I haven't blogged much lately, I'm not sure why. But I've been writing up a collection of memories in addition to some old photos I have. I've been writing on this for several weeks. And going back and blah blah changing and editing etc. But it's Christmas. And a time that so many of my early memories are so relevant. Some forewarning. Some of the writing is pretty bad. But the purpose here is to just enjoy some memories.
Events of the past month or two have influenced me a bit.
Given me some pause so to speak. A result of our three month visiting tour of last summer, but also recently. Seeing old family members having get together with very long, and growing longer periods in between. But fewer family members participating. The children of this family are all bonafide middle aged, Some like myself are entering Seniordom. Even the children of Kenny, the youngest on my Mom's side are getting long in the chops with their own children reaching maturity. No offense.
Now don't get me wrong. It's been a pleasure all the way around being at a time in our life to be able to actually do this. Not everybody can or will have a similar opportunity. Seeing everyone and the little niches they've made for themselves. Making their way and then some. No small feat in a world whose population has grown by half in my lifetime, diminishing opportunities for young people. A decent example is the Airline industry in which I used to work. Every station had that one agent whose knowledge base of an antiquated DOS based computer system could make those keys sing. Solve every traveler's woes in minimal time, effort and money. Nooooo, I wasn't that guy. But that system was used for everything , Irregular operations, passenger and cargo manifests and even weight and balance issues. Those folks held a special prestige and were looked upon as experts and the final say in most cases. Watch the old 70's movie Airport. Automation and upgrades has marginalized those skills, Anybody can do it. Why pay more? They call these "Soft Skills" now. But I digress.
First of November Mom, Cathy and Mike flew to Austin from Boise for a family reunion. We tried, but needed to stay in Yuma for a couple of weeks while Lisa's infection receded, tooth pulled and Bridge made. We had to travel back and forth over the border to Los Algadones five times total. The trip to Austin well over a thousand miles. So we didn't make it until Mom's last day. These images are from Darcy's Facebook page.
Carl, Mom, Darcy, Loris and Mike
Mom and Carl are the two remaining of five Children. Douglas, Mom, Arlene Carl and Kenny. Mom recently turned 87 and Carl 80.
I don't think the date is quite right here.
I've also included some old pictures here that generate a whole lot of memories in my Sixty is the new Forty brain.
So this Christmas day I'm going to just throw out some childhood memories of growing up with all of these amazing people.
From my earliest memories, all of my relatives as far as I know lived in Pocatello and Blackfoot. Course they would spread out, but that was later. But we primarily headed to Blackfoot. A trip we'd make easy five or more times a year. Back in the days when three of us rode in the backseat. Deanna, the baby I suspect road in Mom's lap, (or maybe a cute little bed in the Trunk. I'm fuzzy here). Remember, these were the days that when Mom was driving and you were also riding in the front seat, she got one cheap shot at you. Just by pushing the brakes moderately hard and that right hand came out faster'n a Cobra snake across the bridge of your Nose. Ostensibly to prevent you from a horrible death brought on by crashing headfirst through the Windshield, where you'd most likely roll under the wheels and be squashed flat. Now stop crying, I saved your life. And then sometimes Mom just dropped the pretense of saving your life and you just got whacked. But that's another story.
So these drives to Grandma's were always a bit exciting. There were no Freeways back then and I especially remember the old two lane road. Lined either side by close in Sagebrush. Sometimes stacked with hills of snow caused by the snow plows. Though I'd drive one in later years, seeing one on those Christmas eve trips always exciting. These were the Christmas eve's I remember. We'd stop to use the bathroom in American Falls which served as ample warning that Wes Veco, a fertilizer factory was coming up. Exuding a smell from ten miles either direction that'd gag a maggot to our sensitive child olfactory senses.
There were no seat belt laws in those days, nor Car seat requirements. The luckiest of us in the back seat got to ride laying on the shelf under the rear window. After awhile only Jeff or Deanna could fit up there anyhow. But we'd be furnished with plenty of blankets and pillows and unfettered by seat belts, could more or less sprawl out as we wished. Somebody might have even wound up on the floor.
Grandma and Grandpa. (Now remember, Grandpa just lives there. It's really Grandma's house.) That's usually the mindset of most youngsters. Anyway, lived in a (could only be designed by Grandpa) red brick split three story house with a separate basement apartment, that I guess also shared basement space with a bomb shelter Grandpa threw in, that was probably quickly converted to a Cellar by Grandma. It also had what was called the TV room, a lower level room that shared a washroom that contained an old upright Washing Machine with the rollers fixed above the wash tub. Hell, we even had a normal washing machine back then but I guess Grandma preferred that one. It served double duty as the cleaning room of all the Ducks Geese and Pheasants that used to be harvested back then.
The other room is where the magic happened. That's where we were mostly confined. Cuz it had the TV Derrrrr. and slept on the old Beige colored objects that Grandma referred to as "Davenports"
I watched my first Star Trek on that old television. Watched innumerable old Christmas movies and specials, Old shows like Wagon Train and even leaned there existed something called Twenty Mule Team Borax and I should go out and get it right away. Ken, more the age of an older brother than an Uncle hung out with us. In his basketball days, an expert spinning the ball on his fingertips and occasionally off your skull. Remember the brother thing? .And the old Rio dump truck that obscured everything out the giant picture window of the television room. Later years, there was some discussion of turning that truck over to me for the purpose of making some money bucking hay. It never came to happen sadly.
Thanksgiving and Christmas always meant something else.. Even before I hunted myself, I'd get woken up in the zero dark thirty to go Goose Hunting with Dad, Ken, Blaine and Grandpa and even as I remember, a few uncles on my Dad's side from Pocatello as well.
Modern Goose Hunters would cringe at the methods of the past. We didn't dress in White or Camo or sport fancy equipment or four wheelers. We hid under bedsheets while lying on the ground, or like my first time out quite literally laying on the Ice. To this day that's the coldest day of my life. Because as in all things war, Grandpa didn't go halfway and he'd been making war with the creatures of the lake and there were no halfway measures. One didn't quit until it got dark and if we'd waited any later to pick up the decoys, we'd have been lost looking for the cars parked out on those reservoir flats. Sometimes when we'd find them the Ice had melted and they'd be stuck. And we had to get unstuck old school. Not with a tow, but with a shovel and Sagebrush tucked under the wheels until one acquired enough speed to get through the Mud. Now as a kid, the upsides to this is Grandma packed a lot of lunches back in those days. I always scored copious amounts of home made fudge and my own thermos of Cocoa.. But I didn't understand the fun of it until I started hunting myself. But to this very day, no matter where I'm at or what I'm doing, if Geese pass over I'll always stop to admire them, listen for the whistles and Honks. . My Goose hunting days are past and that's OK. But when one sets his wings to come closer there is just no getting over that excitement.
To this day from the grave, Grandpa ribs be for not taking the shot at a couple of Geese who flew so low and directly between a few of us that had I taken the shot, there'd been a few, Dad probably included, who'd gotten peppered pretty good.
To this day from the grave, Grandpa ribs be for not taking the shot at a couple of Geese who flew so low and directly between a few of us that had I taken the shot, there'd been a few, Dad probably included, who'd gotten peppered pretty good.
Upon arrival, first things first. Check out the tree. Carefully account for every present and give everything a good shake. Grandma used older electric lights that were fashioned in a swirly pattern hard to describe. Her tree was always larger than ours, or that was my perception. The tree always located by I thought a fireplace, but I'm not sure on that point. It's been over twenty five years since I set foot in that house.
And I have vivid memories of the massive Dinners made here. A traditional affair where only my Aunts and Grandma were allowed in the kitchen. Periodically hearing Grandpa being kicked out. And while I of course remember the Turkey's Hams and Desserts, served at those Dinners at that long table just next to the Kitchen in the living room, what comes to mind the most is the smell of Bread. Bread rising, Bread baking and Bread being made. Maybe that's the very reason that my Uncles, my Mom and my Aunt continued to bake bread their entire life; Kenny actually in the latter part of his life as his sole occupation. But no memory of that house doesn't come without the smell of baking Bread. Or mind's eye picture of fresh loaves and Rolls being popped out of that old time oven.
Now these were days long before Convenience stores. There were the big Supers of course, but there were also the small grocery outlets.that existed in regular neighborhoods. And Grandma was always sending me to "Hannah's" one of those little stores. And for some reason, I remember the Taffy from that little store amazing. Another little store that Blackfoot possessed. Now remember this was not much of a town in those days. But a topnotch Hobby store called Tony's. Summers meant going to the school grounds with Ken to fly gas engine planes.. Seems we went to that little store for a lot. Propellers, little cans of airplane fuel, models and whatnot. I believe the first gas engine model I ever owned was purchased here.
One of the trips to Island Park when I was a kid. Pretty much clueless where we actually were those early years, I just remember grandma saying we'd be meeting at"Buttermilk" which is a campground but conjured up all kinds of images in my eight or nine year old head. Cuz I hated Buttermilk.
Like my wife says, its life's little bumps that make the best memories.
Kenny, Cathy and I in the Cabover bunk. I suspect we were ages six through about twelve. Grandpa and her slept below. Grandma was so paranoid somebody might wet the bed we weren't allowed any water for hours prior. Because every Camper in those days used Propane lamps, temps must have gotten to a hundred or better up top. And of course the blankets needed t0 stay on. We all endured in silence right?. I pretty much think we were all past the point of wetting the bed at that age. But Grandma, she was taking no chances. no matter how much we howled. (I do remember also a little swig just before lights out so its not really about child abuse..) After all they were sleeping just below. I suspect She was a little urged by Grandpa.
Now another thing, Kenny showing himself to be the dreamer early on, Cathy, myself and he would wander away from the campfire to walk down the road and look at the nighttime sky. Insane in my mind now considering Island Park has always had a sizeable population of Grizzlies. But Kenny was a natural storyteller. And he'd talk about his visions of life. His thoughts about the future, the stars and his faith at the time. It's some of my favorite memoris of Ken. His last words to me over the phone before he died. "We'll go fishing together again in the great eternity". I think. I was bawling like a four year old talking to him. I've always felt guilty. Ken called from time to time and I didn't get back to him because I wss so busy, I told myself. Its a big regret I have.
The old red Camper is seen here with this awesome pic of the two of them. Although not sure where exactly this was taken.
Some of my earliest memories right along with seeing my mother for the first time and discovering I had a sister ( yeah they're are that early), is going out on that Reservoir in the AM when it was still dark. Damn cold in Island Park no matter what the month. I'm just being honest here being so young, I'm not even sure I volunteer'd for that duty. More'n likely somebody's idea to get me out of some body's hair I suspect. Those earliest years in the old Rubber life boat and later in the super cool modern fiberglass one (seen below). Going fishing with Grandpa Pete was a huge commitment. No sniveling and plan on a good fifteen or so hours or so of some hardcore nonstop fishing. A "Real Fisherman" didn't come home til after the sun had long disappeared.
It was during these trips that I'd meet relatives I'd never meet again. Probably most have passed. Aunt Sarah, and Cousins Gary and Mike whom I have only the oldest of memories.
Old Rubber Raft
Grandpa tended to bark a little on occasion.
And complaining to Grandma sometimes got him in trouble. And might set her to give Grandpa a scolding which led to those famous bickering sessions I remember so clearly. More often than not Grandpa'd be the first to go on Defense and Grandma would give him a little tune up. Not too much. Just a last word kind of thing.
Maybe a little embellished but I have to confess that's exactly what came to mind the first time I watched this.
This picture might have been any of the many many times going to Grandma's considering all the Thanksgivings Christmas and assorted other times we made the drive from Twin Falls to Blackfoot. I'd[ guess at least five or six times a year for as long as I could remember. For some reason I originally thought this was their fifty year Anniversary, but now I've changed my mind. I think it's quite a bit earlier than that although there seems to be some importance to the occasion. Kenny and Carl I suspect were living in Texas at that age..
Mom always made her absolutely astounding fried chicken of quality I've never had since, along with Potato Salad. Grandma always in charge of the Bread, Rolls and probably a Ham as well. And then all those cakes. I also remember all these other dishes I'd later find out were longstanding Mormon delicacies. They turned up at every funeral.
Grandma died more than thirty years ago, and Grandpa Pete better'n twenty. I can close my eyes and hear the sound of their voice to this day. At her funeral many years ago, Dad said "she has that look on her face she's unhappy about something." Even then it struck me Dad must have been pretty familiar with that look.
For a period of time, the Volkswagon "Doodle Bug" became popular with my relatives. And Grandma thought nothing of hopping in it, stopping to collect my 12 year old Carcass and driving across the Nevada Desert at speeds of 45 to 50 mph, in the middle of Summer during my one and only childhood trip to Carl and Loris's. That's another story. But I spent two weeks and most of the day with my Cousin, a baby at the time and the only time I'd ever know her, and Grandma. I think her name was Kelly and forgive me if I get it wrong. I just have the best memories of how sweet she was. Even though blind, she had beautiful eyes. And the way Grandma was around her. Candidly reminds ne of my wife around grand kids. Both have since passed. Even then, other than that bratty Dana, (just kidding) I was highly impressed with the hospitality extended by Carl and Loris. Oh yeah, and the very first time I got to see real Hell's Angels Gang bangers ride right by me as I hiked to a mall nearby. Oh yeah, the pilot suit thing that Carl got to wear every day I just had to have one of those. Problem was it just wasn't going to work out with my fear of heights.
Of course there were those day picnics where we'd all meet up at Massacre Rocks. They were all good fun. Register Rock was just a neat place to climb if memory serves. But National monument be hanged. Dad, Blaine and Grandpa decided to argue about whether the "DOODLE BUG" could climb a hill just adjacent to the picnic area. After a good bit of tire spinning and revving from the little 4 cylinder motor, Grandpa had made only about twenty feet or so of progress, but he'd torn up the scenery pretty good. In every conversation with Grandpa, seems the topic of DOODLE BUG almost always came up, with subsequent embellishment of amazing Doodle miracles.
This pic was taken in Nampa, looks like just after Jeff was born. I recently hunted up this old house. It was a tiny two bedroom if memory serves. I certainly found the address, but the area is unrecognizable as is the house. It has either been added to or torn down. I suspect the latter. The entire area consists of nothing but developed tracts. Its interesting to note the fields in front of the house.. Note the Dairy barns in the far distance. For some reason I seem to have a memory of wandering across this field and seeing F86 Sabre Jets land before I even knew what an F86 was. Because they used Parachutes as part of their braking system. Damned if I didn't find the old airfield right where I remembered vindicating that memory of an incident that probably actually occurred. Damn times were different back then. Being a free range kid before the word was even invented. Buuuuuut with the good comes the bad. I also remember getting in a bit of trouble because, well, yur not supposed to go in houses when they aren't home.
We moved to Twin Falls before I turned six. Because I'm not in the picture, I suspect I either had taken that pic, or had been temporarily sold into slavery that summer.
One of the trips up Rock Creek Canyon. The old 55 Buick
Trips to Grandma's. Note the place wasn't named Grandpa's because as experience has dictated to me, Grandpa's take a distant backseat to Grand MA's. He just happened to live there.
Fairly obvious that this was taken during the summer.. But it must have been around this time that the old 55 Buick gave up the ghost. Only that occurred during Winter. Probably Dad's Christmas present to himself. I just remember him out in the cold and snow taking the whole damn engine apart to find out the engine had lunched.
Doug is in this pic and I thought it was also Brenda and Debbie. Could be wrong.
And so, Arlene , Blaine and kids made a mini Vacation of the situation and we all piled into their station wagon. About halfway home, the roadside right wing window shattered inward covering everyone in the front seat with glass. We didn't stop but I remember the adults discussing the incident and Arlene coming to the conclusion it must have been caused by a bullet. Knowing now what I do, I can't come up with any other conclusion. Furthermore, hitting a moving vehicle by accident is a pretty tough pill to swallow. I'd say by the fact that the front wing window had been the point of impact, the shooter must have been leading the vehicle. Thus the likelihood the shot had been intentional. Blaine was driving and I think he suspected as much and the reason we did not stop. Really not to be punny, (well a little). Who knows what bullet we dodged that day.
I may or may not have been on this trip. But I do remember on one occasion, my best friend and I hitchhiked from Twin Falls in about 1971 to meet up with family in Island Park. In my mind as a sixteen year old a nifty free way to travel. I'd find out later that style of travel is, and was probably as dangerous as it has always been. But the last leg of the trip in a Forest Service Road Grader. Why the operator picked us up is beyond me. My friend just marveled that I fell asleep in the big noisy thing.
Coming back, we hooked a ride to Blackfoot with Blaine. (Middle Straw Hat)/ We'd said to drop us off at the Freeway. Instead he produced the keys to the Green VW. and told us to take it. No hurry getting it back. Memory serves me I drove that Bug for Weeks before I had to give it up. That's just the kind of guy Blaine was.
I have other stuff that I'll go through later. I've been jotting little paragraphs of memories and incidents for awhile. Its been enjoyable. More for myself or somebody else someday, Maybe when I'm gone. Once again I apologize for some of the redundancy and the bad writing. I've poked a bit of fun. But really, my family is amazing. Large, is the best one could explain the lives some of the Hendersons and Murrays have lived. Certainly both my Mother and Father, probably don't see themselves that way but in comparison, well Wow. One could literally write a book about each and every one. I poke fun at Grandma driving some six hundred miles through Nevada and California at fifty miles an hour in hundred degree heat. But she was headed somewhere where she'd be of help. There were grandbabies to be cared for. She'd have driven that little VW across the country if she'd had to without complaint. That Grandpa would spend an entire Fall camped in that cramped old red Camper behind a gas station in Burley and Grandma would join him, just to work the Beet Campaign. The traditions and the foundations. I haven't even scratched the surface of my grandparents or relatives. The Houses and businesses that were built. The families that were raised and the accomplishments along the way. But for fun, for myself and anybody who cares to add or comment, I've jotted stuff down here and because it's Christmas, I thought since writing some of these thoughts down makes me feel good, it might do the same for others.
