THE PIZZA BAKING SHEET

When I lived in Eugene from 1991 to 2000 I had a round aluminum pizza baking sheet.    I believe it was past down from the years of my first marriage.   Over the years it became dented and beat up from much use, even turning black.   Most the pizzas baked on it were home made using BOBOLI Pizza Crust.  Toppings consisted of using left over veggies or whatever else looked good from depths of the refrigerator.   Luckily I don't remember anybody ever getting sick from the toppings that may have been used a little beyond their expiration dates.  Every time the baked pizza was cut using a round pizza cutter more dents appeared in the baking sheet.    My daughter had a friend that occasionally ate dinner with us including a few pizzas.   On one occasion the friend asked, "is that a hub cap you bake those pizzas on?"  

BROWN AND SERVE ROLLS

Remember brown and serve rolls?   I believe they are still available in the stores.  Originally they may have been produced by Wonder Bread back in the 1950's, just guessing on that.   I'm sure some of you remember Wonder Bread, the good old white bread with our bologna sandwiches.

My mother always had these rolls available for Sunday night dinners or during the holidays.    After she spent a good part of an afternoon preparing a big meal for whatever the occasion was she would place the rolls on a baking sheet and in the oven they went after she had  put the food on the table and trying to round up us six kids.   My dad usually had a big chunk of  beef of some sort on the barbecue and would bring it in the house as we all sat down to eat.   Soon we could smell those brown and serve rolls burning in the oven as mom ran into the kitchen to salvage what she could.    The tops of the rolls were black and mom would make the best out of what was not burnt.   This happened on a few occasions and became known as the Black and Serve Rolls.  

A THANKFUL OLD MAN

This is a short version of a story I read and can relate to.  It happened during the Great Depression when money and food were scarce.   I don't know who the author is.

The old man and his dog sat by the fire in his cabin on a cold Thanksgiving night.   His wife had passed away recently and loneliness now filled most of his life.    He had lost his faith and did not give much thought to a Thanksgiving dinner.   He thought about baking some sweet potatoes with biscuits for dinner as he had some stored in his root cellar along with some onions and carrots.    There was a knock on his door.  It was the two neighbor boys asking to come in and get warm by the fire.   They told the old man he was invited over to their house for dinner if he could bring some of his sweet potatoes as they had very little food, except some chickens and greens.   He had the boys fill a bucket with the potatoes and they took off for home telling the old man he did not need to dress up as none of them would be.    The old man did put on a clean shirt on with his overalls, put a jacket and hat on before walking through the woods for about a mile to the neighbor's cabin.   When he entered the cabin there was the pleasant smell of food cooking.  During the dinner there was pleasant conversation and the boy's father reminded the old man they had not forgot how he helped them move some firewood a few months earlier.   The father also told the old man he was welcome to have some of their hen chickens as they could not afford to feed all of them.   The old man started home with a large gunny sack containing the hens as he made his way through the woods.   He got to thinking how he could sell some of the eggs in town for cash.   While walking on this clear cold night he looked up to see a full moon and became thankful for what he had as he started regaining some of his faith.  

BEING THANKFUL AT COSTCO

It was the day before Thanksgiving as I made my way through Costco in hopes of purchasing a pumpkin pie.  As I made my way through the crowd I could feel the holiday cheer with all the people trying to get through the aisles in hopes of filling their carts.   As I approached the pie coolers it was standing room only as a baker had a cart with trays of pies as he was trying to unload them into the cooler.  We all grabbed one making a dash for the checkout counters where the lines went back through the store aisles.  The person ahead of me must have had 500 items in his cart as I waited to pay for the pie.   Once outside I was thankful for surviving the ordeal and having the pie at a cost of $5.99, probably should have got two of them, but did not want to be greedy.  

Happy Thanksgiving! 

GRANDSON SAM AND HIS HALLOWEEN CANDY

 After collecting his Halloween candy from hitting the streets of his neighborhood, Sam became sick for a few days and did not have a desire to eat any of it, so his parents set it aside.    While Sam was recovering his parent sampled a few pieces of his candy thinking he would not notice what was missing when he felt better.   When Sam did feel better he asked for his candy and sure enough he noticed there was some missing pieces and asked where they were.  His mother had to confess.   Sam became a little upset and with a parental tone told his mother they should have asked him first before doing what they did.  Not bad for a four and a half year old-right?  

MY MORNING WALK

 After having my morning coffee and peanut butter on a English muffin I venture outside for my morning walk.   Five times around the driveway is about a mile or for a change in scenery I walk the road about my place.  Whenever the rain prevents walking outside, I will get on the thread mill and go a mile at 3 mph for a little over 20 minutes.   On real nice days I have gone around Fords Pond or walked down to Bachelor Creek at Mildred Kanipe Park. Walking is vital now to my sanity, health and gives me time to ponder life during this uncertain time.    

  

CRICKETS AND THE WIND

August can be a real bummer of a month with hot dry weather, yellow jackets buzzing throughout the day and the threat of wildfires.   My biggest outdoor chore is watering plants and some have given up and died not so much for a lack of water, but just too hot.   Eating a hot dinner does not even appeal at the end of a hot day.  Sometimes a bowl of cereal is all that taste good.   After the sun has gone down and the cool evening air brings life back to my old body, I go outside and sit watching the wind blow through the trees with the sound of crickets bringing me comfort before retiring for the night.  

CELIA AT THE CABIN

 This picture was taken on 2/5/2011 at the cabin where Celia did many of her paintings.   She was taking a break and enjoying her favorite can of beans.  My kind of woman!

THE RESTAURANTS OF EUGENE

When I lived in Eugene from 1991 to 2000 on East 26th Avenue, just a block off south Willamette Street, I could smell the different foods being cooked in a variety of restaurants up and down Willamette Street.   Depending on which way the wind was blowing  I could smell the grease from McDonalds a few blocks to the south or the smell of pastries from the bakery to the north.   It was very tempting in the evenings to just let my nose lead me down the street to whatever appealed the most.   There was everything from fast foods, pizzas, Italian, Mexican, Thai and the Glenwood restaurant serving American dishes, especially a good place for breakfast.   The Italian place was within a block and every Tuesday night it was all you could eat spaghetti night for the price of the first plate.    One of my favorites was a Korean place in the corner of the Payless Drug Store, which is gone now and replaced with a Market of Choice.   It was operated by a Korean family serving very authentic dishes and spicy.   Sometime after meeting Celia in November of 1997 we went to the Korean restaurant along with my son.   Celia decided to put some hot sauce on her dish and started violently coughing.   We had to pour water down her to quench the cough.   In the years that followed I think we ate at almost every restaurant in Eugene.  One of our favorites was the 19th Street Grill, which was close to where she worked at the Olum Child Development Center on the U of O campus.  It is now a McMenamins restaurant and on a few of our trips back to Eugene over the 20 years of our marriage we would stop at what we still called the 19th Street Grill and reminisce about our early days.  .   

         

PEPPERS & TOMATOES

Picked a variety of peppers and tomatoes from the UCC garden plots that Kasey and Janice started.  Spent a good part of this afternoon making salsa, including onion, parsley, squash, kale, garlic, some lime juice in addition to the many peppers and tomatoes.   Could be a wild night.  

YOSEMITE

This story is condensed and revised from a 6 page story I wrote  in 1995 that had some humor in it that only the family would understand.  

 In September of 1995 two of my sisters and I, along with my son and daughter went on a backpacking trip from Tuolumne Meadows down to Yosemite Valley.   This was about a 28 mile hike.  We were over packed with enough food for a month, not well organized and behind schedule.   By 3 pm we approached the wilderness permit booth at Tuolumne Meadows and  noticed a sign saying, "all trails full for the day".  The ranger on duty took pity on us noticing how unprepared and overloaded we looked.   We were given a permit with the stipulation to be at least four miles from Tuolumne Meadows before setting up camp for the night.  In short, they wanted this motley looking bunch out of sight of the general public ASAP.   We found a place to camp before dark, ate our dinner and hung our six food bags, estimated at 75 pounds in a nearby tree in order to keep the bears away.   The next morning we were up with the sun, taking our time preparing breakfast, drinking much coffee and getting an early start by 11 am.   The plan for the day was to push ourselves another five miles to Emeric Lake.   After hiking up hill over Tuolumne Pass, it was all downhill in the Merced River drainage on trails carved out of the granite.   At our camp near Emeric Lake we dug through our 75 pounds of food, ate dinner, hung the bags up and retired for the night.   During the night some of us were awaken by the howling of coyotes.  The next morning was another early start, maybe 10:30 am. after another big breakfast and much coffee.  Our destination for this day was another 5 miles to Merced Lake.   The elevation drop on this day was 2200 feet, mostly in the last two miles.   We arrived at Merced Lake exhausted.   We were required to stay in a designated camp site and we were one of the last groups into the camp leaving us little choice of picking a secluded site.    Some of our neighbors were interesting to watch and I'm sure we were entertaining to them.  There was a man traveling by himself and had the perfect camp with all his equipment laid out just right compared to our camp with everything scattered all over the place.   After eating  dinner we were too tired to wash dishes, so we placed them in metal bear box provided near our camp along with our food bags.  During the night we were aroused by a bear banging on the metal box, probably our box with the dirty dishes.   The next morning some of our neighbors did not look upon us favorably.   Our hike for this day was short with about a 800 foot drop in elevation.   By 2 pm we asked a passing ranger where the nearest camp site might be.  He pointed to to a clump of trees across the river, which was easy to access by walking across the river on a rock out cropping.   This was the best camp site of the trip with a place to swim and good seclusion.    The next day we had a pleasant hike on mostly level trail into Little Yosemite Valley, which is 5 miles by trail from the main valley.   Here there were many people since it was a fairly easy hike up from the big Yosemite Valley, where the lodge, parking lots, and other park tourist facilities are located.   Here again camping was restricted to designated camp sites with bear boxes.   No camp fires were permitted, except at two community sites.  As night settled in, so did the multitudes of people.   The posted rule in this camp was no noise after 10 pm.   We no sooner settled in our tents and sleep started to take hold when people started banging on their pots and pans yelling BEARS!   I looked out of my tent to see flash lights moving through the trees within the camp.   This went on for most the night and I even saw a cub bear run through our camp site.   It was total madness and there were very few early risers in camp the next morning.    After getting our stuff packed up we made the final descent in to the big valley to my sister's car in a parking lot.   We drove back up to Tuolumne Meadows to retrieve my car.   I think we still had 20 pounds of food we never consumed.

It was a trip we would never forget.  

Wandering Aimlessly

 You ever have the desire to take off with no final destination in mind?    Sometime in the late 1980's when my marriage was on the rocks and feeling depressed with a sense of loss I took off with my backpacking gear and some trail food in the car.    My general destination was the eastside of the Mt. Jefferson Wilderness thinking it was a good place to get away from civilization.   I left Eugene on a Friday evening after work and drove over Santiam Pass then turned north on a forest road leading to the Cabot Lake Trial head on the eastern edge of the Mt. Jefferson Wilderness Area.    It was about a 3 hour drive from Eugene.  It was the early Fall and no rain was in the forecast, so it was a good time to get away from it all before the wet weather set in.    There were only 3 or 4 cars parked at the trail head parking lot.   I loaded up my back and took off with no destination in mind.   It got dark on me about an hour into the hike, so I just got out my sleeping bag and slept on the trail.   Early the next morning I made my way to Cabot Lake and noticed some people on the other side of the lake.    After the lake I made my way toward Mt. Jefferson and ended up on a rim overlooking the Warm Springs Indian Reservation above the tree line.   It was a desolate area where a man could wander and never be found again.   That night I don't remember where I camped, could have been back by the lake on my return hike back to the parking lot, just don't remember.  Don't even remember my drive back to Eugene or wherever I was living at the time, maybe Cottage Grove.   Emotionally I may have never left the wilderness.  

Sure wish I could wander off these days, but the best I can do is wander aimlessly around the grocery store once a week.  

St. Patrick's Day

 Irish beer with Irish beans--well, at least the beer bottle label is green

HAPPY ST. PATRICK'S DAY!

Pork and Bean Swill

Came up with this one after following a menu from Hello Fresh with some changes:  

Ground Pork

Can of Black Beans

Onion

Can of Green Enchilada Sauce

Rice

All the above mixed together and served on a Tortilla topped with lettuce.  

Deer Creek Meadows

 Another camping story from my childhood days.   My dad, younger brother and I, along with a friend of my dad's named Charlie, and his son drove up to Deer Creek Meadows to go fishing for a weekend.    The first stop was a grocery store in Red Bluff where my dad bought some bacon, eggs, a canned ham, beer and not sure what else or don't remember.    We arrived after dark on a Friday night at some buildings enclosed by a fence near the meadows.   It may have been a cattle camp for a summer grazing lease on the Lassen National Forest that was operated by a ranching friend of my dads'.    My dad and Charlie built a campfire, had a few beers and placed the can of ham on the fire.   Soon thereafter the can of ham exploded, since they had not partially opened it.    There were chunks of ham scattered on the ground and we all proceeded to pick up pieces and eat.   We spent the night sleeping in one of the buildings and the next morning everybody was up early to go fishing.   My brother, who may have been 5 or 6 years of age remembers waking up and everybody was gone.    He wandered around the meadow looking for us and ended up back in the camp after getting lost.    The rest of us returned to camp for a breakfast of bacon and eggs served in a more civilized manner.  

Twenty Years ago...

Today Celia and I celebrate 20 years of marriage. It all started November 1, 1997 when my dog Jack and I were hiking Buford Park outside of Eugene. I noticed a trail party work crew sign pointing to a side trail that I usually never took. Out of curiosity I turned onto that trail not knowing it would change my life. There I met Celia where she and some others were cutting invasive species, such as blackberries and scotch broom. They were members of the Friends of Buford Park & Mt. Pisgah. I made the fatal mistake of handing her my business card and telling her I was available, to work with the group that is. A couple of weeks later she called me about a work party that next weekend. I ended up joining the group where we worked as volunteers until moving to Douglas County in 2006. Celia was working for the University of Oregon Olum Child Development Center and at times I would work for University Housing doing landscape work as a contractor. Our favorite place to meet up and have lunch was the 19th Street Grill. On one of these lunch dates, I told her she was like an old shoe, meaning she was comfortable to be with. She accepted it as a compliment. Thinking back some women might have just got up and left. We were married October 7, 2000.

Beans

 Beans have always been a favorite of mine.   Easy to cook, can go well with about any other dish and fairly cheap.   Not sure at what age I became addicted to them.  Do remember my dad cooking up a big pot of white beans with ham hocks that would last us a good part of a week.    No need for receipts, make it up as you go; black beans with rice, small red beans with rice, pinto beans with rice or any kind of beans with rice.   Large red beans with pasta salad along with a can of black olives, chopped kale, squash, especially all those zucchinis from the garden that you don’t know what to do with.   

One of the great dishes I have come up with is black bean enchiladas.    Take black beans with rice and wrap up in flour tortillas, pour over with a can of green enchilada sauce, topped with grated cheese and olives.    Bake in oven for 35 minutes and enjoy morning, noon or night.   I usually bake two dishes of this to make it through a couple of days.  

Bean soup can include about anything.   Need to clean out the refrigerator?   Throw it all in a pot of bean soup, except those items that are too far gone, such as those moldy items in the far back corners that have been in there a while.   Best to put those in the compost.  Some of my soups Celia has called a pot of compost swill. 

A few months back when this pandemic hit and people were in a panic at the stores, mostly stocking up on toilet paper is when I noticed Bob’s Red Mill 13 Bean Soup Mix that the general public was passing by.   I grabbed a couple bags thinking it could be our last meal if we got caught short, as my old grandfather use to say.   Any time I go shopping now I throw a bag of it in the cart to be on the safe side.    Ways to cook a pot of this are endless.   It will cure any problems with irregularity.   Don’t forget the Tabasco Sauce for additional seasoning. 

Enjoy!

Oatmeal Pancakes/Waffles

 I'm not one for recipes, but this one has been with me for years.  

1 cup whole wheat flour

1 cup oatmeal

1 egg

Tablespoon of oil

some baking powder. 

some milk.  The amount depends on how thick you want them.  If available throw in some fruit or whatever you can find in those dark corners of your refrigerator.  

 

These will stick with you all day, no need for lunch, maybe no dinner either depending how heavy you make them.    Good to have during these hard times.  

Mike

Living on the GI Bill

 After serving two years in the Army I was entitled to two years of school under the GI Bill.   In the fall of 1968 I enrolled in a two year forestry curriculum at Lassen College in Susanville, California.  My monthly allocation was $130 to live on.    Initially all my text books and school supplies had to be purchased from this monthly amount also.   There was some savings I had that went toward these items and my 1963 Ford pickup cost me $800 from money saved up while in the Army.

My monthly rent was $50 for a small room behind a house where I had access to the landlord’s house through the back door to use a bathroom and utilize a space in their refrigerator.  This left me $80 to cover my monthly insurance premium on my 1963 Ford pickup, (don’t remember the amount) gas and grocery money.    My diet consisted of potatoes, cereal and a few can goods, don’t remember any fresh produce or meat.    I do remember the price of beer at $2.09 for a 6-pac of Hamm’s Beer and a $1.89 for a gallon of Red Mountain wine.   After making friends with some classmates we would combine resources and share a meal at their house a few blocks away once or twice a week.   Eating out was rare, but do recall eating hamburgers and French fries at the local Denney’s now and then.

After my first year I worked as a seasonal firefighter for the Forest Service on the Modoc National Forest as a GS-3 earning $2.39/hour.  There was still a food expense, but housing was free consisting of a bed, closet and wood stove in a cabin at the Hilton Spike Camp Guard Station.   Somehow I even saved some money for the upcoming school year.

During my second year of college a friend from Willows, who had served three years in the Air Force shared an apartment with me for $150/month which included a kitchen and all the furnishings.   Our monthly allotment from the GI Bill had been raised to $175/month leaving us $100/month for everything else.    Don’t remember going without anything, even had meat in our diet and no shortage of beer.

The End of the Road

 I got to digging back through some of my writings and found this one that might fit what is happening today.  It is fiction and the introduction explains how it reflects on people I have known, religion, politics and a changing world.  Some of you may have seen this before.   Attached is the Introduction and Chapter 1.  There is more if you find this enjoyable.  

This story is based on people and events that I encountered while working for the Forest Service from 1969 to 1995 in remote communities of Alaska, California and Oregon. It is a fictitious story, but comprises many experiences I witnessed with friends and others I have associated with over those years. In many ways my own story is incorporated into this. After leaving the Forest Service in 1995, I did consider being a caretaker on some remote place, until I met my second wife and my life changed for the better.

Even as a child traveling with my parents I would notice isolated places,

such as old abandoned farmhouses and wonder what the story was with

those places. Life in the big city and the maddening crowds never did appeal to me and I found solace in remote communities, but there was a certain amount of loneliness. Life has a way of bringing change and like most of us I went through the cycle with a failed marriage, job burn out and a few less than perfect moves. In general, it has been an education from the University of Life, but for some of us, who did not make the grade, or find proper counseling it ended in disaster or tragedy. The story location is eastern Oregon, made up of high desert country, scattered mountain ranges and remote communities. This area is larger than most of New England with a population of less than 2 people per square mile. What drives a person to end up here, besides the cheap price of real estate? In some ways this land represents many of the people living here. Desolate souls who don’t fit into the mainstream of society. People running away from something, maybe life itself. Many are single men who suffer from the

ills of society, divorce, mid-life crisis, war, mental disorders or depression.

Then there are the artists and writers coming into this country to find

solitude to achieve their great masterpieces. Whatever their reasons for ending up here, many of these people have come to resemble this land with weathered faces, missing teeth, some with unkempt hair and others with very little. The ranchers and loggers that originally settled this land are slowly disappearing because of environmental issues and economic hardships. Good paying jobs are few and far between, but there are seasonal jobs available, fighting wild fires or working on farms and ranches in the summer. A critical factor is the lack of medical professionals to cover this vast area, making people more dependent on each other for advice on how to cope with their physical and mental ills, and a changing world, or how to avoid it all and live in a state of denial. Most therapy sessions are held in the local tavern.

It is an unfair world and with age it becomes clear that change is inevitable and the words normal and perfect slowly fade from our vocabulary. Too much reality can drive us into insanity, so at times it becomes necessary to escape into fiction and tell about the ways life might have been. It’s a big job to come up with the details between the start and the finish, but at least we can write our own ending.

                                          The End of the Road

                                                  Chapter One

                                                       Winter

A cold wind was blowing across the desolate landscape of eastern Oregon, as a light snow began to fall.  Mark, along with his old dog Jack, retreated into the cabin with another log for the woodstove.  He had just finished feeding the horses as the sun was setting.  It was the middle of December, the days were short and the temperature ranged between a low of zero to a high of 30 degrees.  He turned on the propane stove to heat up some coffee and relax before cooking some kind of dinner.  After feeding Jack, Mark sat in his favorite chair with a cup of coffee, and listened to the radio.  He concluded tomorrow would be a good day to go to town for supplies as there was not much in the refrigerator, except some leftover beans, a half loaf of bread, peanut butter, a few beers and some old wilted lettuce.  The cupboards did not have much either, a couple cans of beans, a can of soup, a box of oatmeal, some spices, and dog food.  

Mark was a caretaker on a remote 3,200 acre high elevation ranch used as summer pasture for cattle, but some horses remained here during the winter.  The topography of the ranch was made up of open meadows feeding into seasonal creeks.  There were patches of fir and pine trees scattered between the meadows with an understory of sage and rabbit brush.  His principle duties included feeding ten horses twice a day during the winter months, making sure the water system worked, and maintaining some outbuildings and equipment.  In addition he was required to keep bad critters and bad people, especially trespassers, away.  The three mile road leading off the ranch to the county road had a gate on it, but had a history of having the lock cut off and people venturing onto the place to do as they pleased.  He was compensated with free housing, a one ton four wheel drive pickup truck with a diesel fuel tank in the bed, and $500 per month.  The four room cabin that he called home was located on the upper ranch facilities consisting of two barns, an equipment shed, a wood shed, corrals and a large water tank with a wind-mill.  The only electric power source was a diesel generator.  The ranch manager and his foreman lived on the lower ranch complex in the valley, where the cattle were kept during the winter and the alfalfa fields were located.  During the spring and summer he could earn an additional $10 dollars an hour maintaining and operating equipment.  This usually involved working in the alfalfa fields, doing road maintenance or working in the shop.  He also acted as a fire guard during times of high fire danger in the summer and was responsible for maintaining and operating a 600 gallon fire pumper at the high elevation ranch.  

The next morning Mark was up early to feed the horses, break the ice in the water trough and make sure the windmill was operating properly.  By 8 am he and Jack were in the truck and headed into town.  There were some patches of snow and ice on the roads, so the going was slow.  His first stop before going into town would be at the ranch headquarters to fill the fuel tank on the truck, pick up some feed grain for the horses and check in with Sam, the ranch manager.

Usually once a week Mark would drive the 10 miles into the small town

of Mountain Valley, population 150. It consisted of a combination grocery and hardware store, a gas station, post office, small library, elementary school, a church and a tavern that also served as a restaurant with a limited menu of sandwiches, burgers and the soup of the day, which in most cases was the same as yesterday’s.  The volunteer fire department had one fire truck kept in an old garage next to the tavern.  Monthly meetings involved starting the truck, testing the pump and afterwards adjourning to the tavern.  The fire chief was a retired logger named George, who was also the pastor for the local church.  He had received his endorsement in ministry from a correspondence course recommended to him years ago by Jim and Jean, owners of the tavern, shortly after the previous pastor skipped town taking church funds and George’s wife.  Some aging logging equipment stood among the tall weeds next to George’s house, mute testament to his thinking that some day he would return to the woods as a contract logger as he had done 15 years earlier. But now he got only a few log hauling jobs during the year with his old log truck.    

Most residents here were older retired people, some societal misfits and a few people that actually worked.  Almost everybody drove an old pickup truck with a dog or two in the back, along with few empty beer cans.  Most of the houses in town were heated by wood and the yards had firewood stacked or piled in them along with a few vehicles, including some that no longer functioned.  In addition, there were a couple of travel trailers parked on the sides of some houses, serving as a spare bedroom or home for relatives, such as the mother-in-law.  The only law enforcement would be an occasional visit by a deputy sheriff whenever there was a disagreement at the tavern or when somebody drove off the road or died for whatever reason.  It was a very conservative and anti-government community even through most people here received some form of government assistance, such as social security, VA benefits, federal pension, or some kind of public welfare.  The only person that voiced a liberal viewpoint out loud was the librarian, a middle aged single woman named Gail, who worked two days a week when the community library was opened.  Sometimes she would socialize at the tavern after work and argue with some of the good old boys about politics, telling them how narrow minded they were about their views on social and environmental issues.  She would remind many of them that their education never went much beyond high school and their travels did not go much further than the county line.  In general a good time was had by all and to show no ill feelings toward her they would offer her a beer.  

When in town Mark always made a point of having a late lunch and a beer or two after doing his weekly shopping and picking up his mail at the post office.  At the tavern he usually ran into his circle of friends, all about his age.  There was Bob, a retired Forest Service employee, who wanted to do nothing more then hunt, fish, drink beer and talk about how bad his ex-wife had been.  Then there was Randy, a disabled Vietnam vet with emotional problems, who was still fighting the war.  Sometimes a recluse by the name of Harold showed up, who never said much and lived alone on some remote property where he had a mining claim.  He was a grizzly looking big fellow with long hair and a beard.  There was a younger guy by the name of Ted, who did a little of everything from cutting timber, seasonal farm work and fire fighting.  He was probably one of the most sensible people in town.  His wife was one of the teachers at the local school.  The owners of the J & J Tavern & Restaurant, Jim and Jean, were an older couple. Jean did most of the cooking while Jim waited on tables, served the beer and tried to maintain the peace between customers .  When Jim could not keep peace in the place, Jean would come out from the kitchen threatening bodily harm with a frying pan.  In most cases it worked.

Mark usually timed his trip to town on one of the two days a week the library was open. He enjoyed reading, and usually chose a stack of books to take home to fill the long winter nights. Talking to the librarian was a side benefit. Gail seemed to listen to him and would respond in an intelligent manner, which was a lot more than the guys at the tavern did.  She lived in John Day and commuted on the days the library was open, bringing a new supply of books from the main county library where she worked three days a week.  

It was mid-afternoon when Mark left the tavern and started the trip back home with Jack in the passenger seat, a box of groceries on the floor and some horse feed in the pickup bed.  It was snowing as Mark drove out of town and up the county road toward the ranch.  He arrived at the cabin as the snow was coming down harder. By the time he unloaded the truck, started a fire, put the groceries away and fed Jack, he couldn’t see 10 feet beyond the front door. There is always a lonely feeling coming home to an empty cold house, especially in a remote place like this.  He put his hat and heavy jacket on to go out and feed the horses and start the generator before it turned dark.  While walking back to the horse barn he noticed the windmill was turning, but the pump was not working.  He thought to himself that the gear on the shaft must have become loose again and figured he would work on it tomorrow if the snow let up.

Mark found contentment in his secluded environment, especially in the winter when he had time to read and perform the simple tasks of  life.  There was no TV reception here, but Mark could tune into a few radio channels in order to learn what the outside world was doing.  A cell phone was his only way to communicate with the people in his world whenever he could get good reception, which usually involved going up the hill behind the cabin.   

Mark had a history of a failed marriage, a home in Portland and a demanding job as a heavy equipment mechanic with a construction firm that did highway jobs all around the Pacific Northwest. It involved much traveling, living out of motels and eating restaurant food.  The long hours and traveling got the best of him and at the age of 55 he called it quits. He wanted to be in a more rural setting, living in a small community like one which he had enjoyed seeing during his off times on the job. It reminded him of his younger days before his marriage, when he worked seasonally as a fire fighter for the Forest Service in the Wallowa Mountains of northeastern Oregon.  It was a carefree life style that lasted for three summers, while he attended college and did odd jobs during the winter months.  He met his wife while going to college studying industrial equipment technology. This care- free life came to an end as they settled down in the suburbs of Portland, where his wife was a special education teacher. Eventually her love of the city and his of the country led to a parting of the ways.

 When Mark and his wife decided to divorce, they sold the Portland house, paid off the remaining mortgage and a few other outstanding bills, which left him only an old car and about $2500.   He found the caretaking job in the classified ads and was hired based on his mechanical skills.  He loaded up his belongings and Jack the dog in the car and headed for eastern Oregon, in hopes of never returning to Portland or the rat race again.  

Now he was about to turn 60 with no health care insurance, no pension and a broken down car, the same one that got him here five years ago.  Mark avoided any thoughts of his future and lived for the here and now.   He could look forward to social security at 62 and Medicare at 65, but figured he would stay put as a caretaker. Besides, he had no other place to go.   

By February, the winter dragged on, with the same old routine.  The daily chores of feeding the horses, keeping the water system from freezing up, and moving firewood from the shed to the cabin began to get wearisome. The weekly trips to town were the only break in the monotony.  When the snow got deeper than a foot he found a little excitement when he would have to start up the old Cat bulldozer and plow snow from the road.  Then there were a few really cold days when it was a full-time job just to keep the cabin warm in order to keep body and soul together.  One night in late February, there was a commotion in the horse barn.  It woke Mark and Jack started barking.  Mark suspected a cougar, so he grabbed his 12 gauge shotgun and a flashlight.  He and Jack headed out into the freezing night, but saw nothing.  He fired off a couple of shells to scare off whatever might be out there.  The horses were all accounted for, so he returned to the cabin, put another log in the stove and went back to bed.  Sure enough the next morning he spotted cougar tracks in the snow around the barn while feeding the horses. 

  

His cell phone rang just as he finished his morning chores. It was Harold, asking for help getting his truck unstuck. He had driven off the Forest Service road leading to his mining claim.  Mark had never been to Harold’s place, but had a rough idea where it was located and kind of looked forward to seeing it.  He told Harold he could be there within the hour.  Mark loaded up a tow chain and he and Jack headed out.  It took them about 30 minutes to reach the road Harold was on and Mark noticed a set of tracks going up-hill on the road.  The snow was about eight to ten inches deep and Mark had to put the truck into four wheel drive to get up the road.  In another ten minutes he saw Harold’s truck off the side of the road stuck in the ditch.  Mark was able to hook the chain to the front of his truck and pull Harold’s vehicle back onto the road.  Since Mark’s truck was much bigger than Harold’s, they decided to let Mark lead the way another mile up to where the claim was.  There was a gate on the road leading a quarter of a mile down to the claim next to a creek.  A sign on the gate said, “Trespassers will be shot and if they survive they will be shot again.”  Harold’s camp was not much, just an old trailer with a blue tarp on it and a sickly green cast from the mildew clinging to the sides.  There was a crude shed next to it with propane tanks, firewood and few other items that looked mostly like junk.  A  broken-down dump truck with jack stands holding up the rear axle was parked nearby with garbage piled in the back. Mark could see why there was no woman in Harold’s life.  Harold invited Mark into the trailer for some coffee, but Mark excused himself, saying he had to get back to the ranch. After seeing the outside of the place he really had no desire to see the inside.  Back at the ranch Mark concluded his old cabin looked fairly good, after all.

A week had past and Mark was down to his last tank of propane, which was used for the stove, hot water heater and refrigerator.  A trip to the big city of John Day was in order to fill the tanks, do some serious shopping at the Safeway where the produce was a little fresher than at the local general store. Maybe it was time to visit Gail. It was a 50 mile drive and took about an hour with good road conditions.  Since the weather forecast was showing no major storms Mark decided to make the trip tomorrow, which was Friday, knowing Gail would be working in the John Day library.  The next day Mark had the empty tanks strapped down in the bed of the truck and he and Jack were on their way.  By 10 o’clock they arrived in John Day, got the tanks filled and did the grocery shopping.  Mark went into the library a little before noon thinking he might ask Gail out for lunch, but she was not there.  He was told by the librarian on duty that Gail had taken the day off to go to Bend for the weekend. His imagination went wild for a moment, and he wondered if there was a special man in her life. But he forced those thoughts aside, started the drive home and planned to stop at the tavern to visit whomever might be there and have a beer along with a sandwich. 

It was 3 o’clock when he got to the tavern.  There were Bob and George  discussing how the United Nations wanted to take over the country by taking away all private property rights and forcing everyone to move to the cities.  Mark tried to ignore the discussion as George turned to him asking why he never went to church.  He replied that he had a hard time dealing with organized religion (even while thinking privately that George’s church was not very organized).  About this time Jean came out from the kitchen, sternly telling George that he should spend more time preaching the word of the Bible and less time talking politics.  At this, George excused himself quickly, saying he had to go home, a run-down shingled two-story house with sagging roof and rusting array of logging equipment located just behind the tavern. He said he needed to prepare a sermon for Sunday services.

 Then Bob, now by himself at the bar, offered to buy Mark a beer and launched into a bitter re-telling of how his ex-wife had ruined his views on religion.  Bob lived in a small house on the edge of town and usually got most his exercise by walking from home to the tavern.  After having a couple of beers and a sandwich, Mark had had enough, and told Bob he needed to get back to the ranch.  Out of politeness, he asked Bob if he wanted a ride home since he passed by Bob’s house. At that very moment Randy, the Vietnam vet, entered the tavern all stressed out about how he could not get any sleep due to flash backs about some battle during the war.  Bob thanked Mark for offering him a ride home, but said he wanted to buy Randy a beer and hopefully settle his nerves.  Randy lived alone in a single wide trailer in town and survived off a limited disability from the VA and a small amount of Social Security earned for the ten years he was able to work at various jobs.  The nearest VA clinic was in Bend, a three hour ride away, and Randy never had much energy to drive that distance unless somebody would offer him a lift there, so he resorted to telling his problems to the guys in the tavern.  George was a Vietnam vet also, but never cared to talk about his experiences and always advised Randy to seek help in a spiritual way.  George said the VA was just another government agency that did very little for the vets and was wasting taxpayers’ money like most of the government programs did.  George did receive Social Security for the 25 plus years he worked in logging and for his early days of working for the Forest Service as a seasonal fire fighter.  Now George was 68, missing most of his teeth, had very little hair and had never really recovered from his wife running off with the previous pastor thirteen years earlier. For a few years after that he took anti-depressants to save himself from going off the deep end and putting a gun to his head, as happened often for many in these parts.  Finally, religion  with its ideas of forgiveness and salvation, plus the caring of the tavern owners Jim and Jean saved him, and being a pastor made him feel worth something again.  Jean and Jim had provided him with comfort, food and much beer during those hard times.  As a last resort Jean got George to see a doctor in John Day, who prescribed the anti-depressants.  That was the last time George had seen a doctor for anything. 

Back at the ranch, Mark was busy with his regular chores, plus preparing for spring by cleaning out the horse barn while letting the horses graze in the nearby meadow.  It was March, the snow was gone at the lower elevations of the ranch and the afternoons were mostly sunny.  Mark took a break this warm afternoon and went to town.  He had books to return to the library and mail to pick up at the post office.  Wilbur the postmaster saw Mark and asked if he had seen Harold lately, since his mail had not been picked up in over a month.  This alarmed Mark, so he went over to the tavern to see if anybody there had seen Harold.  Jim and Bob were at the bar and said they had not seen him in awhile either and mentioned others in the town had commented  about his absence.  Bob said he had no idea where Harold’s place was. Mark replied, “I do, Bob, why don’t you come with me and let’s see if he is there.”   It took them about an hour to come to the closed gate leading to Harold’s place.  Here they parked the truck and walked on down the narrow road hoping they would not surprise Harold and get shot at.  As they came into the clearing above his place they yelled out his name, but there was no reply.  They could see Harold’s pickup truck, but no trailer, then they realized it had burned down.  It was completely incinerated—all that was left was a pile of charred debris and ash. There was no sign of Harold. Bob and Mark knew they should not disturb the scene pending the sheriff’s investigation, so assuming the worst, all they could do was go back to town and call the authorities. They returned to the tavern and reported what they had found to the sheriff over the phone.  A few others had gathered in the tavern by now, including George, who said they should have a church service for Harold, even though he never came to church.  Bob made a comment that Harold usually just sat at the end of the bar, drank his beer and said very little to anybody, so maybe we should all have a beer, be quiet and remember Harold sitting at the end of the bar and call it a day.  All agreed and the beer was served.   

A few minutes later Gail entered the tavern and asked Jim what was going on with all the people here.  He explained about the situation with Harold, and Gail commented how sad, and now she understood why he was late with returning some books.  She noticed Mark and moved in his direction and said, “hi stranger and by the way you have some overdue books also”.   He replied how they were in the truck, but got sidetracked into going out to Harold’s place.  Then Gail said, “hey, I was told you were in the John Day library last month looking for me”.  Mark replied, “yeah, I had to get some propane then was going to ask you out to lunch but you were gone”.  She said , “ I had to go see my mother in Bend, who has been sick”.   Mark thought to himself, maybe there is no man in her life.

It was getting late and Gail said she had to get on the road and get home, but could have a bite to eat before going.  Mark said, let me buy you dinner, and they found a table near the back of the dining room, since the bar area was noisy with the crowd discussing and mourning the tragedy with Harold.  While they ate their dinner, Mark explained what him and Bob had seen at Harold’s, talked about what he had been doing on the ranch and the coming of spring.  Gail said she sure would like to see the place whenever she had a chance, but now had to get going as it was getting dark.  They said their goodbyes and Mark also started back to the ranch.   

Written by: Mike Burke

855 Wildflower Lane

Oakland, OR 97462

Email: farmhand.mike@gmail.com

Edited by: Celia Scott

Same address as above