133 Help! My Boat’s Sinking!

Normally we would have our heating oil and fuel dropped off by a tanker from town. But as we had run out of heating oil before the tanker was due to arrive my dad sent me to the store to pick up a barrel of stove oil.

The old flat bottomed clinker built was more then adequate to hall a barrel of fuel oil, it however had seen better days and one of the side planks had split and was now held together with iron rods that did not completely prevent it from taking on water.

It was only a couple of miles if that far to the store so I fired up the small Wisconsin engine, tossed in an empty forty-five gallon barrel and off I went to the Read Island Store and Post Office. I arrived about a half hour later at the Read Island wharf and went up and got Mr. Hill where he was working at the store. He came back with me to the wharf and filled my barrel with heating oil.

After thanking him, I immediately took off for home, but noticed quickly that with the added weight of the full barrel of heating oil, the boat seemed to be taking on water at an alarming rate. I didn’t have a decent bucket to bail with and was doing the best I could with what I had. The bottom line was that I was not keeping up and the boat was slowly sinking. This sent shivers of fear up and down my spine as I realized I did not have a life jacket and the water was very cold.

I was not far from shore and I realized that my only hope was to beach the boat. The nearest place to beach the boat and prevent it from sinking altogether was a beach in front of my friend Ron Lambert’s house. So without any hesitation I made straight for his beach with the throttle wide open and the boat now seemingly filling up with water faster then ever. The timing was miraculous as just as the boat was about to go under, it scraped to a stop on the bottom, and boy did I give a sigh of relief.

My friend Ron, who had seen what was happening from the shore came running down to the beach and gave me a hand. We were able to bail the skiff out and with much effort roll the barrel of oil out of the boat and into the water. As oil is much lighter then sea water the barrel floated so I was able to tie a rope around it and tow it the rest of the way home.

It is fun to look back on the happenings of yesterday and it was only recently that Ron and I were laughing about my efforts to get that barrel of oil home. At the time however, it did not seem like a laughing matter, but the passing of time gives us the freedom to see things in a different light.

132 Memories of a Loved One

It was August 26, 2004 and just another day on the road for my nephew, Dean Ganson, as he climbed into the big Peterbuilt at Terrace, to take over for a spell from his friend Dick Brown who had just come in from Prince Rupert with his trailer loaded with live crab bound for San Francisco. This was to be a quick trip, at least for Dean as he was fitting it in between his regular scheduled runs, and time was of the essence.

It could have been his father, in the sleeper, but as he was unable to find the time needed to make this extra run he had passed the opportunity on to Dean who jumped at the chance to make a few more bucks.

Both Dean and Dick were quite used to the monotony of such a run and it was now just shortly before 4:50 am on Friday, August 27, and Dick was once again at the wheel. After talking with his wife Dean decided to get a little shuteye so was back in the sleeper resting up for his next turn at the wheel.

It was turning into just another routine run and they were well on their way just twenty five kilometers north of Williams Lake near McLeese Lake and keeping well to their schedule.

Farther south things were not going so well for David Hart, the driver of a semi loaded with inflammables and headed for Prince George. Even as early as 2:10 am that Friday morning, he was seen flying through Cache Creek doing ninety kilometers an hour. This was just the beginning of a scenario that was to end in disaster as David Hart, who was now high on both cocaine and methamphetamine, crossed the centerline and forced a police cruiser, and then a series of vehicles onto the shoulder of the road, to escape a head on collision with his semi.

Constable Jensen stated that David Hart stayed on his side of the road between approaching vehicles but as soon as one would appear he would cross the centerline and force it off the road. The dilemma was how to get David Hart off the highway without anyone getting killed as his semi was now traveling at one hundred and twenty kilometers per hour and by this time he had forced at least twenty vehicles off the road.

It was now 4:50 that Friday morning, when the inevitable happened as David Hart who on rounding a corner swung abruptly into the oncoming path of the big Peterbuilt driven by Dick Brown with Dean Ganson now sound asleep in the cab.

The resulting inferno that erupted from the collision closed the road that Friday morning for hours as the two trucks were literally incinerated with everything in them. They burned until there was nothing left but the metal.

The pain of such a tragedy and the resulting effects it has had on the people left behind was profound and was at least partly responsible for the early admittance of his mother, Dawna, into a care home.

The memorial service in the little church at Terrace left memories that I have never forgotten to this day. It was obvious that the small town of Terrace was moved by the tragedy. The Terrace Church was packed, not only with family and aquaintenances, but also by many from the surrounding community.

I still feel the pain of that moment and will never forget the heartache caused by the senseless act of a madman that Friday morning on Highway 97 when two semis met head-on.

131 Having Good Times at Our Fiftieth

Having made it to fifty years gives a person a sense of accomplishment, but as my son in-law Raymond says, “It’s just another day so what’s the big deal.” That’s assuming you got there without a struggle. Just let me say, all families have a secret, and ours is, it wasn’t always a cakewalk, but the good times by far out-weighed the bad, and the rewards are many. All you had to do was just look around and see all of the family and friends that chose to celebrate with us, which of course, was really the only meaningful reason for the event. It was, and is, what makes life’s journey the wonder and joy that it is.

I knew we were in for a super event when I heard my daughter Teri discussing the details of the occasion with her mother months before it was to begin. I figured then that anything to the contrary was useless on my part, and I might just as well keep quiet and just let it happen, as even by then, it seemed to be taking on a life of it’s own.

Teri is not inclined to do anything halfway and I knew she could pull it off in fine style but I would just as soon have been one of the guests as the center of attention. Being appreciated is fine but during such an event it is quite easy to overdue the bonhomie and as it is I’m now set for life.

I could tell that Teri was on top of the event from the very beginning as she was wise enough to solicit Bev Rippin’s talents and advise and to put Darrell Sayler in as the caterer. The event had such amazing people give of their time such as the Kettner’s and the many others who served and slaved in the kitchen and with the cleanup.

Both Joyce and Claude brought back such sweet memories of times past that the joyful emotions came very close to the surface as I relived them again. Joyce does an amazing job on putting life’s happenings into the poetic, and Claude always has such a way with words that I relived again our days out in the bush camping.

I appreciated everyone who got up especially Becky who shared such kind words about us as parents of her beloved and our son Bobby. It was also nice when Dan Johnson and my old boyhood chum Ron Lambert, as well as Bob Switak brought to life many of the memories of times past. 


It is an understatement to say that the tables looked gorgeous and that the food was par excellent. It was the first time that I ever saw a photo on a cake that looked so real that it could be eaten, and in fact it was.

I have to say that Meagan’s voice is so sweet and the songs that she sang so meaningful that I must give her an extra hug the next time that I see her. And as my good friend Leon says, “Where did Meagan get such good looks, it must have been from her father?” Just a joke Teri!

In closing I have to thank everyone who said that they enjoyed the slideshow, as I literally put in hours to make it happen, and I must thank Eric for his help.

As I said in the church bulletin, “We were more then overjoyed that you came to celebrate with us. You may have overdone it on the kissing thing but we forgive you and really appreciated your coming to wish us well. You are all cordially invited for our hundredth so keep a slot open on you calendar for 2061/09/09, Love, Bob & Sandy.

130 Making Big Bucks in the Herring

The herring fisheries was one of the big money makers of the season and one all fisherman looked forward too, my dad being no exception. Working at a government job meant a steady paycheck but not one that afforded a lot of luxuries. It was more on my part and not so much my dad’s that I suggested he let me join him on the ’79 herring fisheries in March of that year, for a chance at some extra money. I quite willingly hung the herring net that he gave me as he said it was part of the requirement if I really wanted to become part of the team. I never checked to see what the rest of the crew had to do to get hired, as I was only too happy just to be able to get an opportunity to make some extra money. 

Taking a leave of absence from my job at the Pacific Forestry Service was easy enough and on Mar 1 I showed up at Tofino where we waited impatiently five or six days at dock for the season to open. We lived on Lindley Jacobson’s boat, Eventide, as he and my dad were partners in the herring fishery. It was with great anticipation that we sat at the dock waiting for the herring row to mature, as herring row is an anticipated delicacy in the Japanese economy and has to be harvested at just the right moment. It is a short fishery, but brings huge bucks to the fishing industry as in one month many fishermen can exceed $100,000.

My Dad with Joe and myself in our aluminum herring skiff along with his partner Lindley Jacobson and his crew of two in their skiff, stayed tuned to the radio for the signal to throw in the herring nets, every second missed could mean the loss of big bucks.

After the countdown the horn sounded and what a mad scramble as by this time it was dark and nets were being laid everywhere. One joker even laid one across ours and we had to reset to a different location. It was pure chaos as in the dark no one could see exactly what was going on. After an hour or so things seemed to settle down and in the dark the straight looked like a city with thousands of lights as everyone moved about working their nets and jockeying at times for a more strategic spot.

Every few hour we had to shake the nets and watch the fish shake out into the bins in the bottom of the boat. Each skiff had a mechanical shaker to assist in the shaking, but I felt sorry for Lindley’s deck hand Eric Smith as his hands swelled up like puffballs because they were not used to the stress. When he moved them they made a funny squeaking sound. I am sure Eric was happy when the horn sounded just after daybreak the next morning to signal the close of the opening.

In their greed some fishermen would fish more than their one allowed net and leave the second net in the water after the horn sounded rather then get caught picking it up. It was less expensive to leave the extra net then to pay the fine if caught.

My dad had left his boat at Comox ready for the next opening, so we were able to beat it across the island just in time to throw our net in the water as the opening horn sounded. It was another night of hard work, but I can still remember the excitement as I watched the bins in the bottom of the boat fill up as we frantically shook the gilled fish out of the nets. What fun it is to watch the money rolling in one fish at a time.

The fish collectors paid cash for each delivery. I remember quite clearly when my dad counted $3000 in twenties and placed them in my hot little hand.

Lindley missed the opening, as he had to bring his boat around from Tofino, but as my dad and he were fishing as partners they split all the profits.

After hanging around Nanaimo for a few days we headed up to the Queen Charlotte Islands for the last opening of the herring season in the Skincuttle Inlet on Moresby, the south Island. We along with dozens of other herring fishermen booked passage on an old charter ship the Mara Bella. The skiffs were towed up on a barge and we all waited impatiently for the opening to begin. Wouldn’t you know the opening came on a Sabbath so we only caught the last half of the opening.

The month finally ended and we were on our way home. After arriving in Milbank Sound on the Mara Bella I caught a ride with James Wakus to Port Hardy where I jumped on a plane to Vancouver and then on to Victoria as I could hardly wait to see my Honey after several weeks at sea.

I was glad when my days as a herring fisherman were ended, however it was nice to pick up $6000 for the three nights that I worked during the month of March. I will never forget that experience and the fun I had as part of the herring crew on my dad’s skiff.

129 Catch Me If You Can

One of the better places to camp back in the early ‘70’s was out on the west coast at Pachena Bay. The only negative about this place was that it was quite an ordeal to get there, as the only way other then by boat was to drive on logging roads that were not always well maintained.

Today except for the older generation, most people can’t conceive of what it was like to drive on gravel, but as anyone that has, knows, you are either covered with a fine muddy spray or with volumes of dust, depending on the weather.

Pachena was one of Claude’s favorite spots and it soon became ours, but neither of us particularly liked to travel in each other’s dust. This called for one or the other waiting until the distance between the two vehicles was such that the clouds of dust had time to settle.

Using the above strategy we had made it out to the beach that holiday weekend without any mishap and minimal dust only to find that the fog that usually hangs off shore had moved into the bay and the sun was now hidden in a blanket of dense fog. It goes without saying that the beach at Pachena Bay is one of the finest sand beaches on the west coast but with no sun and a wet drizzle because of the fog bank it was not an inviting place to spend the holiday.

One night of fog and drizzle was more then enough so the next morning we left for the Gordon Bay campsite on the south side of Cowichan Lake at Honeymoon Bay.

I led in the trip back while Claude followed as planned using the don’t eat my dust protocol, the error in strategy proved to be that I took a wrong turn and Claude inadvertently passed me in his haste to not be left to far behind. Claude was virtually flying as he tried
to catch me, not realizing that I was now virtually flying in my haste to catch him. At times I could actually see him as we raced through some of the open clear cuts on our way back to Gordon Bay and the campsite.

The foolishness of the situation was not fully realized until after as what difference did it make when and where either of us made it to the campsite at Gordon Bay as we were to wait there regardless.

128 The Summer of ‘57

The summer holidays for me were always a time of excitement as I always looked forward to our trips south to visit family and friends. The summer of ’57 after my junior year at Laurelwood Academy was one with some anticipation and maybe a little apprehension, as my dad had taken a job in the romantic Chilcotin country of BC. Even though our house had not yet been moved to Vancouver Island, I knew it meant the close of my life as a “gypo” logger’s son. I had known all along that at some point in my life I would have to leave my island home but this made it abruptly final. My Read Island life, as I had known it was now a thing of the past, and I felt sad and cast a drift.

So that summer I found myself workings in a “gypo sawmill” run by the Robson Brothers. If my dad was a “gypo logger” their operation had to be for sure the “gypoist” sawmill I have ever seen. This was back in the days when little sawmills were thick all over the interior of BC. You could easily find such a sawmill from the plume of smoke that rose from its beehive burner.

All sawmills took care of the waste wood and sawdust from their operations by using a beehive burner as a method of waste disposal but because of the poor design of the Robson Brothers’ sawmill it required someone to grab the waste slabs as they came off the head saw and physically drag them onto the chain belt that carried them into the top of the burner. This was heavy work and very physically demanding, as you had to keep up with the head saw.

A further challenge was running up the slab chute every time a slab got stuck. It was extremely onerous when it happened over the burner where the heat from the roaring inferno sent up clouds of ash and very hot smoke, which would singe your eyebrows and make your breathing difficult. This happened so often, that it made slab removal a real challenge.

I particularly remember one day when my nose started to bleed and I found myself in a real dilemma. I was thankful that someone noticed my predicament and in a few moments gave me time to take care of it.

I eventually got used to the job but I hated the evenings sitting alone in my little trailer. It made me feel like a quitter but that did not stop me from getting a job a few weeks later at Dan Basaraba’s sawmill. His was a much bigger mill and a far better operation. He didn’t have work for me in the mill but I was given a job lopping tops. Lopping tops was the pits, but camp life after work was fun as there were plenty of girls and guys in the camp, some were students like myself.

The bunkhouse had bunks with only a mattress pad on a solid wooden base to sleep on, and no running water. We were given a galvanized washtub to bathe in once a week, and it sat in the middle of the bunkhouse floor. The bath water was heated on the barrel woodstove that heated the room. All of the houses in camp including our bunkhouse were made of rough unpainted boards form the mill and insulated with sawdust.

Times were primitive; and we worked nine hours every day except for Saturday and a half day Friday. What made it all worthwhile was the food. It was said that the Ukrainian cook was gay but that sure did not affect his ability to cook. Boy did he ever make the best tasting jalopies that I have ever eaten. When the dinner bell rang everyone rushed to the mess hall to dive in. I never ate so much in my life, I ate till I thought I would burst.

I still remember the weekend’s rodding around in the back seat of Gerald Odenbaugh’s ’56 pale green Mercury, full of kids, and with my arm around Ina Hoppe in the back seat. Ina went on to marry Johnny Urema and they had a boy and a girl and still live in Williams Lake. I remember Johnny for the special fudge bars he used to buy by the case, and if you treated him right, you might beg one off of him. He also had a cool tape deck, which we used to fool around with. It was a reel-to-reel deck and a real novelty back in those days.

The best part of the summer was when the gang had a good-by party for me. Twilla Basaraba put it on mostly for Jim Burgess her boy friend, but they also included me. Jim happened to be away for some reason the evening of the party, so I received all of the attention. That was good. But I left a day or so later with a sad heart because of all of the friends I had to leave, but I also had a bit of an ache for Ina, which I followed up with a single post card but nothing more. It was a summer I will always remember with fondness because of the friends I made and the part they played in enabling my life to continue in a new direction.

It was now back to Laurelwood for my last year of boarding school and what lay beyond.

127 Hot Shot Skier

Learning to ski on homemade skis did not make me the greatest skier in the world, but I became good enough to think that I could ski. However it was not with enough skill to ski with the hotshots on the mogul slope. As a matter of fact I usually had to start my day on the bunny hill with the beginners, as the frequency of my endeavors was so few and far between that I had to relearn each time I made the attempt.

It was with mixed feelings that I decided to go along on the annual Laurelwood ski trip. The closest ski hill was on Mt Hood at the Timberline Lodge. This was a majestic ski lodge on the lower slopes of the picturesque volcano and a great place to ski, if you could.

I did not have the necessary gear for the mountain, but skis and poles could be readily rented at the lodge and before I knew it I was on the slopes in the latest leather ski boots.

I don’t think Don Ringering was any better at skiing then I was so we both headed over to the bunny hill where all the nube’s in desperation come for a quick lesson on how to survive the slope. Don and I considered ourselves skiers, so forget the lessons, just a couple runs down the gentle slopes of the bunny hill and we would be ready to take off with the big boys.

After floundering around on the bunny hill for a couple of hours, Don finally says, “That’s enough of this, we’re ready, let’s do it.” And I said, “If you think so, why not?” So off we went to the ski lift where all of the hot shot skiers with their latest gear come strutting by, where cool is cool.

I really felt out of place as my gear consisted of dorky rental boots, a pair of regular pants tucked into my wool socks, a jacket that was far from being a ski jacket, some make-due leather gloves, a tuque and no goggles. The two of us were a matched pair and hoped not to be noticed as we climbed onto our chair and tried to assume the air of experience. But getting on the lift was far from cool.

The real challenge was now ahead, how was I to get off, cool was now the farthest thing from my mind, and at this point it was replaced by survival. My knuckles were white and I was breathing faster then normal with my heart racing. When suddenly it seemed as if the chair was speeding up, and I suddenly got a real slap in the butt; as in desperation I leaped clear. This sends me careening wildly out of control and into some skiers going by. Looking around I see that Don has made it much to my relief.

To gain more confidence we chose some easy slopes that required no slalom techniques. Our strategy was to head straight down the slope and run out of speed before we ran out of hill and into disaster. After whiling away most of the day doing this boredom run, even the chair lift had lots it’s challenge, I thought it now time to try some more advanced techniques, things we were watching the big boys do. I particularly thought it was so cool to watch how they could come whizzing to a stop in a blinding shower of snow.

At this point my confidence had risen to a potentially dangerous level, not only for me but also, for anyone within range. I was a latent disaster, as they say waiting to happen. I do not know where Don was on this crucial run; but I resolved to carry it our regardless.

I can still remember whizzing down the slope and at just the last moment when I reached the bottom trying to enact the procedure as I had seen the hot shots do. But that was not about to happen, not today. I hit the deck so fast that my head was spinning. My skis were both jammed in the snow so far that I couldn’t pull them out. The seat of my pants was ripped right out and I was in such a twisted heap that I couldn’t release my boots. To make things worse the pain was so excruciating, that I thought I had ripped my legs out of their sockets. So here I was lying in this twisted heap my skis stuck firmly in the snow and I couldn’t free my boots from the skis.

I don’t know if I was fortunate or not as there did not happen to be anyone nearby to see me, but it must have taken me ten minutes to free myself, and for the rest of the day I could hardly ski because of the pain.

126 Alaska Cruise

One would not think that being bumped from a flight to Phoenix would lead to anything good. You be judge as the following story happened just as told.

Friends hearing of our plans to travel to Puerto Vallarta offered their condo at half the going rate. That was good, what wasn’t so good was getting suckered into signing up for a special tour package through Gold Crown Resorts, which I guess wasn’t all that bad as by signing up, along with some other goodies, we got a free Alaska Cruise.

We heard that our friends, Ed and Shirley Oakley, were going on a cruise to Alaska with Sage, a church group that does good deeds. We decided it would be nice to travel with friends so we departed from Seattle with them one beautiful Friday morning under a sunny blue sky, and a light breeze to begin what turned out to be a once in a lifetime adventure. Why do I say once in a lifetime adventure? Well, just say I hope at least part of the trip only happens once in my lifetime.

Sabbath was a relaxing time and after an inspiring Sabbath School we listened to stories told by Joe Wheeler, a renowned storyteller, invited by Sage to entertain while on the cruise.

The first stop on our trip after crossing the open water of Queen Charlotte Sound was a stop at the historic town of Juneau Alaska. What need I say about Juneau except that Old Town Juneau is situated on the slag from the early mining days and because of the crude mining techniques back then, probably has millions of dollars buried beneath it’s streets. Other then that, it is basically a tourist trap, but I must say quite unique and interesting. Also in it’s defense it does have beautiful Mendenhall glacier just north of town, at least what is left of it, as with all of Alaska’s glaciers, it is melting rapidly and will be no more in a matter of years.

Ed, Shirley and I were still in the interpretive center watching mountain goats climbing the rocks above the glacier when I suddenly looked at my watch and realized it was time for the tour bus to head back to the ship. We ran like crazy to catch the bus and if the aboriginal driver had not waited for us we would still be at the glacier. He was a most interesting fellow and told us all about his people and their lifestyle. I was sorry when the ride and his story ended.

Our next stop was the most famous town of the gold rush days, known as Skagway, the beginning of the most rigorous trek for miners of any gold rush in history, the famous Chilkoot Trail. Literally thousands of miners headed for the gold fields of the Klondike, each required by Canada law to carry one ton of supplies over White Pass, so they would not starve during the coming winter.

Again in spite of the town being another tourist trap, because of its history and unique setting, Sandy and I found it quite fascinating to browse the shops and travel up to the summit at White Pass on the narrow gage rail in the footsteps of the thousands of miners, who risked it all for the dream of making it big in the gold fields of the Klondike.

The shops in Juneau and Skagway had all of the usual made in China touristy stuff for sale at very low prices, except for the artsy stuff made by the indigenous peoples of Alaska, and then the price was out of sight. We took advantage of this and bought two matching and very nice winter jackets made in China, of course.

After Skagway we went up Tracy Arm hoping to see Sawyer Glacier, one of the most popular calving glaciers in Alaska, but because it was so early in the season, the Captain refused to travel the last few miles because of ice. The view of Tracy Arm however was quite spectacular, and maybe on our next cruise we will get to see a glacier calve. We did however take many fine pictures of the surrounding crags, as the Rhapsody of the Sea slowly turned in mid-channel for our return trip.

One could have a grand time by never leaving the ship, as there were always plenty of things to do on board. The casino was always busy and there were shows every evening, plus things happening all over the boat during most of the day and evening. You could eat yourself silly or just relax.

Sandy was a fan of Ricky Nelson and was thrilled when she found out that the twins Gunner and Mathew Nelson were performing one evening. She felt that she really scored when I took her picture while she stood between them.

We were fortunate that even though the weather was cool, we had beautiful sunshine for the sightseeing trips at Juneau and Skagway but it was obvious that a change was taking place in the weather as we left Tracy Arm. I feared for a rough night on the ocean as an ominous sea greeted us as we left Frederick Sound and headed into open water.

My fears were well taken, as the evening’s show in the theater was halted part way through for the safety of the performers and the next thing to go was the chocolate extravaganza that Sandy was anticipating.

About this time I went on deck to catch the excitement of the storm with my video camera. I quickly ducked back in as I feared the salt spray would destroy my video camera as it felt like being sprayed full force with a garden hose. I then went to one of the open upper decks and the wind in the rigging sounded like a thousand banshees screaming to be set free. It was shortly after this that the forward buffet closed so Sandy and I decided to call it quits for the evening.

It wasn’t long after this that the captain sent a message over the room’s cable service telling about the severity of the upcoming Pacific front that we were fast approaching. The rest of the night was a ring-tailed-spinner as we sort of rolled around in bed the whole night, hoping we would not get tossed out onto the floor of our cabin. The next morning some of the shops looked in shambles as things were scattered everywhere. The Captain informed us that through the night we had survived eighty-mile winds with waves thirty to forty feet. That makes it the first hurricane that I have survived at sea.

It was nice to wake up in Victoria to a calm sea, but my day was going to be far from what I had hoped it would be. While the rest of the ship went ashore and did the tourist thing in Victoria I stayed in my bunk.

During most of the trip the crew could be seen wiping any and every surface with disinfectant as we were told there was a stomach bug present. This was also obvious as there were sanitation stations at every doorway and at the entrance to every restaurant where a crewmember would ask you to hold out your hand for a quick squirt. Wouldn’t you know, I woke up in Victoria not feeling so well, and for the rest of the day ran between the bed and the commode doing the dippy bird routine. It was a toss-up as to which end to place in, on, or over the facility first. Well as they say the rest is history as our friends, the Oakley’s, departed the ship in Victoria and we went on to disembark at Seattle the next morning, and then to my son’s place for a few days in Walla Walla.

125 The Ditch is No Place for a Car

A good way to shorten ones experience this side of eternity is to fall asleep at the wheel. I often wander why we persist in driving when we are so sleepy that we can’t hold our eyes open, even with toothpicks. It would be so simple if we would just give the steering wheel to someone else for ten or fifteen minute. How many of us persist in driving in a literal fog while our minds cry out for the luxury of sleep. Oh how we hunger for just a few moments of shut-eye. Maybe if we just focused harder we could keep our eyes open. Suddenly our head snaps back and our glassy eyes open and peer into the darkness ahead, no, our eyes didn’t open, we were staring ahead with our eyes wide open not seeing a thing. And why is that yellow line on the right side of the road? Whew got over just in time, I didn’t know semis looked so big. Sure was a close one.

How many of us will not give up the wheel for love nor money, because we are too darn stubborn to pull over and take a short nap? We flagellate our poor brains into keeping our heavy eyelids from closing, hoping we can make it to a comfortable warm bed, when far to often it ends up being a slab in a near-by morgue.

Studies have shown that there is a rise of single car accidents in the early afternoon and again in the small hours of the morning, directly related to our diurnal rhythms, yet we carry on without a thought.

Even though this was not the early hours of the morning I was clearly ignoring all the signs that pointed to a speedy trip into the hereafter, as I nodded in and out of sleep during those last fifteen minutes of our trip to our son’s wedding.

Sandy and I had been on the road for over six hours and it was just a few minutes before midnight and only five minutes from Bobby’s door that in my sub conscious state I noticed a change in the rhythm of the road. This caused my eyes to snap suddenly open and I realized we had veered off the pavement and I was now staring strait at the stop sign of a side street. Sandy, who was sound asleep, yelled out, “What’s the matter!”

I answered, “Don’t worry honey, we’re just going off the road.”

With that we crossed the intersection, completely taking out the stop sign, leaped the ditch, and landed in the weeds on the far side.

This all happened quicker then you could blink, obliterating my Honda Accord’s windshield and sunroof airfoil as well as taking out my left turn signal and damaging the front bumper so it had to be replaced.

I contacted the appropriate authorities and was fortunate that I did not have to pay for replacing the pulverized stop sign.

It could have been worse but I was able to drive out of the ditch and within five minutes we were at my son’s place, a little bit shaken, but otherwise OK. I did learn one important thing from this near disaster and have for the most part been true to my resolve to pull over when my eyelids start to get heavy. It’s amazing how we will listen to our wallet when it speaks, if nothing else catches our attention it will. In all honesty, being faced with my mortality as we sailed across the ditch had a fairly big part to play in my decision; well, maybe the biggest part as my insurance deductible was only $300.

124 Please Not the Motor Home Too!

The year 2010 started out just as any other year, but my adventure into the world of the snow birder, was just beginning and the learning curve was proving to be steeper then I had anticipated and quite costly. I have never been accused of being a know-it-all except maybe by my wife, and certainly not by my mother, as she had a saying that would smarten you up and it went something like this, “If you think you’re so smart, there must be a couple of words you can’t spell.” (This was based on the naivety of an acquaintance, who in all seriousness claimed he knew most everything, but in his pseudo-humility he acknowledged there were still a couple of words that he couldn’t spell.)

To save about $2000 I had arranged to have a tow package put on my RV at Al’s RV in Bellingham WA, so I could pull my Pontiac Vibe, behind my Holiday Rambler.

Sandy and I and a friend, Marianne, who needed a ride to Walla Walla, spent Wed night just north of Bellingham, so we could drop the car off at Al’s RV early Thursday morning, for the base plate installation. The three of us ate breakfast Friday morning at a neat little restaurant in Bellingham, while Al’s RV did the final wiring on the motor home itself.

Arriving back at Al’s RV, the technician went over the new setup with me before we took off. Little did I know that from that moment on things were on a downward spiral.

We finally got away from Al’s around 2 o’clock and everything seemed to go just as planned except the red sensor that told me that the brakes on the car were actually working, refused to light up. That bothered me some, but not enough to go back to Al’s and find out what was wrong. The first mistake.

We stopped at the rest stop at Indian John Hill and I dumped the RV and did a walk around. Things looked OK.

We pulled off the freeway again at Union Gap and headed down Lateral A to visit Sandy’s Sister Sharon and brother-in-law Don.

I stopped at a service station about a half-mile away from Don and Sharon’s place, unhooked the car and attempted to start it so we could drive to their farm. Things were not OK. The battery was stone dead. I fiddled with the switch turning it on and off but to know avail, so I got out of car and hooked it back up to the RV, while we waited for Sharon to drive over to us instead.

We visited with Sharon for a short while then went on our way, hoping to arrive at my son’s place in Walla Walla, in a couple of hours.

The car seemed to pull jerkily as I took off from the service station, but I only glanced in my side mirrors and continued on my way. The second mistake.

Also as we took off I noticed that the motor home pulled harder and seemed to need a lot more throttle, but I let it pass. The third mistake.

There was a church just down the road where I thought I would do a walk around but the driveway was to narrow and the parking lot seemed to crowded so I went on. The fourth mistake.

I still wanted to do the walk around but I was now on a narrow country road that I felt was still too narrow to safely stop on, but I should have anyway with my flashers on. The fifth mistake.

It took several more miles before we were back on the road that led to the freeway but I still didn’t see a good spot to pull over on and again I should have anyway with my flashers on. The sixth mistake.

Minutes later we were on the freeway but my delay in not immediately pulling over and doing a walk around became the seventh and last mistake

What happened next caused fear to run up and down my spine as I now noticed what appeared to be thick clouds of pure white smoke billowing out from behind the RV.

I immediately pulled off the freeway and ran back to see what had happened. White acrid smoke was billowing out from under the hood of the little Vibe and I could see an orange glow of what appeared to be flames trying to escape from under the hood.

My first thought was to open the hood so I could get access to the flames, but it was now too dark to find the hood release. This may have saved my life as this could have caused the flames to really explode into life as the oxygen rushed in to fuel the fire.

I ran back to the motor home for the only fire extinguisher that I had, but it proved useless because of its small size and emptied so quickly that it no more then caused a hick-up to the roaring inferno under the hood. I now frantically tried to find the release pins of the tow bar so I could move the RV out of danger from the flames. To lose the car was painful but the motor home and all it contained made my heart sink.

Unhooking the Vibe from the RV now proved impossible, I had run out of time, the flames were increasing in intensity, three times I had breathed in the acrid fumes, and my chest was now in pain. I decided it was better to leave and ran to the front of the RV where Sandy and an off duty Highway Patrolman and his wife were talking. He had asked Sandy if she had made the 911 call, which he immediately placed, as in our panic we had completely forgotten. It seems that he had been following us for the past few miles and pulled over just as we did, as he had noticed fluid dripping from under the Vibe and then suddenly the clouds of acrid white smoke billowing from under the hood.

I still thought if I went back, I might be able to disconnect the RV from the Vibe, but the patrolman talked me out of it. It was easier for him to make that decision as it was my rig and not his that he suggested would be toast in a matter of minutes, or at least when the Vibe’s gas tank blew. His logic make sense however, as I could replace the motor home, howbeit with some financial pain, but should the gas tank blow, it wouldn’t be just the stretch inning, it would be game over for me.

One of the most dreadful experiences to go through is to realize there was nothing we could do but watch our car and maybe our RV go up in flames. Time seemed to stop, but it was probably less then ten minutes before the engines arrived and what was left of the little Vibe lay smoldering, it’s front end burnt off, the windshield gone, and the plastic dash dripping in puddles onto the floor mats.

A few minutes later a wrecker came to tow what was left of our little Vibe to the wrecking yard and we carried on to our son’s place, in a state of shock, but thankful that God had spared us and our RV. Except for some blistering on the end cap of the RV, that our insurance covered, the motor home was unharmed.

It seems that by getting sidetracked with the dead battery I did not check to see that the car was in neutral and I must have inadvertently left it in reverse on getting out. As to why the battery was dead, that is up for debate, but as it was the probably reason for diverting my attention and leaving the car in reverse, it indirectly was the cause for our mishap.

Some may question the fact that it was God’s providence that an off duty patrolman was following us and made the 911 call, and that the fire truck arrive in less then 10 minutes, which saved the RV or as the off duty highway patrol officer affirmed to Sandy, the whole rig would have gone up in smoke when the Vibe’s gas tank blew. You be the judge. God does work in mysterious ways and I must believe that his angels are more interested in our welfare then we might want to believe.

123 Guatemala Land of Eternal Spring

Called the Land of Eternal Spring, Guatemala lives up to its name in the central highlands where Guatemala City at 4850 ft is situated. Guatemala City is the national capital and largest city in the country. The spring like temperature of Guatemala City, at between 16-21 degrees C is complimented by an annual rainfall of between 30 and 60 inches.

As Guatemala is situated approximately midway between the Tropic of Cancer and the equator the rest of the country, which is lowlands, has a tropical climate. The lowlands a narrow strip along the Pacific Ocean and a plain to the north and along the Gulf of Mexico, has an average yearly temperature of 27 degrees C with little seasonal change.

To begin our adventure we caught the plane from Victoria International Airport one Thursday morning in 1992, the day before Good Friday. This although not planned proved to be to our good fortune as we arrived in Guatemala during the height of Holy Week.

In Seattle we were met by some of Sandy’s family Bill, Jadie and Eric who saw us off on our adventure. After spending the night in LA we flew out Friday morning to Dallas Fort Worth and from there, just about straight south to Guatemala City.

Landing at the Guatemala City International Airport a few hours before midnight we were met by Mandy and several of her friends from the orphanage at Los Pinos, where she had gone to work in Sept of ‘91, as a student missionary.

After checking in with customs they all wanted to know if we would like to go and see the Easter processions. Not yet sure of what it was but game to give it a try, we agreed, so away we went in the orphanage’s Toyota Mini Van. It was not long before we were in down town Guatemala City where the action was.

The city was like a carnival with people everywhere even though it was near midnight. Each cathedral had their own procession which wound through the city for hours finally ending at midnight back at the cathedral from which it had started earlier in the day. The last event in each procession known as the Principle was extremely large and carried on the shoulders of either men or woman. If the principal was of Mary, only women would be allowed to carry it, the men were there only to coordinate and give support to the women. For the privilege of carrying the Principle the penitent had the pay $30 for just one block.

And finally last but not least was the generator which followed each procession to give light to the musicians which played the music for the event, solemn music for Friday and the crucifixion and joyous music for Sunday and the resurrection morning.

Placed here and there throughout the city were what looked like the most beautiful rugs. Why would such beautiful rug be laying in the middle of the street? These beautiful rugs were not rugs at all but made of colored sawdust. They were placed strategically where the processions would travel over them.

Sunday morning we drove up to Antigua the ancient capitol of Central America until 1776, when a major earthquake destroyed the city. Once in Antigua we had some time to browse while the bells on the cathedral were ringing, calling the faithful to gather for the Easter Sunday procession that was soon to begin, so it was off we went to see some of the 1976 ruins of the last major earthquake. There did not seem to be any restrictions as to where you could climb, you just had to be careful you did not slip and fall as many of the magnificent old cathedrals were far from being restored as only the rubble had been cleared away.

San Fancisco was one of the cathedrals we explored while we were waiting, and inside were many amazing icons and relics to view.

Before long many people had gathered for the procession, but as we could see many peasants had come not to view the procession but were setting up stalls to sell merchandize.

Fire crackers appear to be quite important it the life of the Guatemalan people and you can hear them going off any time day or night. Easter seems to be no exception. After what seemed hours and many fire crackers later the big moment arrived and the procession, which contained only two events, was about to emerge from the cathedral. After some difficulty the risen Savior appeared followed shortly by the Virgin Mary and the sound of the most triumphal music, quite a contrast from the funeral marches of Easter Friday.

We came upon, a marimba band; steel drums and all, what a unique sound, I only wished I had videoed more of them.

A major cathedral yet to see in Antigua was La Merced a large yellow cathedral with an incredible domed ceiling and many icons and statues to see. Many of the faithful were paying homage to the image of Jesus below a glass in one of the alcoves.

What would a trip be to Guatemala be without a visit to the famed Mayan ruins at Tikal. It was close to and hour in a small plane to Santa Elena by Lake Peten. A bus took us from Santa Elena up to the Mayan ruins at Tikal where there were nice modern cabins and a main lodge where we could eat. When we first arrived there, a young Guatemalan lad took us on a very informative tour of the ruins. It was after the formal tour that I really enjoyed myself and took all kinds of pictures of the beasts that lived in the jungle.

We came upon a Ceiba tree, the national tree of Guatemala, from which we get kapok, once used for flotation in life jackets and for stuffing in cushions.

Although not as pretty as the orchids from Hawaii we could see orchids growing in the top of most of the large trees.

The jungle of Tikal has many types of berries and neat creatures such as ants, lizards, unknown insects, woodpeckers, and a wasp with a fierce sting.

The weaver’s nests I thought were amazing but not as plentiful as the green parrots, which were everywhere.

We even came upon a wild turkey, and on top of one of the temples a flock of vultures. The loud deafening noise that we heard was coming from an insect called the Cicada. When it gets dark their noise gets louder as if to announce the coming of the fire flies and they were everywhere as well.

The Mayan ruins are impressive, especially Temples 1 and 2 near the North Acropolis. Temple 2 rises 125 feet above the Great Plaza. I climbed to the top of temple 2 and had an incredible view of the jungle canopy and Sandy and Mandy sitting in the Great Plaza.

The Mayans believed in human sacrifices and we were able to look at one of the altars on which thousands of them were performed.

Temple 4 is the largest of the aboriginal structures standing in the New World today at 212 ft. After climbing a steel ladder up the side of Temple 4 I was able to see the jungle canopy just below with many of the trees which were still in bloom.

The Mayan civilization at Tikal began about 600 B.C. and collapsed about 900 A.D. with about 1100 years of ceaseless construction. Temple 1 was built about 700 A.D. and is known as Temple of the Jaguar from a motif carved on one of its lintels. Temple 2 is known as the Temple of the Masks after its richly embellished façade, was built about the time of Temple 1. Much of the architecture at Tikal over the centuries was built upon existing structures.

The next morning we left for Flores, which is on a little island in Lake Peten and connected to Santa Elena by a causeway. We made it in good time even with cows blocking our way. Once in Flores we boarded our tour boat and the guide took us on a sight seeing trip along the lake.

Our first stop was by the home of a woman and her small child where our path began to a lookout. On the way to the viewpoint we saw some leaf cutter ants and some cicada’s making their racket. The view back to Flores from the lookout gave us a good view of the island and Santa Elena along the lake.

Traveling along the lake we stopped at a little Island where Sandy and Mandy went for a dip and I went looking for flowers. After stopping at another little island further along the lake we walked along a series of bridges to a zoo with the jungle animals on display.

On our way back to Flores we got a splendid view of the little island that Flores is on. Many of the houses in Flores are disappearing into the lake. No one knows why but for several years the lake has been rising.

After eating lunch in a cafe in Flores our guide took us on a last little tour of a limestone cave before we caught our plane back to Guatemala City.

Something you have to see if you ever go to Guatemala is the market day at Chichicastenango. On the way to Chichicastenango we stopped and had breakfast in a quaint little cafe called the Chickoy Cafe. Breakfast consisted of black beans, fried bananas, corn tortillas, eggs, either boiled or scrambled, and fresh orange juice.

Then it was on to Chichicastenango, also known as St Thomas and well known for its cathedral as well as it’s incredible market. The whole town becomes a giant market a most incredible sight to see. Wares and people everywhere so thick you can hardly walk down the street.

The Cathedral of ST. Thomas is quite famous and is on many post cards. The faithful wave their incense pots on the temple steps while the tourists come to watch.

The hotel St Thomas in Chichicastenango is quite large with a very attractive courtyard. A large parrot lives in the courtyard and was very interesting to watch. While in the courtyard we saw the waiters in their very colorful native costumes going about their work.

Guatemala is quite mountainous especially the road to Panajachel on a very beautiful lake called in the Spanish Logo de Atitlan where we spent the night in the Rancho Grande Inn, in our own cottage with a real banana tree in the front yard.

In the morning we walked down to the lakefront to catch one of the local passenger boats that carries passengers to the numerous little villages along the lake. You can pay more for your tour of the lake by taking the trip in one of the large professional sight seeing boats, but we wanted to feel the flavor of the locals.

Each community has its own little dock to serve the many houses built along the lakeshore. Many of the houses have little terraced gardens but scattered her and there are the odd mansion. Below the more humble communities there are many women doing their washing by hand in the lake.

After traveling for over an hour we finally reached the little town of San Pedro where we disembarked and went for a walk into the town. As in most towns people are selling their wares trying to make a few quetzals. One man went by us carrying the largest pile of for firewood sticks I have ever seen tied to his back. Stranger yet was when we each decided to buy a soda. Would you believe, they first poured the pop into a plastic bag before handing it to us, and kept the bottle. They did have the courtesy of first sticking a straw in each bag before handing it to us.

One of the highlights of our trip was a trip to the Pacific Ocean. After traveling on a good paved road we finally found our self on a road that stopped at a brackish estuary, where the temperature was about 100 degrees F with 100 per cent humidity, a real killer. Here we found a barge like skiff tied up to the sand with two planks in place to drive on. Our little Nissan Stanza made it across the planks and onto the barge and away we went to Monterrico and the Pacific Ocean.

During our winding trip down the estuary we met many boats with people going the opposite way we were as well as a canoe with two guys fishing. Along the sides of the brackish estuary were many white egrets covertly hiding in the brush watching for their dinner. I felt sorry for the boney cows that we passed along the way; you never saw cows in a much sadder shape the only cows that came close were the ones we saw by Lake Peten.

We would have probably gotten stuck on the main street of Monterrico if a little boy had not run out waving his arms at us to stop. The street was pure sand and appeared to end in more sand at the Pacific Ocean.

The first time I saw a cashew nut tree was in Monterrico. The part that is eaten is inside a little gizmo on the end of the fruit. The fruit looks like a pear, with the cashew sticking off the end in its poisonous shell, which is as hard as a rock. Until heated it is also very poisonous.

We made it finally to the beach and what a lovely sandy beach with an incredible surf and pure black sand. But oh so hot and humid, I thought for sure that I had burnt my feet as I ran back to put my shoes on.

After a good swim, we really only got our feet wet, we decided to get a bite to eat. What lovely fish and chips. The pigs and the birds wandered in and out as we ate our dinner. The restaurant as with all of the buildings had only a low wall with a roof on poles and you could look out all 360 degrees.

Before we left Monterrico we stopped for a few minutes at the government preserve where they are attempting to conserve the sea turtle population. They also were raising Iguanas. They seemed to have more Iguana then sea turtle but we did finally manage to find some sea turtles in a small tank.

After a hair-raising trip back up the winding mountain road we finally made it back to our bed and breakfast. That sounds easy but to actually arrive at our bed and breakfast was a miracle and only by God’s grace did it happen. While climbing up the high plateau to Guatemala City a large truck came roaring by passing everybody. If a car came he would just pull over and force who was beside him off the road. What a jerk.

One of the highlights of our trip down to Guatemala was going to church on Sabbath and meeting Mandy and Tammy’s Guatemalan friends. Even though the church they had been working on for the past 10 years was still to be completed, the inside was quite pleasing. We found the church service a blessing even in Spanish, which we could not understand. There is a joy and spiritual refreshing just being with God’s people. We enjoyed the singing and especially the marimba music.

Mandy became good friends with Christy who worked at Los Pinos and was Luis Castenada’s friend. After church, which was only a few houses away from where Luis lived in Zone 6, we went over to his house to meet all of the family.

Mrs. Castenada knew the lady that made tortillas in a smoky little shop, which was probably her home as well. It was amazing to seeing how corn tortillas are made. Mandy gave it a try but it was obvious that she needed mor practice.

Our trip down to Guatemala would not have been complete if we had not spent some time at the orphanage at Los Pinos where Mandy worked. The International Children’s Care ran the Orphanage. It was a non-profit organization founded by Mrs. A. Fleck from the USA and run on much donated labor and supplies. Most of the orphans were adopted out to families in the USA. Many of the children at the home would not have been alive if they had not been placed in its care.

After dinner at the orphanage we took the Los Pinos van and saw some of the sights of Guatemala City. One of the interesting things we visited was a relief map of the country in a little park done by a man named Francisco Vela. The dictator of that time had him killed when the project was completed so another relief map would not be constructed anywhere else.

To close our little adventure in Guatemala we took a final sight seeing trip of Guatemala City and the immediate area. A must see south of Guatemala City was an active volcano Mount Agua, near Lake Amatitlan. I actually got some video footage of the mountain spewing lava.

A must see if you ever visit Guatemala City is the central market in down tow Guatemala City. It is composed of two levels. The lower level has mostly produce, anything you could imagine you could eat. The upper level had just about anything else to sell that was not edible.

We also visited the national palace and it’s amazing interior with its fountains of fish, and beautiful tile work with many amazing tapestries depicting some of the early history of the region.

The busy bus exchanges were something that would amaze anyone. Guatemala City must be the graveyard for every old school bus in the world, and they are all diesels and belch out tons of foul exhaust. Except for the three days that we rented the little Nissan Stanza we rode the buses with standing room only.

Our last trip was traveling down Reforma Avenue to the airport. It has a beautiful boulevard with many monuments depicting important historical events. At the airport we said our goodbyes to Mandy, Tammy, Norma and a volunteer nurse from Los Pinos who came to see us off. As we waved goodbye to Guatemala we will always remember the good times and friends we made in our short visit to their country.

122 The first Twenty Years

Anniversaries come and anniversaries go but the first one of any importance to roll by was our twentieth. It sailed into sight so fast that I was taken just about by surprise. It seemed that we had not been sleeping together that long and I was still quite enjoying the experience, I still looked forward to jumping into bed every night and snuggling up to my honey. If you believe some of the stuff out there the experience for many has long since faded into an act of boredom by then, but strange as it may seem, for me, quite the contrary.

So it was with a sense of appreciation that we entered into the evening that our daughter Teri had chosen to commemorate what to us was the beginning of our history as a family. I guess I never told Teri, who was nineteen at the time, how pleased I was that she put the whole evening together in honor of us. She invited all of our close friends over to celebrate, and we all sat around in a big circle eating anniversary cake and drinking punch from a big punch bowl while we all visited together. I do not remember what the cards said or what gifts were given to commemorate the occasion, but I always felt warm and fuzzy about the event.

To add to the evening as a historical event we dug out some old super eight movies that Sandy had from her childhood and were boring our friends with them. Much to the relief of our friends the phone rang and the voice on the other end stated that the pastor who was one of the visitors and building a new home at the time, should leave immediately as his partly built house was on fire.

That immediately broke up the party and everyone took off to check out the fire and to see if they could be of any assistance. The Pastor, Mel Atwood in the meantime jumped into what he thought was the most convenient vehicle, which turned out to be in fact an old Corn binder pickup owned by a good friend Dan Johnson. His dad happened to be driving the old beater with one of the doors wired shut, and to make matters worse Dan’s dad drove all the way to the fire slower then most people walk. Our poor Pastor was biting his nails all the way the house, which he thought would be burnt to the ground by the time he got there, but to his relief he found still standing. It turned out that someone had set fire to a pile of scrap lumber that was stacked close by the house.

Well no more party but the memories of that evening still linger in my heart and the fact that Teri thought enough to remember our twentieth always leaves me with sweet memories. What part the fire plays in these sweet memories I am not sure but for our friends it did cut short for them what was turning out to be a most boring evening of home movies.

121 A Lovely Week at Cape Kiwanda

Who doesn’t enjoy spending a week on the beach in the month of August especially if it’s on the Oregon Coast? Oregon has some of the loveliest sand beaches anywhere in the world, and the scenery is spectacular. So it was with great anticipation that twenty-five of us showed up at Cape Kiwanda, by the little seaside town of Pacific City. With so much family coming from all over, the two condo’s we rented couldn’t hold everyone, so some of the gang had to stay in a nearby motel.

Uncle Steve and Ginny drove down together, his sons, cousin Mick and cousin Will, came down with Great Gramalene, Mick doing the driving. Aunty Sharon drove down from her fruit farm near Wapato with Cousin Cori and cousin Brandon. Sharon’s oldest, Cousin Philip also came down with his two kids, Tyler and Kelsey. Uncle Bob and Aunt Becky drove all the way over from Walla Walla, the land of winter wheat, bringing their four kids Chloe, Paul, Spencer and little Mary Bella. Grandma Sandy and Grandpa Bob drove down from Canada and picked up Aunt Mandy and her son Benjamin in Bellingham. Aunt Teri and Uncle Teddy drove all the way up from Arizona with their two kids Meagan and David and what topped it off was that Grandpa’s good friend Wally Wacker and his wife Geri came over from Eugene midweek and spent a day with everyone on the beach.

Just because it is the first week of August is no guarantee that the weather on the Oregon coast will be warm and sunny. Without notice the fog and drizzle that hangs just off shore can come rolling in and in a matter of minutes you are chilled to the bone. We were fortunate indeed as the weather was so perfect that even Grandma Sandy’s spirits were revived, in spite of a broken leg. Such a perfect week meant that whatever we did had fun written all over it. And of course the first few days had to be beach stuff, everything from wading in the surf and not getting soaked by that extra big wave that you didn’t see coming, to the making of sand castles and the flying of kites.

Someone decided that we should completely bury Meagan and Chloe, except for their heads, so that’s what we did. What’s cooler then to see what looked like two talking heads just lying there on the beach, waiting for someone to take home and add to their mantle?

One afternoon we went for a hike through the woods to a head of land with the sea on every side. The trail was very rocky and uneven and in some places except for the salal and the odd tree, there wasn’t much between you and the rocks below. If you should catch your foot or lose your balance it was just about clear sailing and a swim in the ocean below. We had been walking for sometime when we realized that Teri was not with us. After waiting for a few minutes we saw her running frantically to catch up. When she finally caught up with us we asked her why the blood on her face and she told us her story of survival.

Not realizing her interest in birds we had left her to her own amusement and it was at this point that she started running to catch up. In her haste she caught her toe on a stone, which sent her sailing for a loop. She was fortunate indeed to catch hold of some salal to keep from rolling down the bank and into the sea. Trooper that she was, she got up and just kept running until she finally caught up with the rest of us.

What better place to celebrate a birthday then at the beach and as luck would have it Great Gramalene was having her eightieth birthday on our first Saturday at the beach. That Saturday everyone had a great time, as there was plenty of cake, lots of punch, with more than enough balloons and presents. You only get to celebrate your eightieth birthday once in a lifetime so we made it one that Great Gramalene would not forget.

Well what do you do when you want a change of pace from doing beach stuff? You go golfing; visit an aquarium, or air museum or even a cheese factory if one is near by. And the evenings were no less entertaining as each evening the kids put on an adlib talent show, which everybody thoroughly enjoyed.

The week ended all to soon and everyone wished that they could have stayed even longer. But that’s a good thing as we now have something to look forward to in the years to come.

120 Aunt Dorothy, You Have to Love Her

The world is full of unique and somewhat eccentric characters and Aunt Dorothy was as unique as they come. She never was a very big part of my life but what little I saw of her idiosyncrasies led me to believe that she was unique indeed. As she was Sandy’s aunt on her mother’s side I did not get to know her until after we were married. I will never forget the first time that I met Aunt Dorothy, who was two years older then Sandy’s mom and at forty-two looked to be in her eighties. When Sandy’s grandmother, Bina, who was in her late seventies introduced her as her daughter, the friend responded, “Bina you must be losing it, you mean your mother.”

Aunt Dorothy spent time in the US Navy as a hospital corpsman in both the Second World War and again during the Korean War, where she acquired a taste for strong drink, which haunted her for many years. Her strong will and the desire to be free from booze led her to take the drug Anabuse as treatment. She faithfully took the drug every morning, and eventually conquered the habit. She was a chain smoker though and succumbed to her habit shortly after her eighty-second birthday when her heart finally gave out. I can still remember the last time Sandy and I visited her just weeks before she died and what she said with a smile on her face.

“The doctor told me that it would be harder on me now if I quite.”

She then invited us outside so as not to annoy us with the smoke and lit up another Camel.

It was not until after the last of her fourth or fifth (lost count) husbands that I really got to know her. Her last husband Willie, who I met briefly, was a nice enough fellow but was young enough to be her son. The relationship only lasted a few years as Willie took off for the hills of Tennessee and as far as I know was not heard from again.

We used to stop to visit Aunt Dorothy whenever we could. I remember the time on our way back from Disneyland when we pulled into the old farmhouse at the Curtain-Lorrane Junction where she happened to be living. It was a damp and rainy evening when we arrived at the ancient farmhouse that Aunt Dorothy rented with an assortment of animals and Charlie her pet pig, which she eventually ate.

South central Oregon is normally fairly dry but that evening the light rain had left the yard somewhat muddy. Rather then have us put the tent trailer up in the rain and mud she invited us to sleep in her bed.

I said, “Don’t bother Aunt Dorothy we don’t want to put you out, by making you have to change your sheets.”

And she responded, “No bother, I wasn’t going to change them anyway, they have only been on two weeks.”

I realized the offer was to good to be true when I laid back the covers to climb in and noticed all of the debris between the sheets

Here I was on my knees with the covers pulled back, frantically brushing away at the sheets to clear the bed of as much of the debris as possible, while poor Sandy, who couldn’t believe her eyes, watched from her chair in the living room. All she was thinking was it’s a good think that Aunt Dorothy couldn’t see what I was doing from where she was sitting.

Just a few months before she passed away, Aunt Dorothy came up to visit some of the family at my son Bob’s place in Walla Walla. This normally would not have been a heroic event but in view of her failing health it put quite a strain on her. She was determined to make the trip before she died and had taken care of the minutest details in case the inevitable should happen while she was there. On arriving from her arduous plane trip she explained to Bob my son, how he was not to worry as she had taken care of everything. That is to say, she had contacted the appropriate authorities, coroner etc. in case she didn’t make it back home from his place.

She informed him that she never slept in late and if she did he was to check immediately as her time had probably come. Wouldn’t you know it, that first morning she slept well beyond her usual time, so needless to say, they were terrified thinking that Aunty Dorothy had ended her days in Chloe’s bed. They knocked frantically on her door and all breathed a sigh of relief when she finally answered the knock by sticking her disheveled head out with a most questioning look on her face. When she finally realized what the concern was about everyone had a good laugh, especially Aunt Dorothy.

119 Bring on Those Golden Years

Oh for the days when getting old was so far in the distance that it could be easily dismissed as a bad thought. As a young fellow I was not really concerned with aging but I did have an appreciation for the carefree and under forty. Having worked in a care home for the elderly in my twenties, I saw firsthand the ravages of old age and what inconsistencies in lifestyle can reek upon the human body.

The young I suppose all look for the day when they can get out from under the parental thumb and have their first car, and what to them is total freedom. I never felt the anxiety that some seem to feel about parental restraint and did not even own a car until I was twenty-three and then it was only a month or so before my marriage.

I still remember my fortieth birthday and how I felt depressed at just the thought of reaching that milestone and the implications of what it meant to enter, what I considered middle age. I could not bring myself to admit that in fact, if it was not middle age, it was pretty darn close.

Life passes by at such an incredible speed. It is amazing to sit there and watch such things as your childhood, university, marriage, work, and having kids accelerate by. Before you know it, you are sitting there in the empty nest watching it again as your kids do a rerun of your life. Life just seems to blend together in one big blur.

I suppose the one thing that makes up for the never ending spin of events is the fact that at some point you end up with grandkids, which seem to make it all worth while. I must say that they brighten the most negative of moments. You gotta love those grandkids. What a joy to visit with them, love them, and then leave them without having to take care of them.

With the good also comes the not so good and I remember when the hospital was sometimes the only answer. I rejoiced over the positive outcome when I had a malignant thyroid, but felt the pain of what Sandy had to go through, what with her lumpectomy and the radiation that it entailed. We were however thankful for the positive outcome.

Old age seems to strike each of us indiscriminately and what it did with Sandy’s bones was not good. At this point in time she is a bionic woman with more metal in her then a pincushion.

The first bone to break was the ball off her left hip when we were on a trip to Arizona. She did not know it was broken so walked for what seemed like miles at both the Las Vegas and Seattle airports. When she got home the doctor, not realizing it was broken prescribed physiotherapy treatments on her broken leg, and it was bone against bone until the therapist realized something was wrong and discontinued the treatments. It wasn’t until her regular doctor got home that an x-ray showed it was a broken hip. What seemed strange to us was the day of her surgery for her pinning; they bumped her for someone that had just broken their hip. Sandy had only been walking on a broken hip for six weeks by then so I guess the doctor figured another few days of pain was of no consequence.

A year or so later the right femur broke in the middle and had to be pinned followed by the left femur which snapping in another place as she was getting out of bed. That meant a five thirty am trip to the hospital by ambulance and another pinning.

Life is not easy, not after forty but the alternative is not for the faint of heart or the sissy. Bring on those golden years I can handle them, I think. If the gold in those golden years does not turn to dust before you get there, you only have God to thank.

“Hey mother, could you please shove the walker over this way so I can get up and walk to the bathroom and empty my urine bag.”

“What did you say, I’m sorry, can’t hear you, left my hearing aid in the bedroom.”

Oh the sweetness of old age, no time to sit down and take a break cause I might not get up again.

118 The Big Snow of ‘96

It is not often that it snows more then a few inches on the southern tip of Vancouver Island in the normal course of a typical winter. For this reason to live in the Greater Victoria area is quite popular and people flock there literally by the thousands to retire.

Because our climate is Mediterranean, the snowfall is usually light and the temperatures only on rare occasions reach into the single digits on the Fahrenheit scale.

This particular December when Christmas was yet a couple of weeks distant we felt the excitement of the first snowfall and the child in each of us thrilled to the eighteen inches that covered everything in white.

The week before Christmas Sandy and I took off for a trip south to Arizona to celebrate Christmas with my daughter Teri and her family. Our plane was to leave Seattle late Saturday afternoon, but on the way there we had an early mini-Christmas in Bellingham with my youngest daughter Mandy and her family.

The light snowfall that began sometime Thursday became a wild blizzard that screamed all night and by Friday morning when we got up to leave had literally surrounded our car in snowdrifts. After digging the car out and clearing the engine compartment of packed snow we took off for Bill and Jadie’s.

On the way to their home in Briar, where we were to spend Saturday, just north of Seattle, the roads were packed solid with six inches of icy snow. As we were coming down a small hill to an intersection the light turned red. I barely touched the breaks and the front wheels locked up solid on the frozen snow and instead of turning we came sliding in for a crash. I barely had time to take my foot off the breaks, and steer around the crash. But now we were flying through the intersection against the light. We were extremely lucky that no cars were in the intersection and we cleared the intersection unscathed. Whew what an adrenalin rush, many more like that and I would have a heat attack for sure. I think Sandy was pretty faint as well and just as shaken as I was.

It was nice to relax over Sabbath with Bill and Jadie as the snow of the previous few days had closed most of the roads and we stayed put until Jadie drove us to Sea-Tac for our late afternoon departure.

What a shambles when we arrived at the airport. People had literally been waiting for hours because of the winter weather. While waiting for our flight to leave Sandy asked a lady who looked somewhat distraught, how long she had been waiting for her flight. She said because of the weather her flight had left the day before without her and now she was not sure when she could catch another one as all the seats were taken.

As it was between storms our flight left on time and just ahead of another huge weather front that was roaring in. It felt good to be leaving all of the turmoil that the winter weather was causing on the ground and spend two lovely weeks with my daughter Teri and her family over the Christmas season in sunny Arizona.

In the meantime Mandy had gone over to Sidney to fill in for Sandy’s baby-sitting business, but as it turned out there were no babies to sit as the snow had ground everything to a halt. So instead of baby-sitting, Mandy spent the next several days just shoveling snow.

The Pineapple Express that came roaring in after the arctic front dumped enough rain on the already snow laden roofs to cause a major disaster. With the three feet or more of snow covering everything, the added weight of the several inches of rain from the Pineapple express was more then many of the roofs could stand. Many arenas, curling rinks, and school gymnasiums caved in under the added weight.

I was greatly relieved, as I knew Tom, a good friend who rented my basement suite, and Mandy, were able to shovel my sun decks off before the rain came. It is on rare occasions that a heavy snowfall with a Pineapple Express roaring in from the Pacific causes such a disaster, but it is more then heartwarming to know there are those you can trust and rely on.

Ten days later when Sandy and I landed back in town all that was left of the ravages of our short winter were a few not quite melted snowdrifts. I said to Sandy I feel kind of gypped that we missed the biggest snowfall of the last one hundred years with all its excitement.

Maybe if I can hang on another 86 years I’ll be around for the next big one.

117 Don’t Wash The Sheets; It’s Just For To-Night

The last trip back to Walla Walla from GMG Logging was one of the more memorable events during my days as a college student. We had left our car with my parents as my dad had said he would take it in for an engine overhaul in Campbell River, while we were away at camp. The extreme dusty condition of the logging roads during the previous summer in Idaho had ruined the engine causing it to blow out a quart of oil every hundred miles.

It was with a sense of relief that we took off in what we thought was a trouble free car and another year a Walla Walla. We were soon to awaken to the contrary as we had only been a little over an hour and were just approaching Marysville when the engine started missing so badly that I had to stop along the freeway. I was quite frustrated knowing I had just spent plenty of money for a supposedly trouble free car and now what. I lifted the hood but could see no lose wires, or anything that needed fixing, so I got in the car and luckily it started. The engine sputtered on in fits and starts until I finally pulled off at Marysville where we just managed to coast to a stop near an older looking motel.

It was now dark and I was not a happy camper as here I was with a wife and two little kids, a broken down car and maybe a place to sleep. The only thing left now was to hope that the man who owned the motel could put us up someplace for the night as his no vacancy light was turned on.

An older looking gentleman answered the ring and greeted me with a pleasant smile. When I asked about a room he confirmed that he was full, but when I explained that I was stuck in front of his motel with a broken down car and a wife and my two little kids his face softened and he said he could give us his bed as his wife was out of town and he could sleep on the couch. “Wonderful,” I just about shouted, that is until he stated, “I’m not much into making beds as my wife is the bed maker around here, and if you don’t mind using the same sheets that my wife and I have been using, the bed’s all yours.” In view of the fact that we were on a very limited budget we said yes and climbed into bed with our cloths on. We did take our shoes off however. I can’t really remember where the kids slept, but it was still better then a night with them in a car and I don’t remember them complaining.

If I remember correctly the kind-hearted gentleman gave us breakfast the next morning as well as recommending a shop that could fix the car, just up the road from where he lived.

A phone call for a tow-truck and a coupe hours in a shop and we were soon on our way to Walla Walla.

It seems that the incompetency of the shop that had fixed our car in Campbell River was beyond normal comprehension. They had not only installed a set of new points incorrectly, so that a wire came lose, but they had also hooked the car battery up backwards. Boy was I relieved that it was only a simple fix, but I sure wouldn’t recommend the shop that had done the engine overhaul.

Life has its ups and downs and I suppose we are better off in the long run if things don’t come too easy. We can be thankful however when someone comes along from time to time to ease some of the stress and I will always be glad for the fine old gentleman who gave us his own bed, dirty sheets and all.

116 Those Old Cherry Picking Days

Oh for those lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer those days of soda and pretzels and beer, except that I am a teetotaler, but I will never forget those summer days up at Bill’s place and picking cherries in Bill’s cherry orchard. We never got a lot of cherries picked but they sure tasted good. I guess that answers a lot of questions, the important one being why so few cherries in the bucket and so little money, but you gotta love those cherries. I guess I should speak for my self, as I’m sure Sandy has a different story.

I never spent much time in Bill’s orchard with Sandy and the kids except on the weekends because of my work. Sandy and the kids however lived for July and cherry season so they could spend a few weeks in Bill’s orchard each year picking cherries and having a great time.

You might think that the greatest danger to cherry picking would be maybe falling out of the cherry tree and breaking an arm or a leg, but one day something far scarier came slithering into the cherry orchard and had everyone up a tree, cherry tree that is. It was a big old rattler, and if you weren’t already in a tree you sure headed for one. It wasn’t long however before Bill came over and dispatched it forthwith and things quieted down, but the tranquility of the orchard was never quite the same after that as everyone now had thoughts of a rattler behind every clump of grass.

Cherry picking was a lot of fun and a neat way to add some variety to the summer but it was also a great way to make a few extra dollars to supplement the family income. From the time the cherries were in season ending with tomatoes in the fall I would be hauling fruit down from Keremeos to sell out of our garage. By now the fun had somehow left and it was just plane work, but with three kids in private school and long trips to visit family, we had no trouble spending the extra money.

Those days are now gone but the memories of the times spent in Keremeos picking cherries in Bill’s orchard will always remain in our memory and are what give life it’s meaning and pleasure.

115 You Shake My House; I’ll Shake Yours

If you are a rocker, you need a guitar to “shake it and make it,” but if you are a roofer, you need a fro to “shake it and make it,” for the best roof bar none, was a cedar shake roof. Bill Mason and I were not rockers as neither of us could play the guitar, but we were soon to start shaking, as each of us was building a new house and we were aiming for a premium roof of cedar shakes.

When I told Bill Mason that I was making my own shakes and I knew where I could get number one premium cedar free, he was onside. I told him if he would supply the truck and the muscle I would supply the saw and the cedar, so off we went one weekend to the Upper Klanawa, in the Franklin River Division of MacMillan Bloedel.

After checking in with the head ranger at the camp we headed off up the Klanawa where we found two beautiful cedar logs in old slash, that you would die for, if you were a shaker that is. One was six feet in diameter and about thirty six feet long and the second one was four foot in diameter by about forty two feet long, together they filled Bill’s truck with premium cedar bolts, but I never worked so hard in my life cutting the logs into blocks with Bill splitting them into bolts and the both of us hauling them out to the road and onto the truck. We worked like dogs until dark, but went home feeling that we had really scored.

A few months later however we realized that we still needed another truckload as I had finished my house and it was obvious Bill’s house would have only half a roof. Now that might not be as bad as it sounds as he lived in Keremeos where it hardly ever rains, but the winters can be touch and go.

What better time to go after more shakes then on a Thanksgiving weekend in October with what looked like perfect weather. So off we went with both of our families for a camping weekend and a little shaking up the Klanawa.

There was a lovely Mac and Blo Campsite, south side of the Nitinat, where we planned to camp with our families over the Sabbath. The campsite was a pristine spot with a beautiful sand beach surrounded by giant Sitka Spruce trees. Some of these trees were gigantic as the campsite was in a west coast rainforest and moss was hanging from all the trees.

Saturday was a lovely day and it was incredible to just sit by the fire and enjoy the family. The Nitinat Lagoon was too cold to swim in but the lagoon was just an awesome place to hangout. After lunch we all decided to take a walk down the south side of the lagoon. After walking for about a quarter mile we reached the Caycuse River, which enters the Nitinat. Here we had to turn back as the river was too large to cross. I still remember the grove of beautiful moss covered, giant spruce trees growing where the Caycuse dumped into the lagoon.

The whole area was very awe-inspiring but I am ashamed to say what really turned me on was what I saw in a small rocky nook. The winter storms had packed the rocky nook solid with cedar logs of all shapes and sizes. This really made my day, as I knew our search for cedar was over.

Bright and early Sunday morning we took off with Bill’s truck to our cache of what turned out to be prime cedar. What complicated things a bit were that winter storms had beached a number of giant full-length spruce trees and with their root as anchors their tops reached the shore. There were several of these but only one presented a real problem as it reached way out into the lagoon. Going was easy as Bill could drive way out into the lagoon and around the root as the tide was out, but coming back was a different story.

The cedar was better even then we had expected and we were able to back the truck right up to where we were cutting, which made the truck easy to load. I was thinking this was a cakewalk until I noticed that the sunny weather of the day before seemed to have vanished during our busy day and it now looked seriously like rain. More about that later.

Well, the truck was loaded, but the challenge now, how to get the heavily loaded truck back to our campsite. The tide had surreptitiously come in during our endeavor and there were now two feet of salt water and a very soft beach to drive on if we ever wanted to get past the largest of the grounded spruce. I said to Bill, “Either we chance it now, or we unload and reload the truck to make it lighter.” Bill only said, “Just watch me.” And with that he got in his truck and put the pedal to the metal and went roaring around the huge Sitka Spruce root with the water flying everywhere. Even with the pedal to the floor I thought Bill had met his match and the sea would win, but no, the truck suddenly picked up speed, sending water everywhere as it literally flew around the old Sitka Spruce root and onto dry ground.

Boy did I ever breathe a sigh of relief, for a moment I had visions of having to leave the truck over night, stuck up to its axels in the mud, and with the job of having to unload and reload it. What a nightmare, that would have been, and to think that Bill could have also lost his truck to the sea.

We made it into camp just as the sun was setting and what had been a light rain was now a steady west coast drizzle. The best thing to do now was to hunker down around a campfire and be glad we were not unloading a stuck in the mud truck. I can still remember sitting around the roaring campfire in the pouring rain under a huge sheet of plastic that we had tied up over the whole camping area. This seemed to work after a fashion but the trick was to not get drowned, because the plastic over the campsite dumped its load of water from time to time and if you were in the wrong place you would get soaked.

I would not criticize anyone if they complained about sitting around a Bob Betts fire under a plastic tarp in the pouring rain. But as I was enjoying my steaming bowl of hot soup with a thick slice of buttered bread in the dark with family and friends I realized how fortunate I was.

The rest of the weekend was so anticlimactic that I have remembered little, except to say, that our tents for the most part, kept the rain out, the cedar was just enough to finish Bill’s house, and we made it home the following day without any mishap.

The splitting of the last load of shakes had been done in unseasonable weather and the sooner we got going on Bill’s roof the better. So off to Keremeos I went on a fine Remembrance Day weekend with Sandy and all the kids for a fun week on Bill’s roof.

Bill had recently purchased a ten-acre fruit orchard, which was home to an old picker’s shack and a mother skunk with her family of little skunks and maybe the odd rattler.

I still remember trying to get some sleep after we stretched our sleeping bags out over the mother skunk’s den, and that of her family of skunklets who lived directly under the shack’s floor. It was really hard to get past the pungent smell of skunk as it wafted up through the holes in the wooden floorboards. It took Bill some time but he was finally able to evict the basement dwellers and the smell over time slowly receded into a distant memory.

As it was November the winter weather was hard upon us but we were fortunate that only the upper mountains about the valley got a dusting of white, as the weather held.

We awoke bright and early Sunday morning and I still remember how everyone got into the spirit of the project. I can still see my wife Sandy, with Bill’s wife June, hard at it on the roof, while the kids pitched in wherever we asked them too. It really felt good when the last nail got hammered in well before the Sun went down on Friday and we could now sit back and watch it rain or snow, we didn’t care, because it now didn’t made the slightest difference, what a nice feeling when you come out on top.

The bonds that form when done with a common purpose are those that last a lifetime. To this day Sandy and I include Bill and his family with our closest friends, more akin to family. Even with the passing of time, Bill remains a true friend, perhaps more like a brother.

114 What About Pringle?

The seasons come and the seasons go and whether we realize it or not most joy in life is ultimately associated with the pleasures we receive from their comings and goings. The seasons give us a grand occasion or excuse if you like, for getting together with family and friends. Some of my loveliest memories come from the festivities during these times.

Going to Camp Pringle was one of these times and over the years it was looked forward too with much anticipation, especially during the Christmas season. Seventy or more of us would show up at the camp each year to celebrate Christmas and the joy of the season.

People would start rolling in around 4 o’clock Friday afternoon with their compliment for what was to be a big banquet Saturday evening. But for now it was the soups that reined supreme as people began to arrive for the big Friday evening soup bash.

What an amazing meal if you were a lover of soup, as there would be an incredible smorgasbord of soups to sample. My challenge was to try as many as I possible could. There would be plain vegetable soup, then divine split pea soup, beautiful corn chowder soup, amazing bean soup, and an incomprehensible mixed bean soup, incredible squash soup, lovely lentil soup, stupendous cream of broccoli, charming tomato, glorious borsch, and I’ve probably forgotten a few.

And of course all the glorious and lovely breads you could think of to eat. Who eats soup without the luxury of a beautiful loaf of bread?

For dessert there were the pies, and oh the pies. There was raisin pie, apple pie, lemon pie, berry pie, bumble berry pie, pumpkin pie, chocolate pie, and maybe even delectable banana cream, and a plate or two of delightful coconut cream. What a glorious pie fest.

After eating all the soup we could hold and the assigned clean up crew had finished the dishes off we went to the great room to sit in front of a large stone fireplace with a great roaring fire to sing songs until Joyce Schafer pulled out her storybook of sob stories and started the tears flowing. Of course all the stories had a moral and we would each go to our beds after a prayer, with very noble thoughts.

I especially remember the early years when after the fire burned down we would all spread our sleeping bags out on mattresses on the great room floor in front of the fire place and hopefully be the first one to drift off to asleep, so you would not be kept awake by the snoring that would soon erupt.

Saturday was the big day that everyone looked forward too, and the meal that was to follow later on. As this was a church function the morning right after breakfast would find us singing around the great fire, followed by someone leading out in a lively study of the scripture with most everyone taking part.

After closing the discussion with a prayer we would head into the dinning room for a light lunch, which was an incredible fruit salad that would tantalize your taste buds when eaten with the many fruit breads, in anticipation of the banquet later that evening.

Many chose to take a brisk hike to the old Kinsol Trestle in the hope of getting some exercise and an appetite worthy of the gustatory delight that was soon to happen. For those of us with out the energy to tackle such an endeavor, napping was in order but that meant taking a big risk because woe to the person without an appetite at dinner time. There were however, quite a few that were willing to chance it, due to either a lack of interest or maybe just plain laziness.

The ringing of the dinner bell and the rush that followed was worthy of what awaited everyone in the dinning room. One look at the tables was enough to satisfy anyone, even someone without so much as the faintest desire to eat.

What you do not know is that the meal I am going to describe is a vegetarian banquet. Could anything vegetarian taste good you might ask? Well if you have never eaten at an Adventist Vegetarian banquet you have not really eaten vegetarian. Most restaurants don’t know even what vegetarian means so unless one has eaten Adventist vegetarian cuisine keep an open mind. And phone an Adventist for an invite or come to Rest Haven SDA Church some Saturday, first Sabbath of the month and enjoy a feast of vegetarian cuisine that will amaze you.

Check this little known fact out and it might surprise you, it did me.
http://ngm.nationalgeographic.com/ngm/0511/sights_n_sounds/index.html

Sorry I got sidetracked; lets get back to the dinner. There were the vegetarian steaks, and the lovely baked potatoes with the beautiful gravy. If you didn’t like the gravy you could add butter and salt, or sour cream and salt, or onions and baco-chips. Then of course there were the beautiful plates of raw vegetables with all manner of fresh raw veggies and the many dips, not to mention the lovely garlic bread and the many fruit breads and muffins left over from lunch. And to liven up the dinner there were the pickles and the olives and the cranberry sauce. And let’s not forget the punch that even the children could drink.

The last thing to mention was the desert table, which I must say was well worth the wait as there was much more then necessary to satisfy even the sweetest of tooth’s. And of course, if your tooth was not so sweet, there were real mandarin oranges, not from China.

After the dinner and things were cleared away there was an evening of games such as Pit, Dominos, Scrabble, Boggle, Monopoly, Trivial Pursuit and would you believe it everyone just loved musical chairs.

I guess the biggest thing that people loved about it all was the social interaction. The kids just loved to sit in groups and rap until late in the evening. Everyone had fun and wanted to be there.

Sunday was ladies day and their chance to sleep late, as the men prepared a special breakfast with Dan Rippin in charge of the kitchen crew. This was an opportunity for the guys to impress the ladies with their culinary skills. Dan’s crew was a diverse lot but they all went to work with a will. Dan R would be on the pancakes, with Dan J taking care of the mounds of hash browns. Peter would be on the toast, while Leon was closely watching the fake sausages and bacon. Dan R also kept an eye on the potato skins, as they were his personal delight. And for beautiful scrambled eggs nobody does it better then Ed.

Just an aside for those that love sausages, the fake sausages, and fake bacon, require persistence and shear willpower, if you were willing to actually eat one.

You should have heard the squeals of delight as the ladies come charging in to devour what was created just for them. If you add real maple syrup and butter for the pancakes most people are willing to over look the fake bacon and sausages, providing you have not screwed up on the scrambled eggs.

Well, that was the weekend in a nutshell, the only thing left was the cleanup and with everyone pitching in, it was soon taken care of and off we drove with thoughts of next year and the fun we would have.