pages 254-255

Pages 254-255

                That old ground squirrel had seen his shadow and we still had some weeks to go before the predicted six weeks would be up.  Shirley Creek rippled and splashed merrily as it flowed along in the canyon below our house as though by its murmur it too wished for spring.  The warm sunny rays had brought out a round of cheery notes from the birds, swaying from the bushes down along the creek.  The saucy hated magpie was doing his best to evoke attention from his lofty perch.  The little ground squirrels came out to see what it was all about, give a chatter or two, then slip quickly back into their well made homes.  A rabbit hopped out of the brush, then dashed up over the side of a hill and out of sight.  The horses squealed, kicked up their heels and ran from one end of our valley to the other.  The warm rays of the sun had had its effect on them too.  Watching all of this would put spring in any ones bones even though it wasn’t spring.

                The sun rose higher and higher, when a white fluffy cloud seemed to mar its face.  Jim called them thunder heads as one after another drifted by.  The sun’s warmth deteriorated a bit from having its face clouded so often causing dark carpets of shadows on the ground.

                Getting a bit of spring ahead of time made one wish harder for spring.  We were destined for more storms and cold though so we would enjoy this now, staying out of doors most of the day, planning this and that where we would have our garden and plant the seeds we had bought so many weeks before and kept in view to remind us as each day went by.  They dragged terribly.  Nice days were wonderful, the bad ones unendurable.  We took each and made something out of it as they came and went.

                That afternoon Jim worked on fences again so I went along for the walk.  We would not be far from the house only putting in extra posts on our west line.  Some would put enough post to get the wire strung up and then add extra ones later.  Fencing a three hundred and twenty was quite a little job, but getting this done ahead of spring plowing was the thing to do.  He had the posts already strung out, so Jim carried the shovel and staples and I the hammer.

                Our east line was fenced when we got our place by our neighbor who had taken up his claim several years before we did, they having come by covered wagon from the Midwest to this country.  They were good neighbors.  He told Jim to just set a big corner post with braces next to his corner post and start fencing from that and together they would keep up the middle fence in the way of repairs or post.  So that made it nice for us.

                When another family took up a place below us, we did the same with them.  These people homesteaded the place on the northwest of us with the spring on it where Jim hauled water from to fill our cistern and being poor people, charged so much a barrel for all water hauled from it.  They did not charge us though because Jim had been nice in hauling things and helping them with their fences, besides letting them use our west line fence as our neighbor east of us had done, but there were people on homesteads in the flats who had not water or money for putting down wells.  This struck them pretty hard. But it was like they said when they helped themselves, they always left your gate open, and when they paid, you reminded them to shut the gate.

                We had it figured they were just “squatters,” only there long enough to prove up on and sell for whatever they could get.  This was proved by the fact that they did nothing whatever in the way of cleaning off the sagebrush or improving the land and only fenced what they had to and Jim and I were just waiting for that time to elapse, which would be the required number of months to make them and offer.

                Right now we were plenty busy with what we had and as Jim would dig and put the post in the hole, I would put in a little dirt then he would use his shovel handle to pack it around the bottom of the post.  He said one seldom had trouble with a post that was tamped well, right at the start or bottom.  This was kept up until all the dirt was used and packed solid and rounded up around the post.  ”A nice job,” he’d say when done and found it solid when trying to wiggle it.  We continued until the number of posts needed were all in and stapled tight.  And taking time out to look, to see the sun was fast leaving us, turning again as we started for the house found the sky quite red like settling in a lake of fire.  Jim said,  “It’ll be windy tomorrow.”  And another day had slipped away, along with all the others since that night about twelve midnight when we entered the door of our home for the first time as man and wife to make a home and to wrest a living from this land of hills rocks and sagebrush.

                Jim did chores while I fixed the evening meal, somewhat tired, but feeling like a queen and in no time it seemed I was calling Jim to supper.  “Boy,” he said, “you work fast.”  “yes” I said, “leftovers baked beans, rice pudding, cold meat, bread and butter and canned rhubarb.”

                Later that evening I talked with Jim of the people without water He said, “they can go together and haul from Raft River or get water from friends who have wells.”  “Raft River – that wouldn’t be fit for culinary use --only Livestock,”  I ventured.  He replied, “they could boil it and that would render it fit for household use and could be done in that manner until they could do better.”  “I suppose,”  I said. And went on with what I had started , that of copying recipes I liked from papers and magazines in my little recipe book.  Jim’s relatives had gotten up for me, each of the relatives wrote from two to three of their favorites, signing their name to each.  A clever idea and some of them proved to be excellent so I added to them, those I thought worthwhile.  I stayed with this while Jim read, until the hands of the clock proved it to us it was bedtime.

pages 250-253

Pages 250-253

                Jim did the chores and unsaddled Jackie, who did his usual stunt of rolling over several times to scratch his back where the saddle blanket had rubbed, Jumping up quickly,  shook himself vigorously to remove the dirt he had ground in his hair, laying his ears back, with a mad look in his sometimes soft brown eyes, pushed his way to the rack where the most hay was.  What he lacked in size made up for the by acting the part.  This gave us a good laugh and still laughing left Jackie to his own game while we walked, arms around each other to the house.

                Early that morning I had put a pan of white beans in the oven to bake.  I always liked to have them bake slowly for some hours.  We walked into a delicious aroma, filling the kitchen.  I opened the oven to find them an appetizing brown.  Jim said right off, “it’s suppertime for me, let’s eat. “  I set the pan of baked beans in the middle of the table, placing the other food around it.  When the meal was over, Jim said.  “we must do this more often.”  And wondered how I had fixed them.

                “Well,”  I said, “a recipe I found in a farm paper --- two tablespoons brown flour, ½ teaspoon dry mustard, ½ cup of dark syrup, ½ cup of tomato juice.  Salt and pepper.  Then pour ½ cup of boiling water into the stirred mixture.  Pour over and stir into beans.  After they have been cooked for awhile on top of the stove, put them in the oven to bake with strips of meat on top.

                Later Jim seated himself to write some long overdue letters while I mended some clothes.  We worked for some hours at our separate task.

                For some nights we had failed to hear our friend, the coyote.  We thought perhaps he had gone to another part of the country, but when Jim came to bed, the weird howl split the silence of the night as it fell on our ears.  He had either returned or had been keeping his mouth shut.  When they howl they point their nose straight up at the starts, almost sitting on their haunches with their mouth as wide open as they can get it to emit their howl.

                We somehow enjoyed it.  It seemed to break the monotony, especially at night.  This continued at intervals as though he was lost and lonely.  As day broke over the horizon, he gave one last long yap and as the sound died away, he disappeared with it into obliteration, for the day at least.  Jim said, “I’ll bet he’ll have sore tonsils for awhile.” “Or he probably won’t be back for awhile,”  I commented.

                Jim did chores, and thinking it time to halter Nig again, had taken the whip and halter and had gone into the corral.  From the sound of his voice I know he was having trouble.  Rushing out I saw Nig standing on his hind feet striking with his front.  I knew Jim wouldn’t give in.  He’d make him do what he started out to do.  Nig wasn’t in the mood but after squealing, fighting and striking for some time, became sensible, putting his head in the halter at the last command and pop of the whip.

                Buckling it around his throat.   Jim lead him out to the hitch rack to brush, curry and talk kindly in order to get a little of the fire and wild nature that had accumulated from a few days of rest out of this once range animal.  He was not turned out with the rest when they were let out of the corral.

                Jackie and he had been pals before we bought them and he wasn’t leaving him now.  Starting several times with the others, then would whirl and dash back.  Jim said, “Jackie, you are going off with the others.”  Try as we may he would evade us, coming back to stand by Nig as if for comfort.  A lasting friendship, perhaps started when colts, so thus they stood as Jim and I drove away, looking back just as we were about to drive out of sight and could see they were still there.

                On through the narrow sage road. Beauty got into a fast trot. It wasn’t very cold, but we had on our winter coats and a warm lap robe tucked in around our feet and legs for the ride of about two miles to get out mail.  The crisp air brought color to our cheeks, a glorious feeling for young folks so full of life and vigor.  Idaho was noted for its healthful climate.  A young fellow lived in a cabin on the mountainside that had come from Washington.  Doctors said one lung was gone and the other badly affected,  only a short while to live, coughed badly, but married a lady with a homestead, had several children and lived for a good many years.  A healthy, wonderful place to live if one liked solitude, for one found plenty of that.

                Gazing in the sky for a moment to watch the feathery clouds float lazily over our heads in the sky of beauty and color of peaceful blue for the mountain slopes were always bathed in a ghostly mysterious azure blue haze that was constantly before our eyes with snow glistening like a crown of jewels from their top.  All was so exciting and enchanting for this was our Idaho.

                Even to the lazy croon of a coyote who sang us a song at the close of each day, a bedtime tune and awoke us with his soft yapping at the dawn of a new one.  There were many things to live for and be thankful for.  Her inland mountain placid lakes, meandering down. One too finds a rock strewn rill from a lazy inland lake.  One shouldn’t ask for more when we view these beauties from Gods’ hand, like jaded pines on mountainsides, a masterpiece that none but God can do.  Could one ask for more or why would one want well trod busy streets when all this was for the taking.

                My mind continued to drift while I continued to think of all this and more.  God had planned for those who loved it some thousand years or more.  Lofty hills and mountains left to adore, I thought in a hazy way while Beauty trotted along.

Soon we were there.  Jim handed me the reins and went in to get the mail, and came back with ours and also our folks. We had not seem them for some time.  This would be a good chance for a visit.

                It didn’t seem long until we were there.  Toby came bounding down the lane as usual, barking and with his white tail like a sail, almost jumping into the buggy.  Hearing Toby’s bark, the folks came out to investigate as we drove into the yard.  They were happy to see us.  My sister came as we got out of the buggy and all went in together.

                Mother had dinner cooking on the stove,  She began by saying “We’ll be having dinner soon, you must stay.”  We needed very little coaxing for mother’s dinners were always good.  She seemed to have that knack.

                Father and Jim visited in the living room.  Mother brought out some goods and sewing she had been doing, talked of her turkeys and how many she planned to set.  Father with his seed books was  already planning a big garden.  My sister had several pieces of music she was practicing on.  While she played them I assisted mother with taking up the dinner and setting the table. It was nice to be home again.

                My brother came down for his mail.  Said his family was doing fine, none had been sick.  I thought that good with three children.  We walked later to their place for a short visit, and found them cheerful and happy.  The children playing outside seemed to be having any amount of fun.   We talked to them awhile before going in.

                My sister-in-law, sitting at the sewing machine, was making some clothes for the children.  The house was neat and clean with the east son streaming in through the windows made a pleasant atmosphere.  Turning from the machine the four of us visited.  The talk was mostly of wheat, gardening and etc.

                My brother was working on cabinets.  As my sister-in-law put it, “we just had to have extra space for storing things.”  We did not visit too long, returning to our folks, stopped a few minutes there before starting on home.

                The sun showed signs the day was waning.  Beauty trotted along out of the lane up the hill heading for our own home.  Jackie brayed and galloped up the hill to meet us, then trotted along behind.  Nig was still standing quietly at the rack.  Jim went over, stroked his neck and side and rubbed his nose gently while he talked to him, removing the halter, gave him a last pat on the hip.  Then Jackie and Nig took off to find the others, only to meet them coming back, for evening was approaching and they knew feeding time was near.

                Jim hadn’t more than unhitched Beauty when they were all there waiting.  Well Jim said, “it’s a little early, but since you are all here I’ll just feed you,”  I heard him say as I started for the house carrying the mail and sack of things mother had given us.

                This had been a pleasant day and an experience  I thought to myself.  Upon entering, putting what mother had given us on the cupboard and the mail on the library table, there were several letters.  One from his folks in Iowa, my married sister and others, also magazines and papers.  I turned to rekindling the fires for they had been out long enough.

                Supper prepared, Jim came and I said, “we will eat now.”  He said,  “It’s a bit early, isn’t it?” “yes” I replied,  “but thought it best to do this before starting at that stack of mail.”  He said, “oh, I guess the stock had something in mind too for they came early also.”  I laughed and poured the hot tea.  Jim returned thanks for we always thanked the Lord for our good fortunes.  And there were a good many we could praise him for.

                Jim thought the potato cakes had an extra good flavor and called them a tasty morsel.  “Oh, that’s a recipe my neighbor gave me—a bit of flour, bread crumbs, salt, pepper and poultry seasoning , mix all together, put in enough water to  make into soft cakes for frying.  I think the poultry seasoning gives the extra taste you like,”  I said.

                Soon over Jim sat himself down to looking over the mail.  Fist reading his folks letter, a newsy homey letter all about the county and folks Jim had grown up with.  He read aloud while I cleaned away the table.

                There were more Sunday School papers his folks had saved and sent.  The stories in them were always interesting, intriguing and morally  good.  I finally got around to my sisters letter.  It was an entertaining letter all about the children, what her husband was working at.  Their minds were still made up to sell and go back to Montana.  It was much warmer in Portland, but they were homesick to go back.  Thought they’d be seeing us about the first of May and would come to Rupert and we could come for them.  “That’s sometime away yet,” Jim said, “but , we’ll make plans to that effect.”  They had three boys now.  It would be fun seeing all of them again.

                When we had looked over all the mail, Jim turned to the continued story we liked so well and read until it was hard for me to keep my eyes open longer.  Finding myself dropping off to sleep several times , got ready for bed while Jim finished out the chapter.  The sun had set clear, tomorrow would be a good day.  We were anxious for spring.

                The days seemed to pass slower than usual though.  There were times when the grey days of winter were still with us.  The sun had set in a wealth of gold that evening for we had watched it and the next day was nice.

                We were up early as usual.  The sun came up flooding the valley with its sunny rays filling each nook and cranny, filtering through cracks, shining brightly through windows, God’s blessing to the earth.  It was such a lovely morning.  I heard Jim singing at his chores---“Spring is coming over the hill”—a favorite of his he had learned as a boy.

               

pages 248-249

Pages 248-249

                When Jim and I sat down to eat we gave God the credit for all the blessing we had received and asking his guidance for another day.  We the began to partake of the food which was more palatable than the cold sandwiches we had eaten on the return home.

                Jim sat in his comfortable chair in the living room.  The wind grew stronger with a fierceness.  It howled around the corners of the house.  I could hear my wash tubs and other things being blown around like scraps of paper.  Finally I heard them go rolling down the hill along with other loose objects.  Jim lit the lantern and went to get them not wanting them to be swept away should a heavy rain come up.  I followed to help, but it was tough going back up the hill in the face of the wind for it hadn’t slackened one bit.  For it seemed even harder as we set the tubs and buckets in the kitchen.

                As we retired the wind had calmed enough that we were soon lulled to sleep.  Sleeping soundly until the sun came peeping over the mountain peaks, high above our folks place.

                With the dawn we arose to a bright new day for the wind had disappeared as it came to no one knew where, but it was gone and a lovely day was in the making.

                Jim thought it a good time to work a little more on some fence he had been wanting to fix.  So after breakfast he gathered the needed equipment together, put them in the wagon and drove away, leaving little Jackie saddled and bridled and tied to the hitch rack.

                I hurried with my work and as I did so put on a kettle of fudge to boil  When the housework was finished the fudge was ready.  I took it and was soon in the saddle and Jackie’s tiny feet digging into the soft earth as we went down the hill and along Shirley Creek.  I was taking the long way to the bench, the road up along our west line.

                The saucy magpies were there to catcall in their magpie fashion in almost a taunting manner.  Jackie’s little sure feet and slow easy way of moving couldn’t have been improved on.  Even the saucy chipmunks chattered, sitting up on their hind legs momentarily, dashed back in their hillside homes as we rode by.

                We were now on the climb by the west fence and here a few yards up.  Jim had tied the team and was setting post to put on an extra wire for five wires was a must in this country.

                Each landowner was supposed to protect his grain crops with fences or take the consequences.  Some were too poor so got the ground ready, then planted and waited to fence when they could.  We were told wire pliers were most generally found in a saddle pockets , when one was riding the ranges and sometimes you would find a heard of cattle had been grazing on your grain, especially if one moved to a nearby town about fifty miles away for the winter and when returning to their ranches for spring work.

                Jackie, seeing the team, stopped dead in his tracks.,   Lifting his tail and head let out a extra loud bray that shook the saddle, including me.  With it, Jim hearing the bray, let out a holler, tossing his hat up and waved us on.  Jackie stepped cautiously, but faster.  I sometimes felt Jackie almost had human brains in his head, because of the keenness of his ability to act and do things.  Next to Beauty I thought him the nicest animal we had on the whole three hundred and twenty acres.

                Billy fortune, Beauty’s colt was a very nice well-bred animal.  His body and legs showing distinctly the markings of the racing blood in his veins.  On seeing us he and his mother came dashing across the field.

                Jim helped me to dismount and I stood for some moments viewing the country side from all directions.  Much higher than the small valley below, gave one an opportunity to view our neighbors homes and ranches across and around from us and several homes in the canyon above our home from here we could see other folks doing things around their places.

                Jim reached for the sack I was still holding tight in my hand.,  I had been awe-struck by the scenery and neglected to tell him what I had brought.  Peeking in the sack he said, “Just what I was wanting, candy for energy,” and put his arm around me drawing me close.  We stood thus eating until it was gone.

                I then said,  “A lunch is in the saddle pockets,”  Sandwiches in one and a couple of applejacks in the other.  Apple Jacks were made by rolling a rounding pie crust, fill one half of it with your fruit, then fold, pressing the edges together firmly.  Fry or bake in the oven.  It makes half of a pie that can be carried without the fruit and juices running all over and is very good.

                I helped Jim awhile with the fencing and after an hour or so he assisted me in the saddle, saying I should go home and rest awhile.

                Jackie and I were making the trip back along the west fence.  He was just as surefooted and careful as coming up.  When we arrived home I gave him hay with a pat on the neck.  I loosened the girth but did not attempt to lift the saddle off.  I carried several armfuls of wood in, filling the empty box by the kitchen range.  Next I fed and picked up the  eggs from the chicken house and built up the fires for the day was waning  and a cloudy like dampness seemed to be drifting though the valley.

                It was not long though until I heard the rattle of the wagon and little Jackie’s bray that gave warning someone was approaching.  Opening the door he stopped the team, calling to me to take some things into the house, things he didn’t like left out in the weather.

pages 246-247

Pages 246-247

                Jim worked on a gang plow getting it ready to turn this rich mountain soil into a seed bed.  And when evening drew nigh, he did the chores.  But he was tired and willing to come when I called him to supper.

                We stared into the blackness of the night.  For the clouds had drifted and we went to sleep when the wind and then the rain beat against the window panes.  “Let it rain,” Jim said.  “the more the better.”  High up, like we were, rain usually turned to snow that time of year, So when morning arrived everything was white.  The branches of small trees and bushes along Shirley Creek were plastered with chunks of wet soggy snow that one could hear dripping and falling as the sun climbed higher and higher, warming the valley.

                Jim took his single gauge shotgun down, saying some fresh meat would taste good, going down in the canyon along Shirley Creek.  I soon heard a blast and then another.  After some little time he came back with two dressed cottontail rabbits.  I washed them and put them to soak in salt water.  When dinner was about ready some friends of ours came visiting.

                Jim went out to assist them in tying up their team.  Just the man and his wife.  The children were in school.  Lucky for me I had a pie and part of a cake. I usually tried to have things like desserts cooked ahead.  The lady set the table while I dished up.  The fried rabbit looked delicious on the big platter.  The man commented, “Guess I’ll have to come hunting over this way.  We never see cottontails where we live, only the big jacks that aren’t fit for meat.”  Jim replied, “you only find the small cottontails along creeks.”

                They burrow into the banks for a hiding place and to raise their young.  They are pretty smart or clever about this for they have many inlets and outlets to their bank home.  If they didn’t they would be easy prey for the coyotes would make short work of digging them out and greedily devouring them.

                We visited until about time for school to let out.  When they left saying they would pick up their children on the way waving goodbye and thanking us for the dinner.

                The days were still chilly and the nights cold.  So after supper we retired early for Jim said we must get another load of hay

                When morning came it was still quite cool until the sun began to throw its warm rays over the valley.  Again I fixed a lunch and went along.  Jim always liked my company and I didn’t like being alone.  I took a warm blanket to put over our laps and around our legs.  And with our coats we were comfortable.  The horses settled down to a steady slow like trot somewhat like a jog.  As we rode along in this easy manner, my thoughts drifted back several thousand miles.

                My thoughts wer of those moonlit August hayrides the young people of our church would go on.  Some of the older folks went along for chaperones for this fun loving bunch of teenagers and most generally a girl for each boy or the other way around.  How they would congregate at our home.  I could picture mother so small in her pretty dress and cute tea aprons.  She was always as neat as a pin with her lovely blond hair piled high on top of her head in a fluffy bundle with her sparkling agate blue eyes as she served them hot chocolate with marshmallows, cake and fruit before they would take off on those never to be forgotten trips over the countryside, over hilly toads, down shady lanes, by big old oak trees, lovely pines, maples bathing our faces like a soft caress in the moonlight.

                After several hours of this delightful fun with much singing of lovely hymns and pretty songs, each would be delivered to their own doorstep safely with things to be remembered for aye and a day.  But we weren’t out exactly for fun that morning.  It was feed for our stock.  And it wasn’t an August day or a moon light night by any means.  For the closer we got to where we would load the hay, the wind blew harder and colder making it difficult to load the hay.  Were we glad when it was over and we were off for home.  The horses seemed glad also the way they leaned into the collar.

                Facing a north wind I cuddled down in the hay for warmth, eating our sandwiches half heartily.  On the stretch of road leading home, up popped a big snowshoe rabbit making enormous leaps and bounds clearing the smaller sage taking a clear sweep of things in his stride as he dashed ahead and where to, no one but he knew, I said to Jim, “Maybe a coyote was in pursuit.”  “Might be,” he answered, “but I think our load of hay was more responsible.  After awhile he’ll sneak back and eat his fill when we have it in the feed lot, You can bet.”

                Pretty close now for we could hear little Jackie braying.  Somehow he knew we were near.  Perhaps his long, keen ears picked up the rattle of the wagon.  He didn’t only bray once, but several times.  And when we came into sight, he stuck his little head up higher than ever to let out his loudest bray.  Then on the gallop, he came to the top of the hill, nuzzling the wire that held it shut as though trying to let us through.  Jim slid down onto the wagon tongue and ground, patting Jackie’s soft neck as he bit into the green hay.  Opening the gate I threw the lines to Jim.  He didn’t like trusting me to drive down the sloping hill with a load.  The tam was on a trot almost begore we reached the enclosure where he would unload.

                Evening was settling in and the wind colder and more brisk.  When Jim came in I was preparing our supper.  The fires burning brightly had warmed the house nicely by that time.  It was nice to be in ones’ own comfortable home at the close of the day with the shadows from the disappearing sun over the horizon, closing in for the night.

pages 244-245

Pages 244-245

                Jim put a riding bridle and saddle on him.  This made him look even cuter with his body so short.  He then got into the saddle riding around quite a bit to see if he was gentle enough for me.  Showing no signs of being anything but a good little mule, Jim helped me into the saddle.  How easy he was to ride, almost like sitting in a rocking chair, but his withers or shoulders were so small, it seemed as though the saddle was practically on his stubby little neck.  And too if he put his head to the ground, one wouldn’t feel very comfortable. And when lowering his head to eat he’d have to spread his front feet apart to be able to nip the grass.  Jim sheared and trimmed his extra long tail too, giving him more of that mule look.  He was just about as cute a trick as you’d find.  I rode him quite awhile, then having work to do, Jim took the bridle off, tying him to the rack of hay for riding later.  I was quite happy over it and thought much about it as I went about finishing up my mornings work.

                Beauty was fine too but not a very easy saddler because she was a trotter and buggy horse.  Jim’s plans were to break Billy Fortune, Beauty’s colt to be a saddler, thinking from his gait and way of walking, he’d make a good one when old enough.

                I was quite pleased with what I had, but I knew there would be times when Jackie would have to do his bit on one end of the rail or gang plow.  Jim had plans already for getting a well fitted pad and collar and fixing a half set of double harness for him.  As he said, only to work him when needed for I think he had fallen for Jackie in a big way the same as I.

                After dinner Jim went up to burn more sage, He was in hopes of getting this bench ready for the plow, so it could be turned over while the ground was still moist and to harrow each plowed strip to preserve and hold it in the ground.  I watched him ride one of the horses across Shirley Creek and up the hill on the opposite side.

                After washing up the dishes I took in the clothes, sprinkled and put in a basket what was to be ironed, folded the rest neatly and put them away,.  Thus that wash was over with.

                So I layed down and rested for about an hour.  Later stirred up the fire and put on a batch of chocolate fudge.  When done, poured it in a plate, setting it to cool while I read through a magazine.  When cold, I cut it into squares, placing it in a paper sack for easy carrying, slipped on a jacket and with my candy mounted Jackie, and was off to the bench.

                I began to figure he was smart right from the start, the way he dug his sharp little hoofs in when we went down the hill from the house and across Shirley Creek.  I guessed he didn’t care much for water the way he carefully stepped in and out of it.  It was running somewhat fast with debris washing in around his feet.  He was a bit shy, giving a sly sidelong look at it passing between his legs, seemingly happy at getting out of it.  Started to quick steps up the long sloping hill to the bench, digging his sharp toes in the clay-like foothill.  He continued the uphill climb.

                The air was filled with smoke from the burning sage, seeming to settle down all around us.  Finally we reached the top with the big jackrabbits dashing in front of us and chipmunks cheeping madly, running for their holes.

                We rode over to where Jim was.  He helped me off, tied Jackie to a sagebrush.  There we sat down on a nearby pile of brush to enjoy the candy.  Getting up once in a while to light another fire.  Jim said, “you notice the smoke coming back to earth?” “yes,” I answered, “I took note of that coming up the hill.” “Well, there’s a storm brewing,”  he said.

                Sure enough clouds began to settle around the mountain peaks and after an hour or so we were rewarded with a few drops.  Rain was a blessing and welcome in that country whether a few drops or a downpour.  We took it and liked it.  Jim said, “we’d better take off, I am not sure what we’ll get.  Could be anything from a wind laden with a few drops to a soaker.”  He helped me into the saddle, jumping on his horse we were on the move toward home.

                As we went down the winding sloping road, I began to feel a little leery.  What neck Jackie did have, seemed to have disappeared.  The only thing visible were his long ears above the saddle horn.  The saddle seemed to be riding up on his small withers.  Jim rode up beside me taking my arm saying . “you’ll be alright.  That saddle can’t slip any further, especially as tight as the girth is.”

                That little sure footed mule was really picking his way with a steady step, almost sitting on his haunches to keep his head up level with the rest of him.  I would have patted him on the neck to encourage him, but I was afraid to reach for something I could hardly see.  The slope became more gradual the farther down we got, letting Jackie straighten out a bit.  There was one thing he was making sure of though, that of getting his rider safely down the hill.  He was such a quiet, soft furry little fellow.  I hugged him around the neck several times after we were home, rubbing his pretty face with my hand from his forehead down to the soft tan muzzle of his nose.

                After Jim took the saddle off, I curried and brushed his coat of hair, which he enjoyed but evidently what I had done only made him want more rubbing.  He laid down, rolling over three times before getting up.  Jim said, “you know that denotes and extra good mule.”  We had never seen him do that before.  Jackie was all mule and a good one. 

                The rain we thought was coming did not materialize in our valley.  It followed the mountain range, but it must have been a good one for the clouds still hung low.  “We could get some yet,”  Jim commented as we strolled to the house with arms around each other.

Our home, though far from the mad rush and turmoil of the big cities and small towns and somewhat marooned in this valley.  Of many dreams and wishes, where the winds blew softly and sometimes madly, and where the coyote’s howl haunted us night after night, the rushing of Shirley Creek going by to its end in the flats, the night birds cry from the canyon, the lonely hours and the pleasant ones, all spelled home.  We were young, full of life and loved every minute of it.

pages 242-243

Pages 242-243

                Little Jackie became my pet and our alarm clock.  Around five a.m. each morning the braying being more like a distress signal brought us out of bed before we were hardly awake.  Jim had kept the horses in the corral that night instead of turning them loose to get an early start on hauling the bay.

                When Jim got out there the horses were fighting, squealing, and kicking as though something had excited them with Jackie trying to keep out of the way of the flying hoofs.  Jim put a halter on each, tying them to the rack with hay, examining the ground closely and found footprints of a wild cat.  So it seemed. “That’s it.” He said when I went out where he was.  Taking my arm showed me the tracks.  “that’s what excited them, one of these times that thing Is going to show up one time too many and his reward will be a load of buck shot.  It may not kill him, but might make him think he’s not supposed to be in this part of the valley, but back up in the mountains where he belongs,” said Jim.

                Later while Jim got everything ready I fixed a lunch for 1 intending having a hayride instead of staying home alone.  Soon ready, Jim helped me into the wagon and we were off.  The spring seat was wired across the wagon side V=shape rack Jim had made.  That kind of rack and when not needed could easily be dumped off, standing like a long “V” shape Teepee.

                We sat with our feet upon the rack braces.  We did not drive too fast, just a slow like jog.  When we got there, he removed the seat loading about half the load and finding he could finish the load by noon continued, put the spring seat up on the load, then climbed up on and he would place it so he could load a much larger one.  Going so far he wanted to haul as much on each load as possible.

                It was real fun going back, sitting high up taking the country side in.  I spread my big Mother Hubbard apron I was wearing, brushed the hay leaves from the lunch sack, set it in my lap and passed Jim a sandwich, taking one myself.

                Thus we sat inhaling the pure mountain air while we ate our lunch on the soft bouncy hay.  The sun was warm for February for there was no snow except in the high mountains.  Jim pointed to several of the drifting clouds above us, calling them thunder heads saying, “We could have rain in a few days if those clouds mean what they indicate.”

                The silver on the sage was glistening from the suns bright rays as we plodded slowly along homeward with the birds giving out a cheery note, at each bend in the road so narrow we would lose a small bunch now and again dragged off by the sage, like blazing a trail, or leaving a marker for someone else to follow.  That worried us little, but what we saw jumping here and there among the sage did---the long eared jacks.  They were multiplying and on the increase and would harvest many an acre of the ranchers grain, indications from the rains and snows there would be a good crop for all and much left after the big long-eared bunnies had eaten and damaged what they could.

                Nearing home the horses put a little faster gait in their pulling turning into the section lane that went to our place and here we were .  Jim slid down from the hay, a hand on each horses hip and on the wagon tongue, jumping down from the double tree, opened the gate for me to drive through and on to the corral.  The hill somewhat steep with the load pushing them they almost got into a trot.  Jim ran up beside them calling,  “throw me the reins,”  I did.  Soon he pulled them down, not wanting the load to upset with me on it or before he got to where he wanted it.  He guided them up beside the fence rack.  Then he unloaded the hay while I went in to fix the fires, and get something for our evening meal.  The clear fresh ozone gave one an appetite that brought on hunger.

                It was not long until Jim came in.  I had warmed over some cold meat, gravy and made potato cakes from left-over mashed potatoes.  And each had a cup of hot tea, a bowl of peaches and doughnuts for dessert.  Lighting the lamps, set them on each table knowing it would be dark before the meal was over.

                Jim read an excellent story and several Bible stories that were always enjoyed no matter how many times they were read.  Finally laying it aside we both read from different magazines of things we were interested in until we almost fell asleep to the singing of the tea kettle and the quiet tranquility of the surroundings with the popping of the stove, cooing off as the last embers flickered out.  Taking the lamp to light out way, retired to the bedroom.

                Rising early to little Jackie’s braying, built the fire while Jim drew several buckets of water from the cistern, putting it on to heat a wash boiler.  I prepared breakfast and Jim did the chores.

                I then put two old chairs together to set the tub on, filling it with warm water, put in a teaspoon of lye to make it softer.  It was spring water and quiet soft anyway.  Then I put a half bar of soap on the top of the board, stuck the white clothes in, I then rubbed each piece on the board.  After rubbing the soap on first, and rinsed them in cold water.  After a couple of hours of rubbing and rinsing, I had a basket of white and colored clothes to hang out.

                A slight wind came up so they whipped and popped in the breeze.  They looked real nice hanging there and I was proud of my accomplishment.  When I had finished I went out to where Jim had just finished cutting and trimming Nigs foretop and mane.  Now  he was ready for Jackie.  He trimmed his mane that had grown long enough to flop down on his neck so it would stand straight up.  My what a difference it made, but I think he looked cuter with the hair sticking out of his long ears.  This made Nig look more like a tame horse.  When the clipping was finished, Jackie’s coat was curried and brushed until it shone.

pages 240-241

Pages 240-241

                By now the night air was heavily settled over the valley and filled the air with a moist coolness, and drove us in by the fire while the darkness engulfed everything even our home like a protective shadow from the outside surroundings, hugging the ground like an invisible something from above.

                We retired early that night.  Jim wanted to handle the horse a bit more and get harness lined out for him.  Then too he had bought more hay down on the creek and wanted to get it hauled for our feed was getting low.

                When the first rays of light hit the valley Jim was up.  I fixed the fires and prepared the breakfast.  Later Jim harnessed Nig and another quiet horse about his size.  Then he hitched the two to a wagon and had me hold the reins while he fastened the neck yoke and tugs, chaining Nig to the opposite horse by looping his halter chain though the line ring on the hames and back to Nigs halter chain, then a rope from the halter ring through his bridle bit and back to the wagon on the outside of the horse.  In that way you could pull more on him instead of both if he took a notion to run as they usually do if given a chance when breaking them.

                I got in the wagon, held on to the lines while Jim got in quietly from the tail gate of the wagon.  Jim hadn’t more than gotten in when he took off and what a ride!  We were breaking a real bronco, (a bronco is a horse raised wild on the range and not broken to ride or work).  Sometimes they are put in a corral and whip broke for easy catching.  Jim grabbed the breaking rope on the outside of Nig and pulled just enough to keep them circling in our valley instead of out in the sagebrush where they might hit a rock throwing the wagon over and hurting us.  I shouldn’t have been in that wagon anyway, but boy what a ride!  Nig kicked the single tree at every jump.  He tried to buck, he lunged and plunged, he fought the bit, the foam from his mouth came back in our faces and his hair, now wet with sweat looked like a piece of black silk from the rays of the sun.  I was just beginning to enjoy it to the fullest when he began to quiet down losing some of that wild horse spirt.

                Then we drove him slowly around for awhile longer.  Jim held onto the reins and halter rope while I opened the gate.  Jim grabbed my hand,, helping me in.  With Nig thinking he was off for his old home.  If you thought that bronco’s spirit was dead, you should have been in that wagon for that sagebrush trail wasn’t a road.  It was more like a smooth highway or one would have thought it the way that horse sailed over it.  It’s hard telling how fast he would have gone if it hadn’t been for his mate,  a quiet well broken plow horse, who seemed to jerk him back with every jump.  I felt sorry for the other horse. 

                 The ride was so bumpy Jim began to worry for me, holding the reins with one hand and his arm around under my arms.  Trying to take my weight a bit from the floor of the wagon, keeping me from taking too much of the jolt, but that was the most fun I had had for some time.

                We got just about to the little country school house before Jim got them slowed down enough to turn them around starting back home.  Nig slowed down then, finally stopped and bracing his four feet stood thus in the middle of the road. Jim coaxed the other horse, but to no avail.   He didn’t have the strength to budge Nigs’ braced feet out of the dirt.  And here he stood with head down, sulking like a whipped child.  “Well,” Jim says, “I’ve a few more tricks up my sleeve.  One is to blow in his ears, but if I did that he would take off before I could get back in the wagon.  Another is to chew on his ears with your teeth, results the same.  The third is to tie his ears so tight together that it will make them numb.  None of them are any good because he’d take off before I could get back in the wagon and you wouldn’t be able to hold them and would get hurt.”  Then finally he says, I’ve got it.  If he’ll only be quiet until I can get hold of his long black tail” which was a ticklish subject, fooling with a wild broncos tail, taking a small rope, made a loop to slip over the tail.  Cautiously Jim leaned over from the wagon and gingerly took a hold of the long black hair.  I was so afraid he’d get kicked.  Nig moved a bit, as though to start going, with me handing him the rope, he got the first loop around and again the horse twisted and looked around, doubling the long hair of the tail back he got the second loop on and then another until he had it firmly tied.  Now the worst part of it was yet to come, fastening it to the double tree.  I was so afraid the horse would kick him , then getting out of the wagon , and holding onto the rope, saying “Ho, ho” while fastening it to the single tree, just long enough so the horse would have to do his share of pulling the wagon by his tail.

                Jim hadn’t more than gotten in when the horse discovered his plight, thinking someone was pulling him back by his tail, took off and how!  Soon in the yard he began circling the valley again until Jim had them worn clear down,  especially the poor work horse.

                When Jim decided to stop and unhitch, that was a very subdued and much conquered bit of horse flesh.  But it was the most fun I’d had in many a day.  Later when I told the lady who would take care of me, She opened her mouth and about fainted and I thought she was going to pass out, but she revived herself enough to say, “All I’ve got to say for you, you were one lucky person.”  “I guess I am,”  I said.

                Nig never gave us any more trouble except he still would rear occasionally and strike with his front feet when Jim would halter him.

pages 236-239

Pages 236- 239

We were nearing their place when a coyote dashed into the brush with something from what we could see of him.  When we arrived the folks were outside looking somewhat excited.  A coyote had just grabbed one of their chickens and dashed off with it.  We told them we saw one and thought it had a bird or chicken in its mouth.  “that was him.” The man said.

                They seemed very glad to see us.  They had me to come right in.  Jim and the man hitched up to start at the railing some distance below the house.  Soon we could see the four head going back and forth from a window.  The hoses seemed to be pulling the heavy rail right along with little stopping except to rest a bit when they made the turns.  While two teams would rail the other team would rake it into long windrows for burning.  Already somewhat dry in the flats the sage would burn easily.

                The lady seated me in her best rocker, taking my coat and scarf and hung them up.  They had put some deer meat down in a brine or salt during the early part of winter.  She had soaked a roast overnight to remove some of the salt and had it roasting a little like corned beef in the early days.  It certainly had a tantalizing aroma I told her.

                Finding she would have company for dinner she set about to make a bread pudding with dried bread crumbs, milk, eggs, sugar, butter, nutmeg and cinnamon mixed together and baked until nicely brown.

                She had to add sagewood to the stove every so often for that was their fuel the same as I and most of the homesteaders used.  It was cheap, handy and easily gotten.  Then she said, “Now you act just like you were home.  Feel free to walk around,” and said, “there’s a bed you can lie down on.” For the living room and the bedroom were all the same.

                There was only two good large rooms to the house, but there was quite a bit of space, very neat and comfortable for all they were there for a purpose to get a hundred and sixty acres of ground and farm from it to make an honest living like the dozens and dozens of others who had built small homes on their claims over this great valley.  One only had to look from the window to see some of these homes dotted here and there.  In them were poor but honest good hearted folks like the home I was company in today.  They wanted to make me comfortable, doing their best to put before us food we would like and enjoy. 

                Some hours later when the men drove in for dinner it was ready.  Food that was fit for anybody.  They asked Jim to return thanks.  It was very befitting the occasion.  Everyone seemed happy and thankful with hopes for what was ahead.  They seemed to be living for the future as all of us were.  Folks that were. “The Salt of the Earth.”

                After the meal was over, she did not let me help.  She said. “No, you must rest awhile,” knowing my condition said, “you have plenty of work at home.  I remember I did enjoy getting off my feet.”  But I wasn’t tired.  Just to please though I laid down for awhile.

                Later she rested on a couch while the men folks went back to their railing.  Then we sat visiting until toward evening when the men came back in again with some pretty tired horses.  I got ready , bidding the folks good bye and thanking them for the good dinner. 

                We were off winding our way back over the sagebrush road leading to our own home.  There was no smoke curling from the chimney.  The fires were out and the house would be cold.  Going in my first thought was to get the house warm.  That I did.  Jim took care of the stock and chores.

                We were in for the night shutting the door to this quiet, friendly but lonely valley.  We lit the lamps, then fixed a bite to eat.  Jim read an interesting , exciting story that kept us awake and enthralled with interest for hour after hour until we realized it was later than we thought.  We then retired for the night.

                And up early the next A.M. for Jim thought he would do more raking and burning of the sage.  It was slow, hard work.  The old timers claim the sage came in when the land was overgrazed and being a hearty brush it withstood the dry years.  That wasn’t helpful to the grass and now too we noticed the rabbits had become thicker and  more plentiful in our own valley.  The tracks were multiplying.  The long eared bunnys or jackrabbit, seemed to forage mostly at night and hide away by day.  Jim reported even seeing big snow shoe rabbits up on our bench.  They are the kind that turn white in winter and can hardly be detected from the snow.  Those kind though were seldom seen in this part of the country.  The ordinary  jackrabbit was enough.  He could destroy plenty in his own way.  And too they multiply faster than most animals.  That’s one of the ways our coyote friend does his bit.  He’s death on those big bunnies.  Some sheep-men say they prefer the coyote to the rabbits and squirrels.

                Thus the days passed and when not too busy visited with the different neighbors.  A day or so later went visiting down on Sublett Creek to see a fellow who hade a horse ranch.  Jim was looking around for another horse to make up his gang plow horses.  We did not know the folks so I fixed a lunch of some sandwiches, doughnuts and two quarts of milk.  It was quite a drive going up the creek in the brisk air, but a pretty trip.  Farms to the right of us and sloping hills to the left.  In some of the valleys where it was warm enough and the snow gone a faint tinge of green could be seen.  The bare wheat fields also had a dark greenish look at the base with the top leaves a brownish yellow.

We met several horseback riders going into Sublett, perhaps for groceries or mail.  We did not drive fast, just took in the countryside as we went, waving and speaking to the cowboys that passed by.

                People were more thickly settled along this creek as they were along most creeks in a dry country.  These creeks were used for irrigating gardens, orchards and hay fields.  Farther up in the hills they had what they called the Sublett Dam and did most of their irrigating from that.  Some of these folks had migrated to this country in an early day seeking a home and place to raise their families, have a garden and etc.  Quite a few of them still lived in log homes that were comfortable and nicely fixed inside.  Other had prospered enough to have fairly nice homes with good barns.  Stock was mainly what they seemed to want so as to take advantage of the free range.  Horses too were quite valuable and much in demand those days. That  was before the invention of the tractor.  All farming then was being done with horses and a good horse sold quite high.  Jim was looking for a medium all purpose horse to mix in with what he had.

                We were not too far from the place now.  It was sheltered right up against a mountain like hill, covered with fir, pine and various trees.  It was a very pretty place, corrals and with a small, but nice home and barn.  An old bachelor owned it.  But he had a family living in the house and running the place for him.  He too stayed there quite a bit of the time.

                Pulling off the road into a sunny like nook, here we ate our dinner. Sitting in the buggy while the little ground squirrel rushed  cheeping back and forth up the gravily rocky hillside while I threw crumbs to them, but evidently were too scared to pick them up.  Here too I noticed a big ant hill not too faraway and figured they would pack them down into their holes.  Some distance up the hill we noticed a porcupine moving slowly mining his own business so we minded ours and drove away leaving the squirrels and ants to tend to their own affairs.

                Beauty and Babe trotted toward the ranch.  A big dog and a second one came bounding and barking at us as we drove into the lane of the closely protected mountain place.  There were flower bushes here and there that would leaf out and blossom when spring came.  Farther on was a spring of sparkling cool clear mountain water.

                 We tied up the team and walked over to the corral where a number of horses were by that time.  The owner came out and over where we were.  The three of us stood staring at the animals, wondering which one to decide on and when we had just about picked out a pretty black with a star on his forehead, the cutes little brownish black mule stuck his head from around the bunch of horses and let out a loud bray winding up with a he ha.  Then he gave us the once over.  The owner said he’s somewhat of a character kicking up his heels dashed around the opposite side of the corral.  Jim says, “What’ll you take for him?”  “Oh, I don’t know, “ he replied,  “he’s a mighty good saddler and very easy to ride and the most surefooted animal on the place.”  “Well, what?” Jim asked.  “Well, I hadn’t thought too much about selling him but I guess I will.”  He answered as though thinking.  “Raised him from a colt,”  he continued, then he told the price.  Jim said, “I’ll take both the black and the mule.”

                The little mule was easily caught, but the black had been whip broke.  The owner picked up a halter and a drover’s whip.  Upon entering the corral he held up the halter in one hand, then kept popping the heavy whip with the other.  That horse stood his ground, staring at the halter then reared on his hind legs twice, and whinnied, then walked up and stuck his head in the halter as quiet and nice as you please and led from the corral in the same manner.

                I got Jim to one side and said, “Maybe you don’t want that horse if you have to go through all of those maneuvers each time you want to catch him.”  “Oh, just don’t worry.  I’ll handle him,” Jim said.

                After paying the man, Jim tied the little mule, we named Jackie up beside Beauty and the black, we immediately named Nig, beside Babe, fastening it through the harness ring of the hame.  Then snapping it into the halter. This made them pretty secure.  We knew we had them where if they were tied behind they might break loose then back to their owner.  This was the safest also for an unbroken horse or colt.

                We trotted right along with the four abreast.  I fell in love with Hackie right on the start.  He was chubby like, more like a dwarf or a medium sized mule, his legs were quite fuzzy and somewhat big for his size.  When we got home I was dying to get a saddle and bridle on him for his owner said he was quiet and a very easy rider.  I couldn’t help but pet and put my arms around his neck, which he seemed to like.  It was a s though we were meant to have some good times together while he did the hill climbing with me doing the riding..

                As for the black, Nig, he was very pretty, but I thought a bit  uncertain.  Jim turned him in the corral to get him acquainted with the other horses and to get the horse to learn he was his Master.  He tried the whip and halter method, but Nig  did not respond.  In fact it took three tries before he put his head in the halter and after that he’d come each time, but if slightly indifferent would rear several times on his hind legs and come a Jim, striking with his front feet, but as soon as Jim would pop the whip he’s come down to earth and stick his head in the halter.  Jim said, “He’s not bad, I’ve got him coming my way.”

                While he continued his training I went into the house and built up a fire in both stoves, then proceeded to prepare our evening meal.  The lunch we had eaten on the warm sunny hillside had long 

pages 234-235

Pages 234-235 

                Some cattlemen in those days drove their cattle to railheads at American Falls, Idaho, some to a railhead below the line in Utah, and never tiring of good clean interesting stories, my childhood days were spent listening and storing things away.

                We had a neighbor when I was a child who came every so often to talk with my father,  to remove some of the anxieties from his mind were my thoughts, for he paced the floor back and forth, over our long dining room like a caged animal.  He was a regular circus to me.  Mother would say, “You must go to bed,” but I was never sleepy when I could watch or listen to a tale from a character like that.  There were times when I knew my father wished he would go home.  But he’d stay on continually pacing the floor back and forth while father read his paper and answered with a comment when he thought necessary and I with my mouth open and eyes big as saucer, finally he’d stop, sudden like and glance a time or two at the clock.   Then we knew he had gotten it out of his system.  He would say, “I must be going.”  Calling father by name and leaving much quieter then he came.  Then mother would call from the stairway knowing he was gone by the quietness below.  “it’s time you two were in bed.”  I’d vanish up the stairway with father following.  Tucked in by mother soon I was off to sleep without a care.  Thus we talked while Beauty took her time getting us home.

                The stock was waiting patiently around the rack when we drove in the yard.  The chickens were cackling, laying eggs, when I went to give them the grain they hadn’t gotten the night before.  The day was sunny and not too cold for the last part of February.  Toward evening though when the sun slipped behind the horizon a west wind came up blowing things helter-skelter, dust, tumbleweeds, and loose sage brush came tumbling over the hill into our valley, stopping only when it came to rest in the canyon below our house where most weeds wound up.

                Jim and I were cozy in our home in this somewhat lonely valley.  I had fixed a good supper with some chicken and other things mother had given us.  Then we relaxed in our comfortable rockers with the fire burning warmly and the tea kettle singing merrily while it boiled away.  By bedtime the wind had died down considerably going to the door to look out before retiring found the ground white with snow and the air filled with the fluffy flakes.  As we closed the door the lonely yapping of our friend the coyote came to us from out of the storm.  He probably didn’t relish it and was yapping to comfort himself or for who might be listening.  It became to us like the voice of a friend, somewhere alone and lonely, a pleasant sound that fell on our ears most generally at bedtime or after we had retired, like a warm, warning note from out of the night.

                They’ll tell you there is nothing strange about a coyote’s howl.  It’s his way of making contact with other of his kind and if taken from its den as a puppy makes a friendly pet.  It will even help drive in the cows.  I have been told they like fruit, especially apples.  The wild nature in them makes them like chickens also.  And you can train them so they’ll howl when told to, just yap a bit like an offspring.  They are sometimes quite mean when first captured at an early age, like a clawing, spitting kitten, even biting to make the blood come, but very keen and easily trained.  If tuned loose when grown, they will come back for awhile for some of the good food he used to get.  He loves to eat rabbits, ground squirrels or most small wild creatures he can catch.  When he lives with people like a dog, he’ll even retrieve sticks when thrown, and very pretty if kept brushed.  He will follow one everywhere, but when he thinks he’ll be put back on a leash will sometimes hide out and come in after dark.  He’s very friendly to those who have raised him, but strangers must beware.  Thus I have told a little of our friend, the coyote, who tries in his way to break the monotony of a stormy night in a lonely country.

                The next morning the storm had ceased, but the ground was still white when the sun appeared from behind the snowy peaks like a ball of gold sitting in a pan of milk.  Its rays filtered over the valley with a warm glow settling over everything.  For even the snow showed signs of it for soon it began to melt.  Thinking this might be the last, I got a dish of the cleanest I could find on some boards and made a delicious treat by pouring over it some rich milk, a few drops of vanilla , and some sugar, mixing it all together, spooned it into small dishes like ice cream.  Another way we liked it was to pour unflavored thick dark or white corn syrup over it.  Thus we sat enjoying the snow cream after our morning meal.  Neither the snow outside nor what we were eating lasted long for by evening the ground was black again from the dampness.  Only a little remained among the sage where it was sheltered from the sun.

                Jim was getting anxious again to get at the railing.  The next day he went to help the neighbor who had helped us.  Not wanting to stay home alone I went along.

                We had gotten around early and the crisp morning air was a bit chilly on our faces as we drove along.  The birds swung and swayed from the tops of the sage and tried to entertain us with their somewhat spring like note.  Driving on a little farther Jim said, “Look, look.”   I got the last glimpse of it as it made the other side of the road.  “A porcupine,” Jim said, “did you see it?”  “Yes,” I said, “just as he got across.”  He’s a rodent with spines or quills in his hair for weapons and can he uses them.  Toby found that out.  Everyone of those quills have a barb like a fish hook.  They are very hard to get out.