November 2015 Calendar of Events around Idaho. Continue reading
By Ruby Tanner October 2015 1 Julia Davis Park Docent Tours: 4:00 PM, Boise 1 Moscow First Thursday: A monthly evening of the arts, Moscow 1 Boise First Thursday: 5:00 PM to 9:00 PM; stroll through the unique
In my decades of traveling through Idaho’s string of rural communities bordering the Snake River, I’ve always taken close notice of murals, because they constitute a canvas of residents’ lives. Continue reading
You can turn a lousy dinner of cottage cheese and crackers into a delectable dining experience if you crack open the portable packaging at the right time, in the right place. In this case, it was Grays Lake National Wildlife Refuge at sunset.
My colleague Jay Krajic, a videographer, reminisced with me recently about our evening shoot there. “Sitting on the edge of the marsh eating dinner was cool,” he recalled. We had used every hour of daylight to capture the natural beauty of Grays, only stopping for a few minutes to eat at the edge of a pond. All the bugs and birds serenaded us with a symphony of their own sweet sounds. Continue reading
During 2012, the huge Sheep Fire raged for several weeks in the Nez Perce National Forest near our home on Slate Creek, south of White Bird.
My husband Glenn and I were in the Black Hills of South Dakota when it started, and concerned neighbors and friends called to let us know about the threat. I asked my sewing buddy, Ruth, to go to my house if the fire got close, take out all my quilts, and pack them in the car.
As it turned out, we arrived home in time to get ready for possible evacuation. Of course, the first things we packed were important papers, pictures, and clothing, but my quilts were next on the list. In the end, we didn’t have to evacuate. Firefighters, those wonderful men and women who risk their lives for the rest of us, established a fire line a mile east of our home, and it held.
The reason I placed such a high priority on my quilts in that emergency begins with childhood memories.
“Look, Sis, here’s a piece of material from my old skirt.”
“And one from Daddy’s shirt.”
“And from the dress you used to love.”
My sister Phyllis and I sat on the double bed we shared, the kerosene lamp lit beside us, and examined the latest of Grandma Ball’s homemade quilts. Growing up in a small village in the Alaska Territory, we were always covered by a few quilts when the wind was howling, or a raging blizzard was screaming outside, and the temperatures were way below zero. I remember times when the whole family took our mattresses and bedding (including many quilts) downstairs to the living room, to be closer to the oil stove. Sometimes the radio would crackle as we tried to listen to Sergeant Preston of the Yukon and His Dog King and other radio programs but it was fun, and we laughed together as we huddled under our quilts, until it was time to sleep.
My in-laws, who settled in Slate Creek Canyon in the early Forties, were thrifty, capable people who recycled numerous items (they called it “making do”), refashioning them to last for many years in one form or another. They often made “new” quilts out of worn-out clothing, patching them as needed. Glenn’s mother Myrtle saved old clothes and made treasured Lone Star Quilts for each of her grandchildren, using pieces of Grandpa’s shirts, Grandma’s clothing, and material from the child (and his or her parents) for whom the quilt was being made. Continue reading
Wow, I’m finally at Kirkwood Historic Ranch on the Snake River, a place I have wanted to return to for years.
It’s July 25, 2014, and the drive over Pittsburg Summit was wonderful, the road in the best shape I’ve seen, because of major repairs made after a wildfire below Pittsburg Landing earlier in the year. On the jet boat ride upriver to the ranch, I reflect that my first visit was in 1959, with my best friend from Salmon River High School, Jerry Spickelmire, who was driving his jeep.
In the early 1960s, I fought fires in Hells Canyon for the U.S. Forest Service, and I remember an early August day in one of those years when thunderstorms started several fires in the canyon. My replacement hosts arrived on August 5, and when I left Kirkwood Ranch on that day, a large fire was burning across the river from Pittsburg Landing along with several others in the area. Continue reading
As the sun stole its first peek over the ruffled ridgeline into the sea of trees below, the still morning awakened in a golden haze. The ambience of the almost foggy air brought about a feeling of comfort to all of us camped out, eagerly anticipating the morning’s events.
The crowd squished closer and closer together as it began growing faster and faster, signaling launch time was near. Excitement swelled as the balloons began to yawn and stretch and breathe their fiery breaths to wake up and greet their audience. Then all at once they jumped into the sky, splashing it with a prismatic array of color and a sense of home. I heard cheers all around me as I snapped pictures like a mad woman, trying to capture the essence of the moment, the spirit of Boise.
Living here my whole life, I have had the privilege of enjoying the annual Spirit of Boise Balloon Classic for as long as I can remember. Every year when I wake up and see the sky checkered with balloons, a wave of excitement washes over me. This five-day event happens at the end of the summer, when people are finding their way home from warm weather adventures and preparing for a bustling autumn. As a closing to the season, the event projects a quality much like homecoming, bringing the community together. Continue reading
I’ve lived in Idaho almost all of my life, yet feel like I’ve never really explored it. Don’t get me wrong, I love whitewater rafting down the Snake River and boating at the Ririe Reservoir or Palisades Reservoir, but I have never enjoyed sleeping in a tent.
Only recently did I realize that I could discover some of the hidden gems in my state without having to camp out.
It began when I was searching on the Internet for fun places to go near my home in Ammon, and came across a place called Fall Creek Falls. Looking at amazing pictures of the waterfall, I scolded myself, “You’ve lived in Idaho for almost thirty years and haven’t been to Fall Creek Falls?” I mentioned the place to my brother Brent, who said he had never been there either. We decided to go together.
As it turned out, Brent took an opportunity to visit Fall Creek Falls before me, which meant that he could later show me the way. When he told me that the falls were within about a forty-five-minute drive from my house, we picked Memorial Day for our trip, since I had the day off. We got up early that morning and hit U.S. 26, or the “Old Highway,” as I called it growing up. It’s a scenic drive past wheat fields and along the Snake River to Swan Valley. The morning was dark as we approached the turnoff for Fall Creek Falls, which made it difficult, since there are no signs for the waterfall. Luckily, we found the turnoff and drove a few more miles. Brent had told me the waterfall was literally off the side of the road, but I didn’t believe him until we came down the hill and heard the rushing water right next to us.
We enjoyed the view from up above the falls, but then Brent decided to venture down to get a front-on view of the falls on a little island. Getting to the island is hard to do, and usually is only accessed via boat, but I was unaware of that at the time, so I joined Brent. The river made it difficult for us to get across to the island, but branches from a tree formed a little bridge. I took a big step onto the branches but my leg plunged about three feet into the Snake River, and got stuck between the branches. I had my camera on my shoulder and feared I would ruin it by toppling into river, but the branches immobilized me until I could figure out how to get to the island. Continue reading
I ignored the rolling hills, sagebrush, farmland, and streams along Highway 20, too busy thinking of what my psychology professor, Dr. Fellows, once said about solo vacations—that they were the best thing ever. You could keep your own schedule, talk to whomever, go wherever, whenever, however. I hoped her assessment was correct, because I would be solo in Sun Valley for the Harvest Festival.
Years ago, we’d had an electrical contracting business in the Wood River Valley, wiring many high-end homes, condominiums, hotels, and mixed-use buildings. Our business served the area for four years, and then branched out to elsewhere, but the time had been filled with plenty of family play, pedaling tandem bikes, sledding, hiking, following trails on ATVs, and spending weekends in rented condos or cabins. I silently prayed I wouldn’t be lonely on this trip, that I’d discover new friends. The worst image I conjured was dining alone in a corner while others talked, laughed, and ate. But I had seen one thing firsthand: food brings people together.
It’s good to be back, I thought as I passed the landmark white barn with its circular stained glass window. Wintertime, and my favorite salmon Caesar salad awaited at the grille on the corner. I passed the luxury resort on the corner of Dollar and Saddle Roads where the electricians spent many a hardworking hour. The ski museum with its haunting photos of Hemingway. The lodge with its jazz festival and nearby chocolate shop. Fond memories tugged at me.
Festival participants were supposed to meet at Towne Square, but I’d never heard of it, and felt silly asking for directions. I walked past one of the many artists in residence, who was building a faux Grecian pillar and had fur fashions displayed on the shop’s platform.
“Towne Square?” I queried, lifting my hands in surrender.
“They call it that to be fancy. It’s really the little park next to Giacobbi Square.”
“Ohhh.” I knew the one. With the giraffe sculpture and chess tables. Built in 2010––we’d left Ketchum by 2006. I didn’t feel so bad. Continue reading
