Mushroom Pickin'

Ready....Set.....Head for the Hills!

   Every spring our family has a tradition: picking mushrooms.  More specifically, Morel mushrooms.  We've held this tradition for many years.  I will admit, it hasn't always been my favorite.  I love time in the "woods", I love the outdoors.  But my problem is a mushroom location issue.  I am not great at finding them.  As a kid we had to pick "so many" before we could go home....and I don't think I helped a lot.  We used to sell our mushrooms and save the money for our family ski pass in the winter.  A good trade....but I was much better at skiing than finding Morels.
  Anyway, this past weekend while "up north" we took the kids to partake in our tradition.  I was pleasantly surprised how "into it" they got.  Morel hunting is much like a treasure hunt, and my kids enjoyed it.  They did fight however, over the bucket with the mushrooms.  I guess sharing wasn't our strong suit this time.  But they had a great time.
  We hunted over the mountain side.  The air smelled so fresh. 
Afterward we packed our mushrooms to Grandpa and Grandma's and Grandma fried them up.  A treat!  Well, Mattie thought so.  Hap and Annie decided fungus wasn't their style.  So funny.

My Die-Hard

Lookin' Hard

A Total Trooper.

Lil' Go-Getter.

Beautiful.

They're Here Somewhere!

Jackpot!  We Grandma Found Them!

A Mushroom Picking Lesson

The Bucket Everyone Wanted.

Grandpa.  We love you!

A Warm Day!

My Littlest Baby and My Dad.

We spent the afternoon traversing the hills.  Riding the Four-wheelers and enjoying mountain air.  A good time!  And....we did pick a couple mushrooms.....a couple.  :)

Strawberry Road

There's a sacred road in every girls life.  A road marking every memory and moment of discovery.  A road defining who she is and who she is to become.  A road reminding her of where she started, and how far she's come.  The road holds secrets: whispered on the wind.  Feelings.  Thoughts.  Long talks with God.  Contemplation.   The road is hers, it belongs to her alone.  Her steps: one at a time are recorded in the dust.  She was here, and continues to move on. 
  The tracks marking travel continually change.  The little feet traveling grow little by little, year after year.   The tracks sometimes mark straight; sometimes more random: in those times of dancing.  They sometimes mark detours: especially in the spring when wild flowers are ripe for bouquets.  The tracks sometimes mark speed, and other times a reminiscing day-dreaming pace.  Dreams are contemplated on this road.  Secrets shared.  Tears sometimes shed. 
  Life happens on this road...sweet times, difficult times, that growing up and becoming someone.  This road will forever be etched in a memory.   The sound of a river near by, the train whistle and nearby tracks, wild flowers and summer evenings.  Dancing to the beat God created within.  And....learning to trust Him.   A journey.
  This is my road, Strawberry Road:

Yes, a Real Road

With Memories.....with Loved Ones.

 This past weekend, I had the opportunity to again venture north to visit my parents.  I love these trips.  I don't mind five hours with my kids, they're good travelers.  We makes stops, and sometimes explore.  I love teaching them as we go and sharing memories of places we drive through.  I admit, I am a closet romantic and am in love with time.  I celebrate the passage of time and places marked by it.  I guess one reason I love heading north is the travel straight through "home".
  I love that there's only one north-south route through our great state.  I also love that my childhood haunts parallel the great highway.  I can see moments from my childhood out my window as I pass by.  I remember picking apples from THAT tree near the highway.  I remember walking the tracks and listening for the train whistle (the same tracks have since become a state funded walking path).  No more is there a train whistle....but its in the recesses of my memory, and oh the day.  I remember the smell of the lumber mill, and day dreaming at the bridge on warm summer evenings.   These places are etched in my memory, precious to me.  They still beckon me as I pass.  Places and moments......on Strawberry Road.

The Old Bridge

  As we drove past "home" this weekend, I couldn't resist the urge to linger.  I had to stop.  I needed to stop.  There is still a part of me here.  My journey brought me here, and I admit, I haven't totally left.  I may never.  There will always be a part of me here.

The Old Train Tracks

Memories on the Wall

Its amazing how God works sometimes.  I had an overwhelming urge to share this with my children.  We stopped at the "old bridge".  I used to come down to the bridge to think.  In the summer and fall, the water level would drop, and I could sit under the bridge.  I even wrote my name on the wall.  This place was "my" place.
  And, as I showed my daughter around this weekend, we found my name still written on the wall.  After 20 years!  My last name has changed...and the fun part: there was a faint "+ T" under it.  Tim's name must have washed off, but I had enough to show her.  "This is me sweetie....the me, before you."
  She looked around and marveled at the landscaping, while my others viewed from the car window.  There was something SO special about sharing this with my girl.

Sharing

My

Journey

With Her....

 Passing things on.

 She, herself, is walking her own road.  She's on her own journey.  Hers will resemble mine a little, but it's also distinctly different.  Her markers are unique to her.  Her special memories and moments.  Her triumphs, her hard times and her wonderful summer evenings.  God has given her unique shoes and a beautifully unique mind.  Her road at this time is inner-woven in mine.  I thank God over and over for that.  But there will come a time when her road sets out in a different direction.
  I pray that when she looks back on her childhood she relishes those memories.  I pray her journey is sweet and that she holds tight to her Savior.  That when she drive's through "home", she'll have.......... .......a Strawberry Road.

The Gravel Pit

I do love this place.  As I've said before, contentment has been an issue for me in the past.  The heat of summer mainly, the lack of trees, and the lack of snow in the winter.  God is gracious and so good.  He's giving me eyes to see the beauty around me.  Beauty I haven't always seen....Beauty despite lack of trees....snow or otherwise.  We have an elderly neighbor that loves kids.  He has no grand kids......and he cherishes little people.  Mr. "Ed"....lives alone with his two goats he calls his "girls"....and occasionally comes to visit us.
  Mr. Ed lives down the draw from us and owns a gravel pit....a child's dream!  Rock piles...rock piles...rock piles!!!  Everywhere!!!!  More dirt and rocks than a kid could ever dig through, throw or make pies out of.  He told us to bring our kiddos whenever we wanted....he can see the gravel pit from his front window.   I think he secretly watches from his window....wishing he had grand kids to climb those piles. 
  Two weeks ago, I finally brought my camera to the "gravel pit"...to record precious memories.  Mr. Ed won't be around much longer.  I don't know what will happen to his "rock collection" after he passes on.  I have decided to make moments count...and I want to record some memories before its too late:

A bath will be in order.

Rocks!!!!!  Everywhere!!!

Who can find the coolest one?

Annie found the one tree....a little Russian olive...just big enough to fit a blanket and picnic basket underneath.

I only wish I had a picture of Mr. Ed...I may go over and get one today.....
   Yes....the gravel pit is hot.....void of trees....a little dusty......
but there are still memories........precious ones.

Small Town: Just Reminiscing.......

   
  I was raised in a small town.  Technically we weren't even incorporated...but we had a post-office.... once...a few years before we moved there...  Tamarack ID, population of 12 (five of whom were my immediate family).  Tamarack, Idaho (Adams Co....NOT the resort, they stole the name from us :) , home of a lumber mill, a main employer in the county.  We lived in employee housing, I think alot of  Adams, Co. kids were raised in employee housing...whether for the mill or for the local logging company. 
  My father was the kiln operator and supervised the "dry end" of the mill.  We lived on the plant and I have many memories of "milling" with my dad.  There aren't too many lumber "brats" anymore, but I was one of them.  I remember riding the fork lift around with my dad, testing moisture content in the lumber bunks and sitting outside smelling the fresh cut wood.  Lumber milling is nearly a lost art form.  I was so blessed to have been raised the way I was.
  I bussed to school in New Meadows, graduated in a class of 17 (and yes, it was public school).  Growing up "small town",  we knew everyone!  It seemed everyone was almost family....I don't think I will ever let go of that...whether I want to or not.  Our class of 17 still chats on facebook, and probably will until we grow old.
  Growing up in the mountains of West Central Idaho provided for an amazing childhood.  We had a million acres (or it seemed) of wooded playground in our backyard.  We hiked, picked huckleberries, mushrooms, wild flowers and swam in the Weiser river.  Summers were amazing there.....  Our parents turned us loose and didn't worry .  We would hike all day by ourselves, and return for supper.  Many Janette Oke books were consumed in a tree fort while wearing a homemade prairie dress and black boots...(I am glad no one knew, though no one would be surprised).
  The summer Driver's Ed. instructor taught us all to drive on one of two paved highways through the county.  To practice "passing" we had our various mothers pull in front of the drivers ed car, so we could then pass them.  Completing our drivers ed class did not require freeway driving, or lane changes, as there was only one lane...and the nearest freeway was a hundred miles away.
  We all learned to swim in one of two hotsprings in the county...or the local river.  We all cheered for the eight football players on our eight-man football team (who cares if we never won) :) The kindergarden kiddos attended the same school as did our senior high students....and we all ate in the same cafeteria.
  Life wasn't always a bowl of cherries, but it was pretty sweet.   I pray my children have the fond memories of childhood that I do.  I pray that as a parent now, I can help make those special memories for them....or at least sew my girls some prairie dresses and pass down my Janette Oke books.
           Just reminiscing.........
 
  Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.
                     James 1:17

Yantis Ditch, New Meadows ID