Epic Snowmobile Trip

 Last Sunday, a warm and blue sky winter day, Mike drug me out of the house and off to experience and epic snowmobile trip.  We arrived in the McCoy Creek parking lot just before noon, a bit concerned to be the only vehicle in the lot.  We drove the snowmachines off the trailer, turned on the SPOT, our avalanche beacons, and away we went.  And went and went!

Turns out, around here, Sundays are good days to go ride.  About a quarter of the way into the trip, we spied 10 or so sleds off trail.  And that was it.  No other snowmobiles to see the rest of the day.  We had the thousands and thousands of acres to ourselves.  

We rode along Palisades Lake to climb up to Black Mountain.  A stop for lunch of warm tomato potato soup spiced with red chili flake packed in the Thermos which kept it steamy hot.  Further on west until we came out to see the flats of Grays Lake.  As we were in Idaho which requires a $45 per sled permit, and being waaaay on the east edge of Idaho, we continued on the trails alone.  As we turned north, I began to notice outbuildings worthy of an overnight stay if we got ourselves in a bind.  At these lonely spots on the landscape, one remembers it is a machine that is transporting you across the white, loney, open, desolate, deserted landscape.  

The image below is what we call a snow donut.  When the sun hits south facing hillsides on these warm afternoons, snow will break and roll down the side of a hill making lovely donut shapes.  This is a very large snow donut.  Worthy of a photograph. 

At the end of the day, Mike and I got a solid 70 plus miles on the sleds and saw a LOT of beautiful, high country.  The machines worked perfectly and combined, only needed 7 gallons of fuel to top them off.  I wish you could have ridden along with us on this epic trip! 

Our neighbor lost her husband while I was off in Tennessee.  We met at the local amazing restaurant called Graze and enjoyed a wonderful meal and very good conversation.  She is anxious to help me with the garden this summer and I would be greatful for the help!  My breakfast - avacado toast.  Eric, the chef, inspires me with his beautiful, creative food.  On this dish are two perfectly poached eggs atop arugula, pickled red onions, thinly slice radishes, a sliced avacado atop a crispy piece of sourdough bread.  Finished with a slash of pickled mustard seeds.  I came home and promptly figured out how to make pickled mustard seeds!  It was divine!  I am hoping we meet there again soon! 

Lately, I have been following Substack describing themselves as "a new economic engine for culture."  I'm not sure I understand any of it, however, I have discovered some great writing.  I even subscribed to The Department of Salad whose author, Emily Nunn will laugh you right into making beautiful, delicious salads and new tasty dressings.  Just the recipe for the perfect vinegarette was worth the $50 fee for a year!  This lovely piece "On Not Loving a Wall" made me think of all these kinds of people I have in my life (and am oh so thankful for - you know who you are!!).  There may be a day when I move this blog to Substack, but for now, I'll just keep paging through the articles, wondering how it all works......Let me know if you are a Substack-er.  We need to talk! 

Ice Fishing Musings

Why would anyone want to leave their warm Saturday morning bed at 4:15am on a dark frigid morning - outside temperature -3F - and go ice fishing? 

The most difficult part is sepearating one's self from the warm bed.  The house was chilly as I pre heated thermoses, made some breakfast burritos, warmed soup to take along, and brewed coffee.  Once awakened, things improved.  

Mike had taken care of the logistics the day prior.  The red dually diesel sat outside the door, plugged in, with snowmobile trailer hitched on and snowmachines loaded.  The pull along sled was loaded with tackle box, fishing poles, and ice auger.  Helmets, coats, insulated bibs, gloves, and other warm wear was laid out and ready.  

The drive to New Fork Lake is about two hours.  We left the house about 5:30am to find black ice and snow packed roads, slowing down the drive and keeping me a bit stressed out the entire way.  At the parking lot, dusk was revealing the outlines of mountain tops behind a fog bank of cyrstalized floating ice crystals.  Hanging like a low cloud, the ice crystals fluttered down to the ground forming a thin layer of sparking diamonds.  The parking lot was 9F by then. 

We were meeting Benni and Don, two seasoned ice fishermen, ahead of us about a half hour.  Their tracks traversed the forest service trail.  At dawn, the light was flat, glasses were fogging up, and the wind blown drifts were hard to see.  Mike led on and we found the lake and our two fisher friends.  

Upon our arrival, augers drilled through the 8 inches of ice, water erupting upon the drills penetration.  A large spoon with holes is employed to remove the ice chunks and one then drops a lure, baited with stinky smelly sucker meat, down the hole to the bottom.  We were fishing about 20 feet down.  Then one jigs and waits.  And waits.  And waits.  Mike waited all day. 

The buzz of a fish hitting bait is an unmistakable feeling.  Sometimes the fish hits again.  Sometimes not.  

The morning stayed cold until, at last, the ice crystal fog blew off to a bluebird sky day, the sun warming our black gear.  The day turned glorious.  Benni caught a nice big fat lake trout (I canned this trout the next day).  Don kept getting hits.  I caught a pretty rainbow trout and turned it back to the black cold water through the hole.  Later, a lake trout would find my lure and be returned to the lake, none the worse for the event.  Mike kept waiting. 

Benni cooked up a hot burger for lunch.  That burger, slapped between a bun with ketchup and mustard was one of the finest lunches ever!  What a treat to be in the middle of nowhere on a cold February afternoon eating a hot burger.  

We rode around the lake, drilling holes here and there.  I learned that riding on slush isn't as frightening as it seems and none of us got stuck in the wet slopping watery snow.  The weight of the prior night's snowfall cracks the ice which causes the flood on top of the iced lake.  

We quit and packed up around 3:30pm and arrived home just at dusk after a long and full day. 

So why go ice fishing? 

To remember that you are still tough enough.  To ride a snowmachine in the early dawn light onto a lake covered in ice and be a bit terrified.  To look down into a black hole drilled in the ice and imagine fish biting your lure.  To feel the hit of a fish on your bait and then to feel the wiggle to get free.  To see the fish come out of the hole and onto the snow.  To release the fish back to her home. To eat the most delicious and memorable lunch.  To hang with friends.  To squint into the brilliant light bouncing off the dazzling snow.  To ride atop a lake covered in ice, cracked with the weight of snow, and flooded with water and not die.  

What happened to January??

The gravel road, Tin Cup Junction Road, runs straight north from directly across our driveway.  The straight road is just short of a mile distance when it abruptly bends to the east and carries on to State Line Road; total length just shy of two miles.  

The road is quiet with nary a vehicle to get in the way of a dog walk.  Rooster and Ruby charge ahead, smelling smells, digging for mice, and depositing smelly piles of dog pooh along the way.  "Good dogs, good dogs - leave your poopers here," I praise them.  It's a country road.  Picking up dog poop is not required out here (thank goodness!  I'd need a shopping bag to contain Rooster's piles). 

We walk to Robinson Lane, just after the bend, which is the one mile mark.  There we turn around to gather in the view now looking south and notice the other smells the south wind carries to our noses.  There are three farms we walk by, one old garage near the road smells of wet wood and musty dark places.  The dogs always chace each other and play hard when we turn around and head back south. 

I walk in my tall leather topped Schnee boots.  The soles are "air bobs" and create punctuated patterns in the snow.  On ice, these boots are a death wish, but with snow, they grab and go.  Every now and then, a patterned piece lifts to the sky.  Hence this picture.  You can see Ruby standing in the distance in a hole, fuzzy, but that is her! 

I just finished a remarkable book.  Not usually drawn to history accounts, I was attracted to the review of this book, the review written by Ryan Holiday, an enthusiastic reader who shares his reviews on the plethora of books he is reading.  Usually on a montly basis.  I strongly recommend adding your email to his email list.  Click on his name above to find him.  

Anyway, his review of "Dead Wake:  The Last Crossing of the Lusitania" by Erik Larson piqued my curiosity.  He finished his review saying, "I won't spoil this book, but I will say the more I read about Woodrow Wilson, the more I hate him."  Now this guy is kind of a Chill Guy so when he said "hate" it got my attention and I figured I better read the book.  

(The link above is for an audible book.  I checked this book out of our local library.)

I did not grow to hate Woodrow, but I did greatly enjoy the book.  Larson builds characters so well.  I felt like I knew them all as they sailed in their ginormous ship.  The same company that built the Lusitania built the Titanic - which incidentally sunk two years prior.  It was not, however, a torpedo that sunk the Titanic.  

There is a problem with books of war, however.  As a child, we were put to bed at news time, 10pm.  Off to our rooms, lights shut off, but ears wide open.  When the news was over, Dad would watch the black and white war movies and the sounds of whistling bombs dropping from noisy fighter planes carried into my restless brain as I listened to the roar of planes, the explosions of bombs, the sounds of war.  Dreams of war have plagued my sleeping hours all of my life.  Rarely do I recall those dreams, but this book stirred those memories. 

As I paged through this accounting of the Lusitania, one night I awoke at 2am from a dream of being wrapped in a blanket hiding under something so the overhead planes searching for me would not find me.  War, talks of war, and more war.   Five stars for this book, a very good read. 

His wife weighs in on his January 21 missive with some of her favorite reads for 2023.  Once again, my curiosity is interested in the title "Raw Dog: The Naked Truth About Hot Dogs," by Jamie Loftus.  This link too is for an audible book but I got our library to borrow it from another county in Wyoming (which costs $2) and picked it up last night after exhaling a big breath when I closed the book on the Lusitania.  

Okay, there is a dramatic difference in writing between these two books!  Loftus writes like she has taken some of the meth from the Haunted Meth House herself!  She is ragged and all over the place!  I like her.  The font is smaller (Mike says there is larger font in history books because old people read history books - baaaaah!), her writing is manic and impatient.  I am certain I will never eat a hot dog again (well, maybe I need to try a Costco hotdog....) and I haven't even gotten to the slaughterhouse chapter yet.  This one is going to be amusing and entertaining.  My dream cycle is certain to shift....!!

And here, a picture of my very good friend, Rooster, after our afternoon walk as he prepares for a nap. Sleepy eyes! He is such a joy!! 

Latest Obsession

The fastest growing sport in the country, Pickleball has become my latest obsession.  Having played hours of racetball with Diana Carlson back at the Ottawa YMCA, the translation into pickleball wasn't too tough.  I started the second week in November and recently kept up with the Big Dogs on the court!  It's addictive, it's fun, it's social, and it's a good workout.  The only downside is that I really do not have time and certainly will not have time come summer. 

Of course, I realize it is only I who make these decisions on how I spend my day.  Now over a year into retirement, it has occured to my daft mind that I am now living the BEST DAYS OF MY LIFE!  My audiance of bread lovers would be crushed if I put aside bread making to play pickleball.  I love my garden and greenhouse and must plant in the dirt.  There isn't much I really want to give up!  Living the full life and loving it! 

Our trip to New Orleans started off with an ominious beginning at 3am the morning we crawled out of bed to get up to Jackson for our 7am flight.  As I turned off my clock alarm, there it was, a message saying, "your flight has been cancelled."  After some phone calls, we were rebooked and arrived at the New Orleans Marriot - right in the heart of the city - at 1am.  I was able to deliver my two presentations the next day to nice crowds of interested people.  

My favorite part of the trip was happening upon this marching band practising in a parking lot down by the river.  Watch the video and turn up the sound!  They were awesome!! 

We had a great visit with nephew Taylor, his lovely wife MC, and their cute creation, Buck!  A delicious jumbalia and guacamoli I shall try to recreate, we were so happy we could hang! 

Walking around this historic town was very nice, given good weather and a New Orleans kind of ambiance.  It was nice to be so close to so many historic places. 

This last picture is from a cafe stop for beignets; those powder sugar coated fried puffs of deliciousness!  

Of course, winter decided to arrive when we left.  Thanks to our awesome care-taker Sammi, all was in order and good shape upon our return!  

It's been warm here and the snow is sloppy and settling.  I checked bees yesterday and both hives by the house are alive and buzzing.  The horses chomp on hay, bored and well-fed.  

Mike is taking the dogs for a walk - I've got a pickleball game to play!!  

Letter to the Editor

Seven or eight years ago, as Chief Willy was signaling that his days as chief were numbered, I decided I wanted to be the next Chief of Jackson Hole Fire/EMS.  If there was a town in Wyoming that could embrace a woman fire chief, it would be Jackson Hole.  

To prepare, I started an intense reading effort on every leadership book I could find.  My days as a battalion chief and fire marshal were long days and by the time I rolled into my Hoback home there was never time for reading so I got a subscription to Audible books, a "free" credit every month.  I would play my books driving back and forth to inspections, north to Moran when I was their battalion chief (BC) liaison, then west when I transistioned to the Station 2 and Station 6 BC liaison, and then on the drive south, homeward bound.  To this day, I cannot discern which was the more odious drive; the 28 miles north to Moran in the summer or the 7 miles to Wilson on the crowded, backed up two lane highway to Wilson.  Both routes always yeilded copious amounts of reading time. 

As I ticked through the plethera of leadership titles, I learned many things and began to see similarities in books.  These similarities, I knew, were the blocks to the foundation of good leadership.  Take care of your people, be a good listener, be empathtic, insist on integrity, be accountable, be confident, be humble.  

There were two weeks before the deadline for application.  I had filled out the application and I knew my strengths and my weaknesses.  But as the days ticked closer, I realized I loved the job I had so much, I just really didn't want to leave it.  My application was not get submitted. 

And for the next five years, I had the privelage to serve under the best fire chief of all, Chief Brady Hansen.  Chief Hansen understood he didn't know much about my job as fire marshal and he told me as much.  We would meet once a week (when he remembered) and I'd fill him in on things I thought important, he would do the same.  Chief Hansen gave me free reign to run the Prevention Bureau and be a battalion chief the way I thought it best served the community.  He encouraged continuing education and memberships into national organizations.  He taught me so many good leadership skills. 

The day would come when I would understand he would be leaving at his five year mark which was just after my 20 year anniversary of being in the fire service.  After careful consideration, my early retirement was planned for May 2022 with Chief Hansen's retirement later that October. 

Today, Jackson Hole Fire/EMS is under the reign of what will certainly go down in organizational history as the most wretched leader the organization has ever had to suffer.  Aggressive, confrontational, bully, and vile are descritive words of his leadership style.  None of the books I read provided these words as leadership building blocks. 

Many in the organization remark at my good timing to getting out.  I would not have lasted a month under this type of tyranny.  You would have seen the orange glow of that bridge burning from way up in Moran.

If I were Chief, I would lead with three priorities.  The number one priority would be serving the community.  Everything we would do would have to pass the "does this serve the community" question first.  When responders complain about being split up into groups of two at two stations rather than one group of four at one station, they would know the right answer by how each answer best serves the community.  All know that taking a rescue truck out of service, selling it for pennies on the dollar, does not serve the community and stands as one of the most heinous acts this Chief has mindlessly succeeded at while yanking away a valuable resource from the people in south Teton County. 

The second priority on my list would be taking care of our people.  All people; the operational staff, the volunteer cadre, the administration staff, fleet maintenance, the prevention bureau.  Each of these groups have different needs and no one has spent much time listening to their needs.  A recent administration office upheaval is yet another act of the sword from the current chief.  Moving everyone's cheese is not a great leadership act. 

The third priority would be fiscal responsibility with this community's tax payer dollars.  Most staff recently received overdue raises.  Most but not all.  Again, taking care of everyone is of paramount importance.  Selling a quarter million dollar functionable rescue truck for pennies on the dollar is hardly fiscally responsible.  Sending no representation to the many state wide meetings, to the Fallen Firefighter memorial, to train, to build relationships - although it takes finances to make these things happen, it is hardly fiscally responsible to not spend that money for these priceless investments in training and relationship building.

There are good leaders and there are bad leaders.  My heart goes out to everyone at Jackson Hole Fire/EMS while they try to do their job under a heartless, angry, vindictive, bully.  There have been some good changes under his sword but the price everyone is paying is far too high.  I admire the tenacity of those who choose to stay.  To endure the threats, the fear, the negativity, to have to pick up your office space and get crammed into a new and smaller space - they hold on because they know the importance of their job, they know how they can help in an emergency and they know they can prevent tragedies.  These are the true heros of this community; no matter what job title they fulfill.  Their stress and anxiety is real and I hope their wait-time is short. 

Running into a fire, working a car crash on icy roads, and wondering if a crawl space is filled with live gas are easy tasks compared to what we are asking of everyone now at Jackson Hole Fire/EMS.  Take care of yourselves, take care of each other.  You are in a low frequency/high risk moment in the department's history.  

Take care.  

Take care.  

  

 

 

   

Raw Milk

Gerald Warden stands at least 6 foot, two inches tall.  Maybe even taller.  His insulated one piece coveralls were unzipped down to his waist the last time I saw him in the tiny Freedom post office.  Suspenders held up the hidden pants underneath and provided more vertical extension to his lofty frame.  His muck boots propped up the bottom of the unzipped insulated legs, the boots covered in muck.  

Gerald is somewhat of what I'd call a hayseed-type of guy.  This day, he was a good two days since shaven, allowing one to ponder that it had been that long since he had bathed as his black mop of hair looked as greasy as the lenses in his thick, much-scratched glasses.  Gerald is always smiling and always talking.  He will talk to you for hours if you give him the time. 

Gerald milks cows.  The black and white cows, lumbering in for their morning milking, teats swollen, milk sacks hanging full.  This last week in August had been rainy all week and the girls lumbered in to the milk house through mud, sinking up to the first joint of their legs.  

Milking cows is not easy work.  It may been deemed one of the most difficult ways to make a living, if one leaves out coal mining and picking cotton.  There are no sick days, no vacation days, no days off.  When a cow needs milked, she needs milked every day and she is on a schedule.

Gerald sells his milk to a local farmer's market.  Raw milk has beneficial qualities, good bacteria and a delicious taste, unlike any store bought milk.  The glass jar filled with the lovely white liquid sports a lofty head of cream.  If you are careful when you open and pour that first couple of cups, you will enjoy the fatty deliciousness of fresh cream.  

Unfortunatley, Gerald had a batch of milk that was contaminated with the bacteria E. coli that week of late August.  He, and the many other dairy farmers in Star Valley Wyoming, rarely tested their milk.  The facts are unknown to me other than Gerald's milk made some children and an adult very ill.  Some of the children spent days in the hospital.  All survived. 

But Gerald's contaminated milk has made all of us who are part of a community providing farm products for others to enjoy to take pause and contemplate our risks we take selling to the community. 

Mike and I love raw milk.  We buy from a farm south of our place, about a 15 mile drive along the Salt River, by the turn near the stinking springs, through a pastoral countryside that makes you want to whistle a measure of two of Beethoven's Sixth Symphony (the Pastoral Symphany).  One turns into the dairy farm to drive up to a muddy corral with grand Jersey cows, muching away, filling their milk bags for tomorrow's milking.  At the end of the graveled potholed drive, sits the milk house.  Open the door to the smell of chlorox.  This is what sold me on her milk.  This and the delicious liquid filling the clear glass jars.  A half gallon glass jar filled with whole, raw milk costs $2.  The milk lady happily takes Venmo.  Please return your jars.  We take the risk and enjoy a gallon a week of fresh, raw milk. 

People like Gerald are protected under the Wyoming Free Food Act, but rumor is, Gerald is getting sued.  There are plenty of litigious lawyers sitting in Jackson Hole Wyoming just tapping their fingers on their solid walnut desks waiting for something to do.  It has un-nerved an entire community of dairy farmers, cheese makers, bread bakers, soup creaters, and others who contribute their talent and time to build quality products for those willing to pay a bit more for something local, something real. 

Last year, I baked a myriad of sour dough bread, rolled balls of sour pizza dough, simmered pots of glorious fruit jams, fermented jars of delicious sauerkraut, and picked parsley leaves off of stems to make fresh chimichuri, all of which customers bought up in minutes.  Most of my offerings were sold out within a half hour of being posted online.  As a provider, this was very rewarding and satisfying to be, well, so popular!  People complained there should be a limit to how many loaves others could buy of my bread so more could enjoy the crusty loaves of sourdough.  My little home creations brought in over $7K last year, which helps pay for the ingredients and some fun things. 

But now, I take pause.  Gerald is a warning call for the rest of us to hear.  There are rules and I am a rule-follower.  Even with rules, things can go bad quickly when dealing with a potentially pretentious and often entitled clientele.   

As 2024 launches, I have some decisions to make.