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MARK HAYTER        hayter.mark@gmail.com 

                                                           

                      

Hayter article for October 23, 2021

“In the air again”

            DENVER, COLORADO – I knew if I lived long enough something like this would happen to me. I’m sitting in a line of attached, low-back, vinyl chairs in Terminal C of the Denver International Airport, also referred to as DEN, DIA, and KDEN. At the risk of insulting your intelligence, KDEN is the airport’s ICAO code.

            Earlier today Kay and I flew from Spokane, WA to Denver. Now we have a three-hour layover before heading to Houston International Airport, also referred to as IAH, BIAH, KIAH, and LMNOP. They call ‘em “layovers” to make you think they’ve got beds and TV remotes on hand for you. A more accurate name would be Sit ‘n Waits.

Kay is somewhere in a long line formed outside a Women’s Restroom. There’s a line outside the Men’s room, too, but it moves faster. Women put up with a lot of stuff. Have you noticed that?

            While I await Kay’s return, I’ll tell you about the final days of our Washington trip. Last week we were in Sandpoint, Idaho. Remember? Deep lake, nice cabin, beautiful foliage, lots of ducks, hot tub, no moose, and no snow. I was hoping for snow. It’s probably happening now, but that does me about as much good as the dental floss in my backpack.

            I was hoping we’d get to see the Grand Coulee Dam and maybe take a tour to the very bowels of the thing, but the place was closed. The dam is still operational, they just won’t let us come in. So, no dam trip. Which begs the question, whatever happened to Randy Quaid?

Perhaps the dam tour was canceled due to COVID, or a clogged P-trap, or a “Save the Moose” protest; each one is a valid concern, but how many more chances will I have to tour the Grand Coulee Dam? I’ve half a mind to “come unglued!” -- As I’ve mentioned a few times, that’s what my Dad did several times. While I never witnessed such an occurrence, he sure told some good tales about comin’ unglued.

            When Susan, the Colonel, Curt, Rhonda, Kay, and I returned from the Spud State*, we headed west to the Cascades. My niece Sandy and her husband own a cabin by a stream. I’d give you directions, but Sandy’s husband, Beau, would find me, and he would pull a Liam Neeson on me. You don’t mess with angry Liam.

Beau and Sandy’s cabin is the stuff of dreams. And, I tell you, the stream in the back of their house is moving! If I were to step off of the bank and try to walk on some of the stones, I’d slip and my legs would freeze before my rear met the nearest boulder. The rapids were created from melted snow just above the treeline. And, get this, there are fish in the water. After, the cabin trip, I did a little research about the crazy life of salmon and quickly realized I’d rather be a horned toad than a salmon or trout. The DNA of salmon must possess the most stubborn and impractical genes of any animal. They’re born in a mountain stream. From there they go downstream to the ocean, stay there for a few years, and then go back to the stream they came from so they can make new baby salmon before dying.

            Three nights ago Rhonda and Curt’s church had its Fall Festival over at Bill’s Berry Farm. Running a berry farm has got to be among the most labor-intensive jobs in the world, next to a men’s room cleaning crew. Bill and his wife and family make fruit and berry donuts, jellies, jams, and juices from every fruit in the valley -- berries, cherries, grapes, apples, peaches, pears… They also invent structures for children to play in and on. Even children like me. At the Fall Festival, there were also slides for sliding down, hay bails for climbing up, a corn maze to wander through, wieners to roast, marshmallows to toast, and smores to make. Not an easy job, smores making.

Practically every night is movie night at the Basement Theatre in Curt and Rhonda’s house. Curt and I watched “Support You Local Sheriff” with the kiddos. It was my fourth viewing, but hopefully not my last. It was the only Kid’s night viewing I attended. A couple of nights ago we watched “Knight and Day” (Tom Cruise and Cameron Diaz) and “Princess Bride” (Among my top 10 movies.) Movie night is good, not merely because of the movies, but the craziness during the picture. I’m in a family of crazy people. Thus, making “movie night” a time of movie viewing, crazy acting relatives, and pizza! Does it get any better? 

The movie we watched last night was the movie made from the Broadway play, “Dear Evan Hansen”. That movie put a quash on crazy. Without question, it had a wonderful message, but one wrought with sadness. And, like each of our movie night flicks, I recommend it. --  Wait a minute! I spy Kay walking amongst the masses. Keep the noise down and she won’t know you’re here. 

“Hi, sweety, how was your outing? What? Sure, I’ll hold your backpack. My wallet? Okay. Nothing for me.” The girl is headed for a croissant-sandwich shop. Do you know how much an airport sandwich costs? Call it a croissant sandwich and it costs even more. They taste wonky, too. – On the flight from Spokane, Kay read a Kindle book titled “The Wonky Donkey”.  Everything with her has been “wonky” ever since.

Oops, times up. Before I leave let me reference the “*” symbol after the “Spud State”. Idaho is actually the “Gem State.”  I didn’t see a gem or a baked tater while in Idaho. I think I’ll call it “The Moose State”, because I didn’t see one of those either. – Next time.

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Moose and ducks

                                                                                         Our cabin by the Lake
 

Hayter article for October 17, 2021

“More Ducks than Moose” 

            SANDPOINT, IDAHO -- I don’t mean to pooh-pooh anybody’s moose-sighting story, but I’m beginning to think that Bill and Debbie out of Santa Barbara never saw a moose outside this house. I’ve been standing out here before sunup and haven’t seen or heard a moose one. Regardless, I refuse to let this one setback ruin our North Idaho vacation.

            The origin of the moose story came from the Airbnb guestbook located near the entrance of this beautiful house. When I write my story, I will include the wonderful sight from this pier. If you’re through looking at the house I need you to carefully do a 180 on this narrow pier, so you can see the four separate lines of ducks sitting out there in some cold water. Duck bottoms must be coated in ox-hide. David Attenborough could tell you the name and the genius species of the quackers out there, but he’s not here. He’s in Uruguay studying the eating habits of the Gray Cave Monkey… not to be confused with the Red-bearded Zanzibar Cave Monkey. I choose to call the ducks “short-necked popups”. They’ll float out there like they’ve got good sense, and then all of sudden go underwater and pop up seconds later.

            By the way, the lake you’re looking at is called “Pend Orielle” (Pen-da-ray). It stands for  “pendant hanging from ear”.  It was given the name back in 1810 by a French trader, who chose to reference the jewelry hanging on the ears of the Native inhabitants of the area. (I kid you not.) I might’ve named it after the animals that inhabited the LAKE, “Lake Short-necked Pop Up”. The French?

The width of Lake Pen-da-ray varies, but the length is 45 miles, and the depth 1200 feet. That makes it the fifth deepest lake in the country. As such, much of the area around here was confiscated by the Navy Department early in WWII so they could establish a naval base here to train crews for submarine duty and to test new devices invented for submarines. The navy preferred to do this inland for fear Japanese subs might come in and steal our secrets or sink our subs before the sailors had been properly trained. It is said that at the bottom of this lake is housed equipment and perhaps a submarine that our navy chose to leave in place. Kind of like an underwater Area 51. If we could communicate with one or two of those short-necked pop ups, we might learn the truth. 

I would’ve side-stepped the history lesson, but I thought it too fascinating. Almost as fascinating are those who have accompanied me here. There they are. “From Washington State, we have my niece, Rhonda and her husband Curt, who bought a lot of the grub, including Duncan Donuts coffee, but also hauled Kay and my buns out here. Give ‘em a big hand! Then we have my sister Susan and her husband Don who live on the western side of Washington. Sue, you and Don show yourselves! Col Don, if you will, sir, stay out of the woods. I’ve already looked and there are no moose out there for you to manhandle.” 

I wanted to introduce you to my family here because they are largely responsible for making this trip such a grand experience… them and the ducks. Oh, and the hot tub. The owners of this place put up a hot tub just off the back deck. I’ve never been in a hot tub when it was cold outside. Or warm. Turns out, hot tubs are best when it’s cold outside.

Rhonda did a superb job picking out our Airbnb.  It has a large living space that includes four bedrooms, four bathrooms, a footlocker full of board games, bookcases full of novels and CDs, a washing machine with a spin-cycle that creates the noise and speed of a WWII, P-51 Mustang. And the homeowners included more amenities than I have in my house back in Conroe. They’ve got several canoe-like boats, three coffee pots, and a spatula the size of a shovel. 

Yesterday, Curt found a backgammon board and challenged me to a game. After I gave him my answer, he forced the challenge on me. I’ve only seen backgammon played in movies. It looks way complicated. And when the rules are read to you, it sounds even more complicated. Curt was just learning, but pretty much had to tell me the proper moves to make after the roll of the dice. Get this. I won the first game. More accurately, Curt lost to himself. I now know a little bit about how to play backgammon, but I find it too challenging. Too much strategy involved. Maybe if I was in prison and it was the only game on the cell-block, I could get to enjoy the game, but it’s just not worth going to prison for. 

I’ll tell you this, we’ve sure been eating a lot better than we would in prison. Rhonda, Curt, and Susan have cooked some really good stuff. Rhonda prepared about the best bbq ribs I’ve ever had. And, she’s a Washingtonian! Curt grilled salmon last night, and then made pigs in a blanket and then scrambled eggs with cheese and every vegetable in the house. And, get this, each of the pig blankets had two sausages in ‘em! I didn’t even know it could be done. 

Tomorrow? Who knows? Maybe we’ll see a moose. We’ve yet to see old-town Sandpoint, so we’ll probably do that tomorrow. Oh, while there’s not any noticeable sand out here, the town was named from an entry in a diary where a French trader wrote, “I left point of sand in the early morning.” Upon finding the trader’s log the people of the area called their new town “Sandpoint”. In the Northwest, people don’t spend a great deal of time coming up with the name of places. – Next time.

           

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hayter.mark@gmail.com