HEADING NORTH... TO ALASKA?

 B.E. says: "These big icicles we
   got out front on the eaves could
   slice somebody in two...if they
    fell..." ))
-------------

Oh yes, it is true. me and B.E. have

thought of getting ourselves a little

place--you know, one of those warm,

cozy wonderful log cabins--you've

seen 'em, with all the interesting 

stuff (coats and caps and traps) hanging

on nails all over the walls---up thar in

Alaska...where...as Robert Service so

aptly put it:

     

      "There are strange things done

             in the midnight sun

         by the men who moil for gold."

We'd like to check out some new 

"strange things" I reckon. We've had

a bellyful of those being done in our

own D.C. Tell me, you mean there are

more somewhere?  And stranger?

A few "new" strange things might

spice up our retirement days.

We've thought of Coldfoot, Barrow,

Soldotna, Unalakleet--- even Kodiak.

Homer or Nome seem to be...fine

places. And can you beat Skilak Lake?!

Kodiak is a bit wild and Unalakleet has

bad mosquitos in the summer they say,

and you need to speak Esquimaux there.

Part of its appeal I suppose is the way

it rolls off your tongue when you say it

Una la kleet !!!!!Try it.

We've heard tell that The Farthest North

Pizza Co. delivers pizzas right to ice

floes during whale hunting season, to

the guys with harpoons, there at Barrow.

It'd be nice to get one's self some sled

dogs and enter the Iditarod but you 

know, in my eighties I git stove-up a

bit in my joints...and maybe cutting 

down trees and hauling in wood for

the woodstove at our new cabin 

would be enough adventure. (Other-

wise, they say..."no wood and you 

freeze to death.")

And I being nowadays (no long-handles)

somewhat cold natured, there'd

hafta be a lot of quilts for me on that 

sled for the dogs to drag "all over 

creation," as my dear mama was 

fond of saying.

But have you ever looked at those 

marvelous mountains in that Grand

Country up there---a miracle place

if there ever was one. Have you read

 any books about it?

Have you watched old Marty the Trapper,

Heimo, and Bob who lived up there

43 years; have you seen the industrious 

homesteaders--the Kilchers, or read

Bonnie Rose Ward's marvelous "Skilak"

books? Or watched "The Yukon Men," 

on TV?

Seward really deserves a place on 

Rushmore, when you think about it.

He saw a bargain and took it. And 

got criticized.

Anyway, here's something to think 

about. It "turned off cold here," (as

they used to say in W. Texas around

hog killing time in December) and it

blew 50 mph and snowed 6 inches

and the temp stayed under freezing 

for ten days and went to eight degrees 

once't, early of a morning...

...and big icicles came, even on my

writing bush outside my writing window,

being fed every day by a slow thaw 

dripping offen the roof---and the 

driveway was slick and the mail

box hard to get to without sliding down

on the ice...and the city...

...put out word "People have gotta clean

ice off their front sidewalks or they will

be persecuted, after 15 days," and this 

kind of stuff...so me and BE got to talking

and using some reason, an' we decided---

We have a friend down in S. Texas (and

what better state is there in the world,

if the Cals. moving in there don't ruin it)

and he lives on a place like Glocca

Mora, Beulah Land, eternal spring--

veggies all the time, and peaches

to be plucked year-round...jumping

catfish and crappies in his pond, and

you can't walk without stepping on

pecans---even little toddlers in diapers

git out for early morning walks...

What a Grand Place that must be! 

I sez to B.E. as she poured us more 

coffee. "Wal, ya know Honey, maybe

at our ages. and all, we should just head 

South...instead of North."

And we looked fondly at each other,

and each took a sip. Thinking...

-------

COLD MIL

6 JANUARY 19

( "persecuted..." sic)

AULD LANG SYNE....IN THE ATTIC

CHS '51...Memories of a great class...

It is New Year's Day 2019 and I sit

here, in my warm cozy attic with

another year dawning, and hear

the fifty mph wind whipping around

the corner of our upstairs room---

moaning a bit thru the barely-

cracked-open-window...for  fresh air.

Not to worry, the small woodstove,

holding two 18" cedar logs, and

just poppin' away, is merrily doing

its job and keeping the attic warm!

I like to get away from it all and come

up here and reminisce, or read, or maybe

doze a bit under some quilts. It might

look like a man cave to some...on

viewing the fishing rods, in the corner

...and the old beat-up pair of

hip boots-patched and all- hanging

there on a nail...and the fishing cap

loaded with tangled-up fishing flies

galore.

I myself tied that Rio Grande King,

hanging on the cap's bill.

There's a much-used USMC Ka-Bar,

WWII vintage, stuck in the end of the

rough pine (unfinished) bookshelf

containing many of my favorite

books from life.

To any folks out there who just 

might happen to venture up here

accidentally, that big 3' X 4 ' photo

hanging on the wall over the 3/4

army surplus bed is the famous shot

of U.S. Marines raising the flag over

Mt. Surabachi.  It is my favorite photo.

The atmosphere and the reverence this

place holds for me is almost

indescribable. It would take many

paragraphs to describe the historical

items, everywhere you look. You would

have a lump in your throat, like me.

There's Dad's ancient grubbing hoe

in a corner...the one that planted Victory

Gardens in our backyard during WWII.

And we dug catfish-fishing worms with

it (to use fishing on the Pecos River near

Ft. Summer) in the forties.

Up  on top of the bookcase, barely

visible, is Dad's prized bamboo fly-fishing

rod, bought at Monkey Wards in Clovis

right after the war. You can't afford 'em

nowadays...bamboo.

High school and college annuals lie

around almost everywhere. Probably

from some previous stormy-day-muse.

Grandmother's old cane bottom chair,

likely from the twenties, sits there by

the bed---still stacked high with her

colorful quilts, made a century ago,
 at some gossipy quilting party.

The chair looks today just like it looked

for decades---a storage place for her

"company" quilts, there in the back

room of the garage, where the boys

slept before they left for WWII, and

Italy and New Guinea. I inherited that

chair...and the  quilts.

Today will be a grand day up here,

with no radios or TV going to upset

my psyche!

I checked my larder shelf and picked

out a can of healthful food... the very

best: Van Camp Beanie Weenies;

then located a jar of pimento olives,

a can of potato chips, and a half-

roll of Ritz Crackers. Did I say: onion?

I grabbed the last Delaware Punch

(specially-ordered in from Old

Mexico), and the price, uh, well

can't reveal that; BE might read this.

Settled down with the CHS '51

annual and sat at the garage sale

writing table, and ate and perused

old times...and old friends...as seemed

fittin' on this special day beginning

the new year.

And there in my purple-and-white

CHS Annual, dated 1951, were scenes

from Main Street...with kids "dragging

Main." It set me to thinking of places

which date back seven decades!

State Theater, Lyceum, Barry Hardware,

Woolworth, Standridge Drug, Silver

Grill, Coney Island, Duckworth Drug,

Montgomery Ward, Sunshine Theater,

Fox Drug, and Gateway Auto.

Then came the photos in the CHS

Yearbook of the 128 seniors that

graduated that day in May of 1951.

We had begun our journey together

 in September of 1939…half of us at

Eugene Field and half at La Casita

schools….all the kids were six years

old except for several young ones. 

As I quietly leafed through that historic

annual, I remembered all these class-

mates…some I knew better than others.

Not knowing for sure which ones were

deceased and which ones still living, I

began a list of my CHS ’51 peers.

Jerry Roberts, Engle Southard, Joyce

Green, Betty Hillhouse, Rita Delaney, 

John Thorn Marshall, Gene Walker, 

Phyllis Lee, Wanda King, Art Snipes,

Don Todd, Jack Murphy, John Sieren,

Sue Taylor, Sue Barnett, Bill Hale, R.G.

Snipes, Bruce Davis, Zeno Crosswhite,

Frank Blackburn, Jimmy Whatley, Jack

Winton, Donald Mardis, Geraldine Ed-

wards, Shade Goar…and the list went on

and on.

A few had dropped in on us along the

way...Albin from Mertzon, on Pearl

Harbor Day; Fawnette from Belen,

and June from...somewhere.

As I looked through the photos of

the 128 kids that graduated that fine

spring day, May 17, 1951, I thought

of Don Todd's great description of our

growing up time--"those matchless days,"

and what Jimmy Blair wrote to me one

Christmas in the nineties: "Every one of

them was dear to my heart..."

And there was my dear friend Robert

Stebbins, who had written a note in

green ink on the BDC page: "To a

swell guy. Robert."

Everything, in a way, WAS "swell" then.

But, there's more...there's another name,

and one of the best guys of all...I came

to Levi, and I thought of the thousand

things we had done, and...I just couldn't

go on, I lost it for a long time...and in a

way, I was weeping for them all...who

had already left us...and gone on...

After a time, with the wind still whipping

and the old mulberry limb whomping the

brick wall outside, I began to sing quietly

to myself, in fond memory, a song taught

to us by--who else--Mr. Barton...

     "There is nothing like a dame.

         Nothing in this world...

       There is nothing you can name

         That is anything like a dame."

A strange thing to sing, you say. Well

I can understand--you weren't there...

I left my attic hide-a-way, singing softly...

    "Other schools have different colors,

      and different emblems too;

     But Clovis' sons and daughters

    Have the white and purple true.

    These are our colors royal

       and may we ne'er forget

     That while they robe the Monarch

        They deck the violet."

              ....School song...Harry Barton

-----------

MIL

4 January 2019

(From the attic...)

SWEET CORNBREAD ON THE LAST DAY OF 2018

(spitting snow again....four inches left from yesterday.....
and freezing outside...this last day of the year....)

There are all kinds of corn bread recipes

in "this old world," as my dear mother

used to refer to it. Most of them are

carried in the heads of our marvelous

women, and have been used over and

over.

Corn bread, for our story might be boiled

down to two main kinds-- good old crusty,

heavy duty--(lots of corn meal),  brown-

and-crispy-for eatin' pinto-beans-with

onion-chunks-Southern Corn Bread

Did I say: good also for "crumble-in,"

with buttermilk. Evenings, sitting in

your cane bottom rocker.

Corn bread number two is very popular

and with respect, some women think it

is the only kind. It's all they know how 

to make. And it is really good,  if  you

can't make corn bread number one.

Now then, somehow in our glorious 

marriage, early on (we both were working),

I helped out on the cooking with soups,

chili con carne, pots of red beans, and--

corn bread. I mean my mother had taught

me...and the "how" was memorized!

I learned the heavy duty Southern Farm

Cornbread...style. 

But one day, while reading a cooking

magazine I saw this recipe for a "sweet"

cornbread. It called for more flour, less

cornmeal, buttermilk and soda, and 

heavens! Lots of sugar, and berries.

I just up and tried it. It was delicious! Now

and then I made  it, on the rare occasions

when we had buttermilk. But somehow

my own trusty red-private-hand-written 

cookbook disappeared and we quit having

it. (Why did it disappear?)

Cut to today...overcast, cold, gloomy,

and pondering all the events of 2018,

both good and bad...well this dear 

friend of ours just dropped by....with 

some hot, tasty, marvelous lentil

soup with Italian sausage...and it

was to die for.

BE and I just looked at each other...

and as a thousand times before...I

said "Are you thinking what I'm 

thinking?" "Cornbread!" she exclaimed.

I said: "Let's make it with the Southern

recipe, and I will adjust it mentally for 

'sweet semi-dessert muffin' status."

"O you can't just change recipes to suit

yourself. Women cooks know that. Men

don't."

"Just watch me," I said. And she helped

and I rattled it off to her, and she found

the stuff and suggested adding some

butter, to go with the oil. We did, 1/8th.

Then I was was firm on getting it brown...

and she favored a cake pan and I held

out for muffins.

Here is the adapted recipe of MIL'S

Own Sweet Southern Cornbread...: 

1 cup cornmeal

1 cup flour

1/2 cup of sugar

1/2 tsp salt

4 tsp baking powder

2 eggs

1 cup of milk, or teensy bit more

1/2 cup of Canola oil

     or less if butter used

Spray the muffin pan with Pam.

Bake 26-32 minutes @ 400 degrees.

Caution, just when you think it's done,

cook another 6-8 minutes. Nothing like

crispy muffins.

We added a handful of craisins and 

blueberries in my experiment. Needs

 more.

The other recipe with buttermilk is a

little smoother texture. But oh, was

this just he thing on this cold day! We

will do it again.

(Men have learned over time, when they 

see brownies or some grand food baking--

they automatically ask "Who's sick?" And

I've always said that women's baking

genes are intertwined with their 

philanthropic urges to be kind and helpful.)

Today, a weird thing occurred to me as 

I leaned on the cabinet, literally inhaling

the aroma of that corn bread. I suddenly

began thinking: "Who's sick or downcast

that I could take a muffin to, and brighten

their New Year?" Happy New Year to you!

-------

MIL

31 December 2018

(My dear dad would have been 

  109 today. He loved cornbread,

     being a farm boy.)

I dedicate this little story to him,

    with love.

'