Saturday, September 25, 2021

Grandview, Washington

Hayter article for September 24, 2021

“Still Hill”

            GRANDVIEW, WASHINGTON – Grape orchard to the north of us, apples to the east, cherries to the south, and corn to the west. Goats? The goats are gone. I can only speak for myself, but life has never been better here on Still Hill.

            Over the past four years, Kay and I have spent several months at Curt and Rhonda Still’s place here in Grandview, located on the eastern side of the Cascades. Mount Adams and Ranier are on the Western horizon. Quite the view. I call this location Still Hill because all three of their sons live on this hillside. Clint and Cole each built houses on the hill. The youngest son, Cody, lives on Curt and Rhonda’s spread. If they had a daughter, they would’ve named her, Calamity Still. Just a guess.

            The last two times we visited Curt and Rhonda, the goats were here. There were somewhere between one to five of ‘em, depending on which ones had escaped the field enclosure. I don’t care what you say about goats, they’re crafty beasts. They can climb over, between, or through any wall, fence, curtain, or hedge. I’d be sitting at the breakfast table and see Mama Goat passing by. I’d pick up my cell phone to call Curt, “Yo, Red Dawg Leader, the goats are out.” Somewhere during our third month, I quit telling on the goats. They could walk to Oregon for all I cared.

            Curt never seemed to tire of rounding them up. After several years, he did tire just a bit of the early morning milking. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to find a goat-milker during a week-long vacation? You might as well locate somebody in Oregon, because, as I’ve established, the goats are just as likely to show up there as in their pen. And, get this. Now that they’re gone! Curt told me that he misses milking them. He considered it a good time for pondering stuff.

            Kay and I are staying in my sister Sue’s house which sits on the eastern side of the hill. Susan sits on the western side of the mountains, with her husband Col. Don. They live in Tacoma, because they think there’s more to see and do, and because there aren’t as many goats.

            We’ve had some good eats here. Fried goat, for one. -- I joke! Curt sold them to a guy who owns “Missing Goat Ranch”. It covers a three-state area, as well as the provinces of  Alberta and Saskatchewan.  – Where was I? -- Right! While here, we’ve been well fed. I was seven pounds lighter when I set foot on the 737 out of Bush Intercontinental. Or, 787? Whatever it was, it probably had “Narrow-body” in its name.

             We were on one of those three-seat rows. The third-seat lady was a wonderful seating companion. She had a sense of humor and everything. She was from North Dakota but didn’t know the capital of the state just south of her. Nobody knows “Pierre”! Not even the people in South Dakota. By the way, our time at the airport and during our flight was pleasant. People were so nice. Almost as nice as everyone on Still Hill. They were all so glad to see us. Some of ‘em even seemed glad to see me. 

            You may not remember the twin girls. Bella and Livy. Bella is the one with bumps on her head and cuts on her arms and legs. She’s somewhat of a go-getter. Livy is a bit more petite. Both girls seem to know their football. Bella was holding a football even while eating. We had watched the Seahawk/Titan game and were really upset. Bella said that the Titans cheated. Livy thought so, too, but she was a little less adamant about it. By the way, their mom, made Bella and me quit throwing the football around in the living room. Brittani’s worse than Kay!

            Susan and the Colonel have already returned to Tacoma. They even cleaned up their house before leaving. It looks neat, doesn’t it? I spent a couple of days trying to figure out where all the stuff was. Turns out, they don’t have a decent apple peeler. They live right next to an orchard, yet don’t have a functional apple peeler. Kay felt she had to make a pie, so I had to peel the apples. Susan has an apple-potato lathe on which you can stick an apple and turn a handle to peel it. There is a special way to do it, and my sister never thought to teach me. I had to use a knife. Do you know how much of an apple you lose while peeling with a knife? A pie’s worth. The pie was great, though. And the ribs my niece cooked were superb. I thought mine were great until I tasted Rhonda’s. She taught me how she did hers, so when I get home, I’m gonna rib the daylights out of the place.

We’ve already done a bunch of stuff. I’ll share some of it with you next time. I do want to mention one thing that impressed me a bunch. Curt and I were on one of the back roads when this huge semi-truck came by carrying a massive load of orange tubes. I thought they were electrical diodes. I’m not that familiar with orange tubular things. Curt told me they were carrots. I was so impressed that he didn’t say, “They’re carrots, you idiot!” You haven’t lived until you’ve seen a truckload of loose carrots. Well, you might’ve lived a little. 

Later this week, we’re supposed to see some hot-air balloons and go zip-lining. I won’t have enough room to tell you all about it, so you’ll have to use your imagination. – Next time.

 

 

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hayter.mark@gmail.com

 

 

Grandparent Story

Hayter article for September 17, 2021

“A Grandparent Story” 

            One of the best-kept secrets on the continent is Grandparents Day. Up until September 12th of last week, I didn’t know there was one. The thing just popped up. Mother’s Day was made official in 1914, Father’s Day in 1972, and Grandparents Day in 1978. You ask me, special days for fathers and grandparents were established out of guilt. Grandparents Day didn’t even get an apostrophe.

            On this year’s Grandparents Day, I sent a congratulatory email to all of the grandparents in Kay’s family and mine. The response was underwhelming.

            Kay and I have no living grandparents and none of our children gave us grandkids. No telling how many grandkids we would have if we had had children. We brought nothing into this world, so it is for certain that no one can find anything bad to say about our kids. Fortunately, the rest of the Hayters helped populate the daylights out of this planet. I have a sneaking suspicion that the “…be fruitful and multiply, fill the earth, and subdue it” line from Genesis 1: 28, has been done and done.

            While I’ve never been a grandparent, I had some in my day. Over the past 40 years, I’ve written about each of them. A couple of you may remember my Grandma Pearl. The other four of you never heard of Pearl. My daddy was the only son of Ed and Pearl Hayter. During the Great Depression, Pearl left Ed and my dad for a better life. That’s a tempting thing to do when practically overnight, your husband goes from being a store owner in Sapulpa, Oklahoma to a sharecropper in Creek County. It’s difficult to keep a store when you know that people can’t pay you for what you give them. 

During our two-week summer vacation to Bristow Oklahoma, Dennis, Jill, and I would beg Mom to let us leave Grandpa Hayter’s house because we were so bored. I was too scared to ask Daddy if we could leave, because it might break his heart, and then he might spank me. 

            When I was young, we got to see Grandmother Pearl on several occasions. She married a few times and had acquired several last names. It’s just weird when you can’t keep up with your grandmother’s name. Pearl visited our family in Pasadena on several occasions. And, my greatest trip ever was when Dad took Larry, Dennis, and me to Tampa one summer to visit her. She was big in Tampa. Took us to a swanky restaurant.

I remember that she visited us in Pasadena shortly after Kay and I got married. Just before leaving, she handed me an envelope. I’m glad she drove off before I opened it. There was a check for $200 in it. Back then, $200 was way above anything Kay and I would expect to receive from… well, from anyone. And, could we use the money! After my first few months working with the Texas Forest Service in Conroe, I sent Grandma Pearl a check for $200 and a nice card thanking her for the loan. A couple of weeks later, I received an envelope containing my check, torn in two, together with a kind note explaining that the money was intended as a gift.

            Loosely related to the stories above is one that took me way too long to figure out. I hate that. -- Once upon a time, Faris Hayter married Elsie Teagarden. At that time, Faris’ dad was still single. Soon after, though, he married Nancy. Just as nice a woman as you’d ever want to meet. She was the most pleasant old person in Bristow, Oklahoma. Believe me, I’ve seen ‘em all. There was just something about her attitude and how she understood kids and seemed to enjoy talking to us. She smiled a lot, too.

            The weird thing about Grandmother Hayter was the fact that we were told to call her “Aunt” Nancy. She was our Grandpa’s wife but our aunt. None of us caught on, we just accepted it. I assumed that she didn’t want to be called “grandmother”. Well, as you may have guessed, it was the strict Christian upbringing that led to us calling her “Aunt”. Seems Ed and Nancy had each been divorced. I knew that Pearl had left Grandpa Hayter, but I never thought about Nancy being divorced, which was stupid of me because I knew she had an older son. I figured her husband had died. But, the people at church knew that they were both divorced, so they refused to accept the marriage. They were both considered adulterers. The way Mom got around it was by having us call Grandmother Hayter, Aunt Nancy. -- Too many of us learn just enough about religion to hurt people.

            I do so wish I could’ve told my grandmother how sorry I was for referring to her as Aunt Nancy. She had earned so much more of my respect than my Grandmother Pearl ever did. After all these years, I hold no animosity toward Grandma Pearl. After all, by leaving my dad, she did our family a favor. However, I’ll never believe that Mom did us a favor by hiding the truth from us. And, it makes me feel stupid for not being able to figure it all out while Nancy was still alive.

            Well, that’s my grandparent story. I hope and trust that your grandparent story is a bit more upbeat. Regardless, I’ll not bring this up again. -- And, the entire congregation said, “Hallelujah!” – One last thing. Next Saturday has been declared “National Ghost Hunting Day”.  Enjoy. Me? I’ve already dug up all the ghosts I care to.

 

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hayter.mark@gmail.com