Miracles Excerpt: "Pahchulaka"

I have stood here before, when winters are wet and the river swollen with runoff, and felt the overlook's metal girders under my feet tremble and vibrate with the force of the cascading water. With thousands of gallons of water falling over the rocks, Shoshone Falls can be too big for words.

But today the water barely trickles over the edge of the rocks, diverted instead to irrigate crops in this southern Idaho desert. Even so, what I see is impressive. As I look at the sand-colored rocks, I remember how, as a teenager, I climbed on those rocks and walked where, in high water years, I could have been swept over the edge and plummeted into the turbulent river hundreds of feet below.

No one is walking on the sand-colored rocks today. We're in the middle of another drought year, the fourth one in a row, and the river is low enough that I can see small puddles where water is starting to settle.

"It isn't Niagara Falls," a tourist beside me says.

"I know," another answers. "I'm from Boston, and, yes, this looks nothing like Niagara. But I'm sure it's impressive when the water's running."

"It's higher than Niagara," I interject. "Some say as much as fifty feet."

"Really?" They both turn and look toward the falls.

"Is this where Evel Knievel tried to jump the canyon?" the one with the camera asks.

"No," I laugh and point downstream. "But several people have been swept to their deaths here. One summer a daredevil rode a canoe over the edge and lived to talk about it."

"No kidding?" They stand on their toes and peer over the railing. One of them whistles.

"Enjoy the park," I say, walking toward a knoll. I don't tell them I've visited Niagara Falls too. But Niagara didn't leave me speechless, not like Pahchulaka. There's no reason to tell them that I prefer the tranquility here in the park surrounding Shoshone Falls over the confusion of the aerial tours, tourist boats and yellow slickers continuously bombarding the falls at Niagara.

June 24 Valley Life Column

June 24 Valley Life Column in AG Weekly

Celebrate summer watching butterflies and ladybugs

It’s summertime and anyone who owns a farm knows that the living is anything but easy. With cows to milk and hay to mow, the lengthening days and warmer temperatures mean more time outdoors working. Even so, it’s a glorious time of the year with beautiful sunsets, the smell of fresh-cut grass and farmers’ markets.

If you were to stop and talk with a farmer, and if he made time to lull his tractor to visit, you might hear him complain about the wind or the price of crops, but you wouldn’t hear him complain about sleeping with the windows open or lounging in a hammock. People who farm for a living are people who like to live close to the land. They appreciate the simpler things in life like fresh peas from the garden and new red potatoes.

I don’t farm for a living, but I do look forward to summer almost as much as I look forward to Christmas. Summer means I can neglect the housework and spend my days outdoors weeding the garden or doing what I like to do best, walking around my yard in circles, oohing and aahing at a new daylily or a budding rose.

Right now, the evening primroses are blooming and every time I make my circle, I stop and inhale the delicate scent, tipping my nose with yellow pollen.

Like that farmer who likes to sleep with his windows open, now that summer is officially here, you won’t hear me complaining. Instead, you’ll find me outside contemplating butterflies and ladybugs or tipping my ear to the jingle of the ice cream truck. After sunset, you’re apt to find me sitting on the porch gazing at the sky, maybe even making wishes upon shooting stars.

If you listen closely, you might even hear me sing, “Summertime, and the living is easy,” because even though I know summer is anything but easy, it’s still one of my favorite seasons.

June 17 Valley Life column

June 17 Valley Life column in AG Weekly

Go indoors when thunder roars

While Magic Valley folks were attending Live History Days in Jerome and Outlaw Days in Richfield, my husband and I headed for Featherville. We had had a hot muggy week and were looking forward to some quiet time in the mountains, even some rain since thunderstorms were forecast for the weekend.

The threat of rain didn't bother us. In fact, we were looking forward to some cooler weather. When we got to the cabin, it appeared we had missed the storms. The ground was wet, the air washed clean and the sun, shining. We had a pleasant evening and when bedtime arrived, we fell asleep with the windows open, enjoying the smell of the forest.

The next morning our neighbors were buzzing. "Did you hear the loud thunder last night? Did you see the lightning?" Someone said lightening hit a power line. Another claimed lightning hit a tree near Pine. Speculation circulated through the subdivision like a lightning caused-fire. No one knew for sure what really happened, but something was hit hard and loud, reverberating through the canyon with a big loud boom.

I didn't hear the boom, I didn't see the lightning, but all that talk about thunder and lightning reminded me that we're heading into lightning season. Maybe that's why the NOAA Lightning Safety team (comprised of government and private sector businesses like the National Weather Service), designated the last full week of June as National Lightning Safety Awareness week.

According to NOAA, there were 48 confirmed lightning deaths and 172 injuries in the United States in 2005, and those lucky enough to survive a lightning strike often suffer from a variety of debilitating symptoms, including memory loss, attention deficits, sleep disorders, numbness, dizziness, fatigue, muscle spasms, and depression. Statistics show that lightning, though pretty and exciting to watch, is something to take seriously.

Here in Idaho, the number of lighting-caused deaths is relatively low, 6 between 1995 and 2004 according to storm data. Nonetheless, we keep an eye on lightning, knowing lightning kills livestock and causes forest and brush fires.

As we approach summer, now is a good time to review the lightning safety tips listed at NOAA's website, http://www.lightningsafety.noaa.gov/index.htm

If nothing else, at least heed their warning. When thunder roars, head indoors.

June 10 Valley Life column

June 10 Valley Life column in AG Weekly

Strawberries, a sure sign of summer

Nothing says summer like strawberries fresh from the garden. Sweet and juicy, I can make breakfast of the ripe plump berries, picking and eating while I pull weeds. I look forward to eating ripe berries almost as much as I look forward to Christmas because I know it won’t be long before I’ll be harvesting other delicious fruits and vegetables fresh from my garden.

Out here at Pauly’s Folly, I grow four kinds of strawberries. The alpine and ornamental are mainly decorative, blooming freely and early from their perennials beds. The two “table” berries I grow to eat are ever bearing varieties, Fort Laramie and Quinault, producing both a spring and a fall crop. Both do well here in southern Idaho and I’ve been sampling berries for almost a week now, waiting impatiently for the rest of the patch to ripen so I can make strawberry and rhubarb cobbler.

Probably the most popular berry in the world, strawberries are rich in vitamin C, K and magnesium, providing folic acid, potassium, riboflavin, vitamin B5, vitamin B6, copper and omega-3 fatty acids. They are also low in calories, providing approximately 43 calories per cup of berries, which means I can eat as many as I like without feeling guilty.

Besides being good for you, strawberries are steeped in folklore. Seventeenth-century herbalists used strawberries to treat inflamed eyes and sunburned skin, and provincial Frenchmen regarded strawberries as an aphrodisiac. The ancient Romans believed strawberries alleviated symptoms of melancholy, fainting, inflammations, fevers, throat infections, kidney stones, halitosis, attacks of gout, and diseases of the blood, liver and spleen.

Because Henry VIII’s second wife, Anne Boleyn, had a strawberry-shaped birthmark on her neck, many claimed she was a witch. Further, legend claims if you break a double strawberry in half and share it with a member of the opposite sex, you will soon fall in love with each other.

In some parts of Bavaria, farmers tied small baskets of wild strawberries to the horns of their cattle as an offering to elves, believing the elves, who were passionately fond of strawberries, would help produce healthy calves and an abundance of milk in return.

I don’t grow strawberries to lure the elves into producing healthy calves. Nor do I grow strawberries to treat melancholy or fevers. I grow them because they taste good and remind me that summer is on its way.

June 3 Valley Life Column

June 3 Valley Life Column in AG Weekly

Cowboys and Indians abound this weekend

When I moved to Idaho in 1959, my cousin Robert thought for sure I was moving to the Wild West. "Be careful of the Indians," he urged as we waved good-bye. For years, whenever he would drop me a line or we would meet at family reunions, he would ask, "How are the Indians?"

Now, Robert didn't mean Indians like Indians on reservations. He meant Indians like Indians who fought with cowboys on TV. Born and raised in North Dakota, his concept of cowboys and Indians was influenced by the large fort standing west of Bismarck. Fort Mandan was truly one of those authentic forts where cowboys took refuge from arrow-slinging Indians, and we had enjoyed several outings there before I moved away.

Since Robert and I are of the generation of Hopalong Cassidy, Roy Rogers and the Lone Ranger, we played with plastic cowboys and Indians the way children today play with Mario on their computers. So it makes sense that Robert would worry about Indians. Further, Sacagawea, the Shoshone Indian girl who had been kidnapped by a war party of Hidatsa Indians and taken to the Hidatsa-Mandan villages in North Dakota, was a North Dakota hero. While Robert learned how Sacagawea helped guide Lewis and Clark to the Pacific Ocean, I studied about the Oregon Trail, pioneer immigration and gold mines.

Over the years, Robert has been to Idaho, but he's never been here during Western Days. It's too late to invite him this year, but maybe I'll invite him next year. Maybe then he can see some of those Indians he keeps asking me about.