not done yet. Right now am waiting for the blanching water to get hot enough. Have really put the jars you gave me to good use have used all and am now down to the Small mouth. When they are gone thats it, would like to tho put a few in the frezzer. Am not getting so tired of the peaches as I did the berries, was getting to the point of throwing them. Peaches are ready to go so will write more later……

Well I got 15 more quarts of peaches. Dan just got in from the field and is taking a bath. Roch and I have already eaten.

After Dan eats were going down to Lewiston. Jars. Am surely lucky this year would hate to be feeding harvesters and canning peaches at the same time, and the weather has been nice and cool for a project like this. Now it can clear up so we can get our crop in. Our garden is doing pretty good pulled a few carrots and had them for supper. Am afraid tho we won’t be getting many tomatoes the blooms keep falling off and the few we have we’ll be lucky. We’ll get a good crop of corn and beans if the frost holds off.

Janet and Dan Lorang

Monday: Gee Sunday didn’t do a thing except rest and play with Roch really it was kind of nice. We came back up to the ranch Sunday nite. Roch is now down for his nap. and I think I’ll join him.

My few peaches I have left am going to make some frozen jam, but it will be a few more days till they are nice and ripe.

Am going in this afternoon to do a washing and one of these days am going to have to give this house a cleaning, befor harvest. This place can really get dirty. Sounds like you and the kids had good luck with the shopping. The people in Lewiston are busy getting their kids ready for school. Well I finally got my wrap around dress done and I like it real well. I decided to bring the sewing machine up to the ranch and have use it quite a bit. I would like to make a few more clothes. Dan did get after me tho and sent me to town to get some clothes. Oh yes if Marilyn wants her sweater & jacket I’ll send them. Will close for now.

-All our love, Janet, Dan and Roch

1965 - Henry & Marguerite at Janet and Dan’s Wedding

Here is another letter, this one is from Janet’s mother Lois, when Janet was expecting the second child, Dreu Lorang.

“Thurs. – 10th – 1968 Dearest Janet, Dan, and Roch, Your letter came and found us hugging the heat, too. Fall is definitely in the air now, leaves are turning and starting to drop. Sure hate the thoughts of winter coming. Everything is in from the garden now, except a few carrots.

The frost got the few green tomatoes I was nursing along, but Bernard donated some of his along with some green peppers in exchange for wood for his stove. I was glad to have him take the wood, it was only laying out there in the open and would have gone to waste, besides making a mess.

I’m glad you are going to put in an electric stove and furnace at the ranch, they will make life a little more pleasant and convenient for you when you are there. Grandma cooked on a wood-coal range for years, but I’m afraid if I had to do it, we’d all either starve or learn to eat everything raw.

I roasted a turkey last Sunday for dinner and remarked that I should do it once in a while and keep in practice, and your little sister remarked right back that I didn’t do it often enough, I burn everything now as it is. All I did was scorch some potatoes. How are you feeling now, dear? By now, I imagine you are starting to feel top-heavy. Rest all you can and take good care of yourself. The mailman will be coming soon, so I’d better close for now. Write when you can.

All our love, Mom & the kids So the multiple children and large families had moved on. This was now the home of Janet & Dan Lorang and their two sons, Roch and Dreu. Dan made several efforts to preserve the archives of his father and grandfather. The roof was replaced on the old c.1873-1904 Farmhouse. And the older section of the Farmhouse was completely encased in foam. As a last resort Dan tried this to insulate and preserve the section on the home, which had a wooden farm kitchen floor repaired by his father Henry, that had fallen through in the 1920’s. The floor of the 1884 section was having problems as well. The early bathtub was falling through the 1905 bathroom floor. Dan moved the bathroom to his grandmother Mary’s sewing room and restored the 1884 floor. The 1878 Log cabin was shored up off the ground and the hill beside it was pushed back. In 1968 Henry Lorang had passed away and items from his bedroom were stored in a small lean-to built onto the 1880’s Curio cabin,

by Dan Lorang and his good friend Rosie Rosenberger. It was years later before we found out that those stored items included 100+ year old photography collections and 1877-1919 letters and an endless amount more.

Dan also started to set up a Century Farm application. Now completed.

And began a handwritten lists of all the trees that had been cut down since he was a young man. Dan made a list of some WWII newspapers and hand drawings and measurements for the 1880’s blacksmith shop and woodshed which had to be torn down. Just recently this 1884 floor was repaired again in another spot, under the old brick chimney by a great, great grandson of John and Mary Lorang, mason Nathan Lorang.

For more of the escapades of Dan and Janet Lorang’s young family, see the next issue of Home&Harvest.

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people OF the palouse Let’s get to know our neighbors, those like us and those who are different from us. Please send any introductions to: Heather@homeandharvestmagazine.com

by gayle anderson

Dwight Renz

What does courage mean to you? Wikipedia defines it this way: Courage is the choice and willingness to confront agony, pain, danger, uncertainty, or intimidation. Valor is courage or bravery, especially in battle. Law enforcement and our first responders have this trait.

But what about the everyday individual? The person where this is also their way of life, and once you know their story, then you realize what courage means to them. With that, I am honored to introduce you to Dwight Renz; one of Onaway’s everyday heroes, husband, father, supporter of school functions, cemetery board commissioner and a genuinely kind soul.

As I sat down with Dwight in his kitchen, his engaging manner immediately drew me in as I listened to his story.

Dwight is an identical twin, and is quick to say he is the “better looking one” as well as the baby of the family that includes an older brother and two older sisters. Growing up on the family farm was an idyllic childhood. He says being a 10 year old boy with time to roam the Palouse River that ran through their property as well a few ponds kept him happy and busy. His dad was a craftsman woodworker and his mom was a stay-at-home mom who lovingly took care of her brood. School vacations meant that he and his brothers worked alongside their dad doing everything but sheetrock, plumbing and electrical. It was from this time in construction that Dwight fell in love with everything that involved wood.

The other love of his life is his wife Susan, whom he married 5 days after she turned eighteen and have celebrated 36 years of marriage producing one son and two daughters.

Dwight & Susan now enjoy and get to love on 8 grandkids. Their home showcases cabinets and home décor that he crafted. Then the conversation turns to Dwight explaining why exactly he was in a wheelchair.

Dwight’s 3rd love is his job as a supervisor at Bennett Lumber Products, Inc. grading lumber. He leans back and says that after his shift on April 16, 2021, he knew something wasn’t right. The pain in his hips were beyond excruciating. He was no stranger to hip and joint pain, as this heredity ailment meant he had already endured several joint replacements that included knee replacements. But this pain was different, and despite being in the throes of COVID hospital restrictions, he was able to get admitted into the Colfax hospital. There his doctor ordered an x-ray, then a CAT scan and it was then discovered that both hips had broken and he would need two separate surgeries to repair the broken joints. But before the doctor said he could operate; Dwight was told he had to lose 50 lbs before the first surgery and then another 27 pounds before he could have the second surgery. He and his wife took up the challenge, joined the eating program called “Code Red” and today, Dwight has lost 127 lbs! He had his first surgery on December 27, 2021 and he sees the surgeon on February 22, 2022, where hopefully the next surgery will be scheduled. This journey wasn’t an easy one, but he was committed to shedding the weight.

In his own words, Dwight said, “if I can kick addiction, I can lose weight”. Dwight shares that from all the chronic hip and joint pain over the years, that he became addicted to pain killers for 6 ½ years trying to manage the pain. It was from an accidental overdose on October 6, 2013, that made him realize it was time for a change. He knew he had to find a way to quit as not only did his life depend on it but it meant keeping his marriage intact. The nightmare of being an addict had to come to an end. Addiction, no matter what it is, a drug is a drug and it will drag you to the depths of hell. Dwight committed to the 12-week recovery program and has been sober ever since. Kicking the habit often has relapses, and he says he is one of the lucky ones, noting that he and one other person in his recovery group are the only ones who are still clean today. Some of his other group members didn’t have the strength to stay clean, some ended up committing suicide. And Dwight’s determination to stay sober came with risks knowing that after his hip surgery, he would have to take pain killers once again. If you think about it, what a terrifying path to knowingly have to take for a recovering addict. And Dwight is proud to say that he was only on the pain killers for a week and continues his sober lifestyle. Dwight credits his faith in God along with the love and support of his wife and family to his success. He never wants to revisit those dark days and he has tremendous respect for anyone who has picked him or herself up by the boot straps and made the leap of faith.

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Dwight looks forward to resuming life and getting out of the wheelchair after the next round of surgery. And he hopes to go back to his beloved job at Bennett Lumber Products, Inc. mill early summer, maybe even late May if all goes well. It’s a job that he has held for 29 years and working once again with wood and his awesome team members will be the icing on the cupcake of life.

Until then, Dwight explained he treats his hobbies like a job and puts in the hours. Last summer he canned copious amounts of jams and jellies. After canning season was done, his wife suggested they get his shop retooled to accommodate his wheelchair status and hours spent making home décor to sell has been a saving grace while waiting for his surgery dates. Dwight’s beautiful wood sculptures are in demand and he has a few outlets that he sells them through. True to his kind spirit, Dwight delights in giving away his some of his items as well as his jam/jellies. He says, it is not uncommon for someone to stop by to chat or pick up an order and leave with more than they originally came for. Giving of oneself is what makes Dwight the happiest. I thought to myself, this is the kind of man that seriously would give you the shirt off his back. A truly sweet soul. And he admits he would help anyone in a heartbeat, but has trouble asking for help himself.

And when Dwight isn’t in the shop, he and Susan have developed quite a following on Facebook with their “Welcome to the Renz’s” Pampered Chef cooking shows/classes where they share how they eat with their special diet.

And in Dwight’s words, he is blessed beyond measure and points to a sign hung in their kitchen, wherein he says this is his personal mantra of “Work Hard and Be Nice”. And I thought to myself, yes this sums up his life very accurately, this is the guy who will put in a day’s work, who will show up to volunteer at high school events to take tickets, the guy who probably gives away more items than he sells because it makes him happy, the guy who says his wife is a true saint and the proud dad of his children and grandkids. Yep, this is the man who saw what hell looked like for a while and is now creating his own piece of heaven here in Onaway.

And if each of us are honest with ourselves, we all have our own battles that we try to win every day and that takes courage. Often when I look at a person, I really don’t know what their struggles are or what they have overcome. And I know I will take a page out of Dwight’s handbook to give grace to others I have met along the way so to not add to their struggles but hopefully have been more a balm on their pathway of life. May we all be more like Dwight and share his motto of work hard and be nice.

P.S. After the visit, Dwight handed me a bag of goodies that contained some of his wooden creations and jam.

And he also gave me a bag for each of our editors, Heather & Tony. Lucky us!

The Oh, Otis!

Shenanigans Episode 10

Thirteen Dollars and Eleven Cents

By Temple Kinyon The third week in March brought the promise of spring with a whisper of warmth on the breeze and Spring Break for all the area school-aged kids. Many of Otis’s friends were going out of town on adventures; his best friend, Clark, was headed to Disneyland and Carla to the Oregon Coast. However, his other pals, like Fertis and Tim, were farm kids like him, and spring break meant spring work.

Marvel and Mavis tasked their seven children with the same chores each year at this time. The girls would help Mavis thoroughly scrub the house from attic to basement. The boys would help clean the shop after a winter’s worth of farm equipment maintenance, putting away hundreds of nuts, bolts, washers, and whatnots, along with dozens of tools. Tradition also dictated that the children would march to their rooms on Thursday afternoon, and purge their closets, drawers, and shelves of anything that didn’t fit their maturing bodies or lifestyles.

The middle story of the Swan house came alive on those Thursdays as the brood whittled out what they no longer wanted or could wear. Shoes, jeans, purses, socks, underwear, shirts, you name it, would literally fly out into the hallway, slowly covering the worn wooden floor. Mavis would place the remnants into large garbage bags for donation, dodging and ducking as a wildly thrown shoe clunked against a hall wall or a pair of underwear sailed through a doorway into a sibling’s room, eliciting a tizzy about being on the receiving end of something so gross.

All the week’s chores paid off on Friday when Mavis and Marvel loaded the kids, along with Ed and Helen, into the station wagon and set off for the city about an hour away. Spring break ended with Easter, and everyone needed new duds to wear to church. The shopping spree usually took place at a large department store like The Crescent or Nordstrom. Otis liked shopping at the big stores; they all had elevators and escalators, both of which didn’t exist at the mall back home.

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This trip landed them at Nordstrom, where Marvel, Mavis, Ed, and Helen took a couple of kids to the appropriate clothing section to select a respectable outfit. After purchasing the holiday attire, the adults herded the kids onto the escalator (because the group was somewhat cumbersome for an elevator) to head to the massive shoe department located in the basement. The only other thing in the basement was Customer Service, boasting ornate chandeliers hanging over a long beautiful wooden counter with mirrors on the wall behind.

The Customer Service agents were smartly dressed and stood ready to offer assistance. Overstuffed chairs with maroon velvet cushions and two large, luxurious couches sat arranged next to Customer Service, offering a small waiting area to rest weary shopper feet.

The entire Swan family each took their turn stepping onto the down escalator, with Otis bringing up the rear because, although he loved riding on escalators, getting off them scared the bejesus out of him. Chuck had told him years ago of the fate that awaited him if he didn’t stick the landing getting off the last step.

“Otis, if you don’t step off at just the right moment, you’re going to get sucked under the metal stairs and squished up like hamburger.” Chuck had added extra emphasis on the word hamburger and watched in glee as his younger brother gulped in fear.

From that point on, Otis had always focused his full attention on safely getting off the mechanical monstrosity, but it was a stressful affair every single time. This day was no different as he eyed the situation carefully and, at just the right moment, launched himself off the metal step before it disappeared into the abyss and took him with it. He landed with a thud next to an awaiting Grandpa Ed. “Kids, go find your Easter shoes,” Mavis ordered. She and Helen branched off with Doris and Gladys, Marvel went to sit on one of the couches, and Ed joined the boys.

Ed sauntered over to Otho, Deanie, Cletis, and Chuck and inspected their choices. The Nike white leather athletic shoe with the red or blue “swoosh” seemed the favorite choice.

“Looks like we’re ready for a salesperson,” he declared and disappeared.

He returned with a sales associate wearing a nametag with “Nan” lettered in gold. “Let’s start with you, young man,” Nan smiled at Otis. “Sit down and take your shoes off. I’ll measure your feet with my Brannock Device.”

Otis scampered over to the long row of chairs and kicked off his formerly white tennis shoes. He knew he was a size 5 but hadn’t shared that with Nan because he wanted to have the whole experience getting his feet sized. He absolutely loved this part of buying shoes. There was something fascinating about getting his feet measured.

Nan gently placed his left foot onto the metal sizing apparatus and carefully slid the metal bar to barely touch his big toe.

She then slid a small metal bar to slightly touch the bone on the side of his foot. He watched in awe, wondering if there was a special school to learn how to operate a Brannock Device. Maybe he would become a shoe salesman when he grew up.

“Stand up,” Nan instructed.

He did, and she readjusted the slides and then repeated the process for his right foot. “Size 5,” she stated and whisked off to fetch the box holding his new shoes. That box would also serve to house his old shoes because next to the Brannock Device, the next coolest thing about shoe shopping was getting to immediately wear the new ones.

Nan laced him up, and Otis clomped around the area, showing off his new tan sneakers to his brothers.

“Otis, those are pretty cool,” Deanie complimented.

“So, Otis, what’ll it be?” Grandpa Ed asked.

“Yeah, Otis,” Chuck chimed in, “those are nifty.”

“New sneakers!” Otis replied. He already owned a shiny pair of black shoes, and his brown penny loafers still fit. The white tennis shoes he’d gotten right before Christmas were thoroughly trashed, dull and dingy from a particularly muddy recess session during the spring thaw.

Otis felt good about his new shoes; so good he asked Grandpa Ed if he could take a roundtrip on the escalator.

Ed chaperoned Otis over to the boys tennis shoe area, where the rest of the Swan boys had also taken up residence.

“How about these, Grandpa?” Otis held up a pair of tan suede and canvas sneakers.

“Snazzy and they won’t show dirt,” Ed winked. He would do his best to steer Otis away from anything too outrageous.

He could still hear Mavis’s shrill and sharp warnings after the Christmas outfit affair. And true to her promise, Mavis had ordered that Otis would wear that sporty plaid jacket for Easter.

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March April 2022

“Sure,” Ed consented, “but do just that, no running off.”

Otis scampered over to the escalator, waiting until the metal stair lined up flat with the metal threshold, and stepped on.

He waved parade-style at his brothers and grandpa as he ascended and faded out of sight. He could hear them chuckling at him; there was nothing better than to make his brothers and grandpa laugh.

He crested the top of the escalator, carefully stepped off, and looked around. A tux-wearing piano player tapped out a melody on a shiny baby grand, the smell of expensive perfume filled his nostrils, and racks of clothing spanned as far as he could see. He loved being a part of something bigger, something not so small-town. He sashayed over to the “down” escalator, gingerly placed his tan-shoed feet on the metal step, and held onto the rubber banister.

77

As the escalator slowly descended, Otis spied his dad, brothers, sisters, and grandparents lounging on the comfy furniture and his mom at the cash register paying for seven pairs of shoes.

He refocused, readying to fling himself off the last step at the exact right moment to avoid hamburgerville, but suddenly, his eyes spied something on the metal threshold at the bottom.

He squinted. No. It couldn’t be. But as he slowly got closer, he knew his first inkling was correct—a folded-up bill, denomination unknown. He quickly looked around to see if anyone was looking for it. He saw no one.

Otis’s mind quickly flashed on the mountains of candy and piles of toys he could purchase with the money. He was almost at the bottom of the escalator, so he stuck his left foot out to make contact with the solid metal platform. Success! He dipped down and swiftly picked up the bill—a twenty!—and brought his right foot off the moving step. But it halted mid-air abruptly.

What the . . . ?!?

To his horror, he discovered the disappearing metal stair had sucked the end of his untied shoelace down with it. He pulled and pulled, feeling the lace tighten the shoe around his foot.

He tugged with all his might but could NOT extricate the lace.

As each metal step disappeared to the depths below, it gobbled up his lace, little by little, and jerked his new shoe closer and closer to the point of no return.

Frantic, he wildly looked around to see if someone could help him but quickly refocused because his shoe with his foot in it inched closer to the crevice that would turn him into hamburger. He yanked hard, but the escalator held the lace tight. He desperately tried to pry off the shoe, but the lace had cinched so tight it wouldn’t budge. In fact, the shoe was so tightly sealed onto his foot he could feel his heartbeat in it. It was going to fall off from lack of blood! Or worse yet, his foot, leg, ALL OF HIM would get pulverized by the steel contraption.

“MOM!” he yelled. “HELP!” Mavis whirled around and saw Otis at the bottom of the escalator. She dashed over and sputtered, “Oh, Otis, wha. . . “It only took a blink for her to survey the situation.

“Mom, it’s going to suck my leg in!”

Mavis tried to pull the shoe off Otis’s foot, but even she couldn’t get it to budge. “Great balls of fire,” she yelped in distress. “MARVEL!” Seeing Mavis’s crazed look even at a distance, Marvel vaulted off the couch and sprang into action. He ran over and looked at Otis’s foot tethered to the escalator. “Oh, Otis, what in tarnation!” He immediately grabbed Otis around the waist and pulled with all his might.

“Dad, you’re squishing my tummy!” Otis squealed.

Home&Harvest

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March April 2022

Marvel let Otis loose and tried to pry the shoe off his son’s foot, to no avail. He tugged at the lace as hard as he could, figuring it would at least break. “Sonofa…” he blurted out when the lace stayed intact and kept getting shorter and shorter. He had about 8 inches before the mangling moment. He grabbed Otis’s leg and gave it all he had but only managed to make Otis shriek in pain.

By this time, the rest of the Swan siblings had swarmed the situation, offering advice but little help. Mavis again tried to pull Otis’s foot free from the shoe, while Marvel pulled Otis’s leg, ignoring his son’s squeals of distress.

Suddenly, the metal monster screeched and moaned and abruptly stopped with a heave and a sigh. Marvel, Mavis, and their children whirled around to see Ed leisurely leaning on the end of the escalator banister next to a big red button labeled “Emergency Stop.”

“Ya know,” he chuckled, “these things have an emergency stop button right here.” He grinned and pointed at the large crimson fail-safe.

A security guard and an associate had flurried over to the conglomeration. “Thank God you knew to hit the main shutoff,” the security guard wiped his sweaty brow with a red kerchief and heaved a sigh of relief. He slapped Ed on the back. “I was on break, and Mabel came in hell for leather screeching to skedaddle my ass out here and help. Folks, I’m so sorry.”

Marvel sheepishly looked at Ed. “Thanks, Dad. Didn’t see the button. Guess I wasn’t in my right mind.”

Ed’s big belly laugh filled the air. “It’s ok, Son,” he chortled.

“You were worried about Otis. Makes sense you weren’t thinking straight. I mean, it’s only a huge red button. Labeled with the words emergency stop. Anyone could’ve missed it.”

Marvel snorted a laugh and rolled his eyes at the obvious.

The Swan siblings crouched around Otis, who sat on the metal platform of the escalator working over the menace lace, trying to loosen it to get his shoe off. Finally, the shoe let go, and Otis massaged his foot. “At least it’s not hamburger,” he muttered.

Marvel picked up the shoe and gave it a heaving tug. The metal jaws released the shoelace, causing him to stumble back a few steps. “Oh, now you let go,” he groused at the steel nemesis.

He handed the shoe to Otis, who sat stunned. He looked up.

His siblings, grandparents, parents, security guard, and Mabel stared back, gobsmacked.

“Oh, Otis, what in the Sam Hill were you doing?” Mavis spouted. She bent down and grabbed his face between her thumb and index finger, squishing his cheeks the way only a mother could, with just enough pressure to apply discomfort and get the attention of her child. A mixture of utter irritation and relief spilled out, “You nearly scared the life out of me! For heaven’s sakes, Otis, I haven’t even finished paying for your shoes, and you already ruined them!”

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“Mom, it’s ok,” Otis looked at her with his big, brown eyes.

“It’s just the lace that’s messed up, not the shoe.” He held out the shoe, still sporty and new but with a frayed and mangled tan shoelace covered in grease hanging limply.

“It’ll still tie, Mom. Watch.” He put on the shoe, tied up the frayed lace, and stuck it out to show Mavis and everyone else that everything was fine. Inside, he waited for the other shoe to drop, so to speak. How was he going to get out of this one without getting into double-dutch trouble?

Mavis, wearing the expression of a mother ready to explode, stood, pursed her red-lip-sticked mouth, and said nothing as she stalked back to the cash register. Otis’s siblings shuffled back to the seating area to stay out of the potential line of fire.

“How’s he getting out of this one?” Doris whispered to Otho.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” Otis mumbled.

Marvel shook his head. He’d heard it a million times from his youngest.

“But it was twenty dollars!” Otis exclaimed.“Well, Otis, they say finders keepers, losers weepers,” Marvel sighed, “but we better go make sure someone didn’t report it as lost.” Yet another learning moment for Otis. There were just so many.

He escorted Otis over to the Customer Service desk and prompted his son.

“Ummm, excuse me, but I found this at the bottom of the escalator and was wondering if anyone had reported it lost,” Otis meekly asked, laying the bill out on the counter.

“No idea,” Otho whispered back. “It’s one thing to get your shoelace caught in something, but to bring an entire escalator to a grinding halt in a major department store is a different caliber of shenanigans, even for Otis.”

Mabel gave a quick knowing wink to Marvel, then directed her attention to Otis. “First off, I’m sorry you got your shoelace stuck in the escalator. So scary. Let’s look and see if anyone reported the loss of a twenty-dollar bill.” Mabel took the bill and scrutinized it. “Say, Ralph, have we had any reports of a lost twenty?”

Grandma Helen helped Otis stand up and hugged him to her ample bosom. “Oh, Otis, your screams sent my heart racing. Thank the good Lord it was only a shoelace that got hurt.”

Ralph stood and walked over to peer at the bill and then Otis. “I don’t think so, Mabel, but let me check the incident reports.” He winked at Otis and whispered, “I’m sure glad you’re ok, too.”

Otis breathed in the comforting smell of her Chanel No. 5 perfume that she always wore to go to town. But he wasn’t off the hook. Helen briskly pushed him back to arm’s length. “Just what in hell’s sake were you doing? You’re never one to gawk getting off an escalator.”

Ralph filed through some important-looking papers on his desk, and Mabel walked over to a filing cabinet and rifled through some documents. Otis waited nervously, focused on their keen detective work. This was a big deal.

Otis slowly opened his tightly clenched fist, revealing his procured treasure. “I found this at the bottom of the escalator,” he admitted. “Can I keep it?”

Helen did a double-take. “For heaven’s sake, Otis. You could have been hurt or lost your foot! Why didn’t you wait to pick it up until after you stepped off the escalator?”

“Ummm. . . I didn’t think of that, “he stammered. “I didn’t want anyone else to grab it.”

“Oh, Otis, I swear.” She rolled her eyes, partly exasperated, partly amused. “Go talk to your father.”

Otis slinked off to find his dad, somewhat ashamed he’d caused such a commotion. But it was twenty dollars! Who wouldn’t have done the same thing? He located Marvel, who inspected the sweaty bill as Otis explained how he acquired it. “After all the trouble you stirred up, I ought to take this as payment not to strangle the pudding out of you.”

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March April 2022

Mabel slammed the file cabinet drawer shut and proclaimed, “I don’t see anything, do you, Ralph?”

“I sure don’t, Mabel,” Ralph smirked.

“I’d like to take this opportunity to thank you for helping my son at the escalator,” Marvel chimed in. “We shop here because of the customer service, and you sure showed that today.”

Mabel smiled, “It was my pleasure.” She handed Otis the bill. “Looks like you’re lucky twice today, sweetie. Your foot is ok, and you’re now the proud owner of a twenty-dollar bill. Thank you for being so honest. It certainly could have belonged to someone who really needed it for important things, so asking before just taking was quite a heroic thing.”

Otis beamed and stuck out his chest as his sibling peanut gallery groaned and scoffed at the artificial situation.

Otho shouted, “Only you could get paid for being a pain in the . . .”

80

“Otis, you ARE a hero!” Doris interrupted her brother.

The siblings continued teasing Otis about almost losing a leg to get some attention, and Marvel joined Ed and Helen on the comfy couches to wait for Mavis to finish paying for the massive pile of footwear.

“Ohhhh, Otis,” Mavis’s melodic call grabbed everyone’s attention. “Come here a minute.”

Otis ran over to where his mother stood at the cash register.

“What’s up, Mom? Did you hear? I get to keep the twenty!”

“I sure did, kiddo!” she smiled coyly as she turned to the salesperson at the register. “How much?”

“That’ll be six dollars and eighty-nine cents, please,” she smiled pleasantly. “They’re a bit more than the white or black ones. Tan laces are special order.”

“Otis?” Mavis stuck out her hand.

He looked at her hand, then searched her face. It took about four seconds for him to realize what was happening. “Ohhhh, nooooo,” he stated. “I’m not using my twenty dollars for stupid shoelaces! The messed up one ties up just fine.”

“Pay up, buttercup,” Mavis ordered.

“Aww, Mom,” he lamented. “Really?”

She stood firm and tapped the counter with her red-painted fingernail. Otis reluctantly offered up his precious bill. The salesperson took it and rang up the new tan laces. “Here’s your thirteen dollars and eleven cents change. Enjoy those new tan laces!”

Otis took the change and stuffed it in his jeans pocket. He grudgingly took the small brown paper bag with his new laces off the counter. Mavis put her arm around his shoulders as they moseyed toward the rest of the family.

“I can’t believe you made me buy new laces,” Otis huffed.

“Otis, life is filled with ups and downs, kinda like an escalator,” she snickered. “You still have thirteen dollars and eleven cents that you didn’t have before.”

Otis considered that and shrugged, still slightly deflated that he didn’t have the whole amount of found money. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Mavis chuckled. “Oh, Otis. What are you, new? You know me well enough to know I would never, over my dead body, ever let you go to church on Easter Sunday to celebrate Jesus’s resurrection with a mangled shoelace.”

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