‘The Rock Pile’…
Bouquets: GUEST SUBMISSION: • “My deepest gratitude goes to the cadre of passionate, brilliant and dedicated volunteers who made the Worth of a Woman exhibit (now at Matchwood Brewing) a reality. The display was seven months in the making and would not have been possible — let alone as impactful — without this group of women. Special thanks to the Reader’s own Emily Erickson for her remarkable design work. I feel lucky to share a community with all of you.” — Jen Jackson Quintano Barbs: • Recently, we’ve noticed an uptick in letters to the editor that we’ve had to reject because the authors are not rising to our editorial standards. To start with, if the entire premise of your letter is to promote doxxing a private individual because of their politics, you’d have a better chance trying to find a house under $200,000 in Sandpoint than seeing your letter printed in the Reader. Also, we’re not interested in your conspiracy theories, misinformation, hatred, trolling statements, veiled racism or irrelevant tangents. We aren’t a government organization, which means it isn’t a “violation of the First Amendment” or “censorship” if we don’t print your letter. Just as we consider it a public service to publish letters, it’s also a service to kill off the ones that are inappropriate or otherwise don’t rise to our standards. Finally, if you read a letter or article in another publication and it pissed you off, write your letter to the editor of that publication. We often write, “please elevate the conversation” when giving information about how to send letters to the editor. Those aren’t just empty words. 8 / R / June 27, 2024
Dear editor, Picking up rocks. What can be learned from picking up rocks? I have spent a fair amount of my spring and early summer picking up rocks in the old field. Softball-sized rocks, mainly, that I can toss into the tractor loader bucket. An occasional rock the size of a volleyball. And several times a rock too large to lift, whereupon I set the tractor bucket flat on the ground and roll the rock into the bucket. At the edge of the field I dump the load of rocks among the accumulated piles from generations before. I’ve learned a few things from these solitary and very physical hours. Rocks are kind of like problems — there are small ones, medium-sized ones and occasionally ones that are too big to lift by myself and require additional resources. Rocks are kind of like people — they come in many sizes and shapes and personalities. Some are stubborn and stuck in the dirt. Others can be moved with determination and encouragement. Manually picking up rocks reminds me of the history of this place, my home and farm. The accumulated piles of rock from a century of farming speak to the vision and strength of multiple generations. Each of us contributes our faith and energy and love. We all add to The Rock Pile at the field’s edge. Steve Johnson Cocolalla
Reader response… Dear editor, Soncirey Mitchell summed up the myriad emotions and human reactions to the death of our loved ones [Back of the Book, “Still, there is pizza,” June 20, 2024].
When I attended the Lutheran funeral service of my then-mother-in-law, I was shocked that no one — not even my husband, her eldest son — chose to speak on her amazing life. So I stood and recounted how she had raised three sons almost single-handedly and employed two of her sons in the furniture store she founded. Then I shared the joy from the previous year of watching my husband dance with her and her sister at a family reunion in another state. It was made especially poignant because Ellen had just recovered from a stroke that had paralyzed her. When I sat down, there continued to be total silence from the gathering of friends and family. Later, at the private dinner in one of their homes, I was just as shocked that during all of the conversations, no one spoke of her or even said her name. This time I let it be. I finally decided that stoicism was part of their Norwegian heritage, but it’s not part of my English/Irish/Scots background, so the memory of that funeral still stings. And, I loved Steve Johnson’s poignant poem (that’s what I call his letter) about losing his home [Letters, “Door Jamb,” June 20, 2024]. Blessings from his Old House Foundation of Family and Love. Clarice McKenney Sandpoint
Soliciting survey takers… Dear editor, Please take the “Rural Character Survey” regarding the future of Bonner County at surveymonkey. com/r/FJY2QL7 or bit.ly/3KLCpjl. Thank you, William Atwood Priest River
POTHOLE OF THE WEEK
This cavernous abyss of potholes is one of many among the residential streets of Sandpoint. Photo by Ben Olson.
‘On the lighter side’… Dear editor, For a fresh breath of air on the lighter side of world happenings, I offer a few quotes by W. C. Fields with some adjustments I have taken the liberty to perform: • Money will not buy happiness, but it will let you be unhappy in nice places. • I never vote for anyone; I always vote against. •First place was a week in Spokane. Second place was two weeks. •It’s funnier to bend things than to break them. •Remember a dead fish can float
downstream, but it takes a live one to swim upstream. •Reality is an illusion that occurs due to a lack of alcohol. James Richard Johnson Clark Fork
Followers... Dear editor, Everywhere I go, they follow me. The idle rich and gentrification. Eugene, Tucson, Sandpoint, I’m running out of places to escape to. Oh well, I’m old and fading fast. “The End is Near” in a number of ways. Jim Wood Sandpoint