Independently owned since 1905
Independently owned since 1905
Sorted by date Results 26 - 41 of 41
I am keeping my promise not to write about politics for a while; and it may be forever. It seems moot. We are stuck in a political and ideological quagmire, and it appears we will remain so for a while. It might be better to explore something we can agree on, if it can be found. ’Tis a nice day, as I write; sparkling blue skies over a light frosting of snow. Fall has frozen right into winter after an extra-long summer. The tamaracks and maples seem somewhat confused, but they’ll get over it. Hopefully, we will too. Sometime before summer — m...
When we were children, we played aA few thoughts on shedding an old skin. I’m two miles from the pickup and 500 feet above where I left it parked when I find a snakeskin on a rock midstream in the East Fork. It is frail and silky, and I set it afloat toward the river, five miles downstream. Somewhere nearby, a snake is feeling shiny, smooth and clean. Remains of an ancient road led me to a huge slab of water-scrubbed stone, slid down its surface into the creek and disappeared completely. From there, I rock-hopped upstream 200 yards through a gr...
When we were children, we played an odd summertime game. We sat in the front yard of my grandparents’ trailer house/cabin within view of the highway, picked a color and kept track of how many cars and trucks of our color drove by. It was purely a time-waster, but it beats cable or Dish or the internet or however you get your world fed to you, hands down. It’s been mentioned — several times, plus — that I think television as it’s used in the world today is the largest waste of time and brainpower since bread and circuses were made popular b...
Each year, a backpacking trip into a nearby wilderness is undertaken by certain artistic types (ATs), most often plein air painters. ATs follow “guide” Bearly-Seen Svensson (not his real name, for legal reasons) into the wild, stopping often to art their hearts out as Bearly catches up on his rest and decides which obscure and difficult route leads to the next artful spot. This year, the group trundled up a “trail” (haha) into a place unnamed for fear it will be trampled by unguided ATs seeking plein air possibilities and then Search and Res...
You may have heard someone say, “That person is a real character,” generally in reference to a guy or gal who is somewhat, or very — ummm — unique. Some folks achieve status as a real character without even thinking about it, but should you yourself ever want to become a real character, several qualities are required. Some are inborn and some are acquired. Which are which, I’ve not determined, and I’m not sure it matters. To become a real character, one needs luck, a talent, a passion for something, the ability to live on air and an initial...
In John Prine’s song “Way Back Then,” he sings, “I am out undoing all the good I’ve done.” That could be a theme for the past few years in the United States. Environmental laws passed “way back then” are weakened, international agreements are abandoned, traditional friends are snubbed and rancorous, argumentative politics have settled into every level of government. I have my theories on the causes of all this, one being that the rising resistance to progressive thinking by a dogmatic, entrenched, seemingly intentionally ignorant group...
My neighbor Aaron Harris showed up with his portable sawmill this week, and we proceeded to make rectangular pieces out round logs harvested from my place by Ma Nature herself: windthrown Douglas fir, cedar and hemlock courtesy of big wind events during the past few years. Brother Kent and I salvaged them with my chainsaw and his tractor. He sent his portion off to the mill, but I reserved mine for personal use. Homegrown is best, right? The lumber is fodder for the continuing project of rebuilding the cabin my mom and dad put together over a...
Spring managed to surprise me this year. Again. I walked to the river yesterday and discovered fresh-grown catkins hanging from an errant Sitka alder that has taken root in the stream bank. I have no idea what that alder is doing there, for most of my experience with said plant has been traversing patches of it above 4,000 feet. Where it belongs. Each spring, I take a picture of the last of the snow where it has shed from the shop roof or the north side of the house. The latest date I can find in this series is May 9, 2011. We will beat that...
“There are men in the world who derive as stern an exaltation from the proximity of disaster and ruin, as others from success.” Winston Churchill In 2001, I travelled to the “new” Russia. The USSR had dissolved a decade before and the country was full of optimism for the future. It also had a new president — Vladimir Putin, who was appointed to Boris Yeltsin’s seat when Yeltsin resigned on the eve of Y2K, December 31, 1999. Putin was then elected to the Russian presidency in 2000. When I returned to Russia in 2005, the mood of hope had eroded...
A bobcat is traveling around the homestead these days, teaching snowshoe hares and ruffed grouse to pay attention, a good and proper thing for a bobcat to do. I see its tracks rambling through my woods. I also had the good luck of a sighting a few weeks ago. In my years in this neck of the woods, I’ve seen three bobcats, and sightings were years apart. One popped out of the woods on a summer day during my teens, scaring the bejeezus out of my first and only horse. Thunder went straight up and sideways, which scared the bejeezus out of me, as w...
At Oakland Airport, I await a flight to Spokane, the last leg home from Seattle. It’s a roundabout way to get there, but it fits the day, which has been roundabout also. I still like to fly, but there are a number of SDRs that go with flying these days that I could do without. “SDR,” by the way, stands for Stupid Damn Rule. I start the day learning an SDR: bags can’t be checked with the airline until four hours before departure. Got it. Won’t make that mistake again. I go back to the hotel and check my bag at the front desk. This takes 40...
As I’ve grown older, the glistening promise of the winter holiday has become a little tarnished. That’s not to say I haven’t had wonderful Christmases, because I have, but there have been some horrendous ones, as well. I think that’s true of many people. Presence of the celebration during a time of trial serves to highlight any misery we might be suffering, especially if we are alone. There are also the expectations of the season perpetrated on us by marketers, our sense of tradition and even our own greed; expectations that cannot be realist...
U.S. Highway 10-A (“A” stood for “alternate”) ran by our front gate when I was a kid, on its way to a rendezvous with U.S. Highway 10 just west of Missoula. For the last 27 miles, it coincided with US 93. I’m not sure what happened at the intersection of the three, but I don’t think 10-A continued. Sometime around when U.S. 10 was replaced by Interstate 90, U.S. 10-A became Montana 200. I believe this was just about the time I learned to drive, so it was a loooooong time ago. Since then, I have spent a lot of time driving up and down that r...
I recently traveled around Washington state with Gigi for a few days, all the way out to the ocean and back. Gigi was often the navigator. She gives advice in a calm, clear voice, and most of the time she knows where she’s going. When she doesn’t — which isn’t often — she still remains composed and continues giving directions. I, on the other hand, get confused when Gigi and I don’t know where we’re going, and when I’m confused, the last thing I want or need is someone giving me directions — especially if I’m trying to concentrate on driv...
Our friend Glada McIntire recently moved further into her true realm when she became pure spirit and left her shell behind. I say “our,” because Glada had many friends, and some are my friends as well. I am not privy to details of her transition, but I would hope she accomplished that final shedding in an old growth forest — in a rain storm. Glada was Canadian. At one time, she lived in the States, but she moved to her home country because Canada has a health care system that works, and Glada had Parkinson’s disease, which she lived with gr...
We are all pretty much sick of politics, I think. At least I am, but I have been for quite some time, since Y2K, in fact. The shenanigans of those who govern us, from county commissioners to Senators, are as entertaining as they are disturbing. Altruism is not a common trait in the halls of government, while self-service and acrimony are. There is good news, though. Q-Anon is fading. Their prophecies have proven false and their proselytizing for belief in the “deep state” is waning quickly. It’s hard to hold up an idea that has shown itself unb...
