You’re taking me WHERE?

It’s amazing to me, still, in spite of that last quarter mile. It’s one of those things that catches people’s attention, even though they might not try it themselves. It could be the act itself or the timing. Regardless, I’m still in awe. It was our vacation Day #3, the reason for this trip, and it was FABULOUS.


We hike in Oregon on a regular basis, and over the past few years, we’ve seen several old fire towers; in fact, The Husband likes to choose our hikes based on whether there’s a tower up top. Returning to a certain spot in Montana had long been on his bucket list but I didn’t hear about it until more recently. At first I thought, “What are the chances?” He learned last year that someone there organizes hikes of this very area, including Mt. Henry. By the time he found out, it was too late to plan a trip.

Well. He’s never been one to give up.


While in college The Husband was the lookout in a fire tower one summer–about seven miles from the Canadian border–for three weeks. It was a summer job with the Forest Service for which he came all the way from Pennsylvania. The destination: Mt. Henry,  Montana (P.O. Box: In The Sticks). Nearest town area: Yaak.

Mt Henry_1969_Bruce and the two who drove to Montana
Montana bound

The eye wear takes us back a bit as does the car, but that’s another post. Answering a Penn State ad, these adventuresome college boys headed west. They were 20 years old and the year was 1968.


This year’s vacation location turned out to be Montana. We were going to see The Husband’s fire tower atop Mt. Henry. Wondering where Yaak is located, I checked a few maps and see it is quite close to the Canadian border. Do you see Yaak in the center near the top?

WA Idaho MT map of 2017 vacation areasHere’s a closer view below. The top red X is Yaak, the bottom red X is Sylvanite. The Ranger Station back then–where he lived when not in the tower, when he worked on the roads–was located in Sylvanite. The arrow points to Mt. Henry. The horizontal line near the top is the border, and the area is in the Kootenai National Forest.

Yaak and Sylvanite and Mt Henry in Kootenai Nat Forest

We looked for the Ranger Station in Sylvanite and found a few remnants:

And, finally, Mt. Henry is on the right of this map and Yaak at the bottom.

Yaak and Mt Henry mapThe reason for this trip: to see the fire tower where The Husband worked in 1968. The hike: eight and a half miles.


July 29, 2017; the day was finally here. We rose early and had breakfast at The Dirty Shame Saloon. You read that correctly (and, while the Yaak dining choices are few, it didn’t disappoint. Click the link to see Chef Floyd’s plate-sized huckleberry pancakes).

After breakfast, we met in front of the Yaak, Mercantile (across the street from The Dirty Shame) at 9:00 a.m.–we were Mel, Edwin, Jessie, Amy, Heidi, The Husband, and myself. Oh, and Juan, Heidi’s dog–to caravan to the trail head. After meeting everyone, I had a really good feeling about this hike. I felt energized. I was very glad we decided to go.

mt henry_sign at trail head I used to backpack and hike and run for exercise. Crabby knees and achy feet now slow me down, but I refuse to sit home and watch life pass me by. With brand new custom inserts, I was ready.

And, nervous. When The Husband was here in 1968, he came across a mama bear and her three cubs ON THIS VERY TRAIL. I’d heard this story many times, and, while he knew to back away and did so without incident, it can go horribly wrong. We reviewed bear safety before the hike, but I was still nervous.

It was with trepidation that I hit the trail, but to my delight, no more than 10 minutes in, I realized something that blew my fears out of the water. We were seven and a half (there is safety in numbers), we were chatty (bears don’t like noise), and three of us had bear spray (no guarantee but I felt a helluva lot better having it). Once I relaxed about our furry neighbors, I was able to enjoy this beautiful hike. I could sense I was with a fabulous group of people and I wanted to get to know them. I hung on to that good feeling. And, oh, what a beautiful area.

Mt Henry lake_July 29 2017
part way up, the hillside opened to this view
mt henry trail
lots of bear grass not in bloom
Mt Henry hike_July 29 2017 (24)
making our way
mt henry_bluebell type all along the way
lavender cheer along the trail

Several rests were much appreciated.

Mt Henry hike_July 29 2017 (22)
Amy and Edwin
mt henry amy heading back down trail
Amy in the bear grass

Part way up we found the most delightful lake.

Mt Henry Lake_July 29
Mt Henry lake
Mt Henry hike_July 29 2017
the top of that ridge is where we were headed

Here is that same ridge 49 years earlier, and a view of the lake from the ridge top.

As we hiked along I was quite impressed by the passion I heard from my hiking companions. Passion for the environment, that is. Several of them, maybe most, are part of a group, work for a group, or volunteer with a group whose aim is to protect and preserve the Montana wilderness. I happily hiked along, kept an eye out for bears, but smiled as we ascended, impressed by their passion, knowing this land is in good hands.

mt henry saying goodbyeBefore I realized it we were near the top. I knew the last quarter mile would be steep, but didn’t know the hike was rated “difficult.” I so appreciate the team effort in the group to stay together. These people are caring hikers and I smile now to think of their good hearts.

We hike on a regular basis. I have done “difficult” hikes. The final ascent was a challenge, but once I found a tree and dehydrated myself, and once we began to see portions of the tower–THE REASON FOR THIS TRIP–I could not contain my excitement. I paced myself and kept moving. I would see that tower, I would go inside, I would see the look on The Husband’s face, 49 years later.

mt henry lookout from trail top
and, there it is
Mt Henry hike_July 29
The Husband at Mt. Henry lookout tower, 2017

It was impressively breathtaking and worth every single step, now and then:

Mt Henry hike_

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

The door was “secured” with a loose board, so, we took advantage:

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

A bit windy up top, Jessie had to spot Mel so Mel could get the next photos of Bruce and I up top:

mt henry_jessie spotting mel as was quite windy

And, while up top, I spied Edwin enjoying the view:

mt henry_edwin enjoying the viewHere is the tower in 2017 and in 1968:

He did it; he made his way back 49 years later. He accomplished something he’d been wanting to do for a long time. It was a fabulous day on many levels. While up top, we lounged on the rocks for lunch, took a rest, and wandered to absorb the view. I took off my socks and boots, just because. And, of course, photos of each other:

And the best part: GROUP SHOTS!!!

Mt Henry_photos from Heidi_July 29
Karen, Bruce, Jessie, Heidi, Edwin, Mel holding Juan, Amy

Mt Henry_photos from HeidiWhile it was very tempting to stay, all good things must end. Besides, we knew we had something very appealing awaiting us down trail.

The trek down was just as lovely.

mt henry trail w heidi and juan
Karen, Heidi, and Juan

mt henry trail and bear grassWe each were ready for the cooling freshness of that beautiful lake; some swam, some dipped.

Mt Henry lakeShortly after, we reached the trail head once again, and, along with tired feet, I believe collectively refreshed and happy to have visited a gorgeous area and to have found new friends in these wonderful hikers. It was a dream come true for one and a beautiful hike for the rest. My cup is full.

Mt Henry group shot_courtesy Heidi

Mt Henry_photos from Heidi_
Mt. Henry, 2017

Thank you all, new friends, for a fabulous day.


Photo courtesy: Heidi J., who graciously shared her photos of the day. Heidi took the group shots at the top. Thank you, Heidi! ❤

Hike: Organized by Jessie. Thank you, Jessie. ❤

What a shame

Turns out, this year’s vacation in Yaak, Montana included a couple of unexpected but altogether charming places. On our first full day we saw the Yaak River Falls and the Kootenai River Falls, places one could easily call A Little Slice of Heaven. If you’d like, you can see photos of the Falls, this year and from 1968, here.

Why, you might ask, did we go to Yaak, Montana–in the middle of no where–for vacation? I’m getting there. Remember that charm I mentioned?

Take a peek inside the dining hall of the Yaak River Lodge.

Yaak River Lodge_Yaak MT (38)If that’s not enough to help you digest breakfast, how about this:

Yaak River Lodge_Yaak MT (36)I honestly hadn’t noticed the cats because (I was tired, and) the big black beast held me captive. I had to get a close up of those eyes (and those teeth).

Yaak River Lodge_Yaak MT (37)Breakfast was served and we were not disappointed. The coffee, ready at 6 a.m., did not disappoint, either. Owners John and Dallas were most gracious hosts.

Yaak River Lodge_Yaak MT (32)As I sat enjoying this wonderful meal–we didn’t have much of a dinner the night before so I was feeling quite satisfied–when I happened to look up, straight across the table.

Yaak River Lodge_Yaak MT (35)There was another; I’d missed most of the smaller animals in the room aside from those most obvious.  Something told me I’d better start paying closer attention. I was in Montana, after all.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Our room, the last one at the end of the hall, was so quiet one began to think everyone had left the planet. We live in the country, and we are used to quiet, but this? This was eerily quiet. And, just the ticket.

Yaak River Lodge_Yaak MT (7)
in front of the lodge when we arrived

Yaak River Lodge_Yaak MT (8)The lodge is on the right and does not include the buildings on the left.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Above are the grounds behind the lodge.

It was lovely and peaceful and quiet and refreshing–possibly a little scary in the dining hall–but well worth the time we spent here. About that dining experience: as explained by the owner, breakfast is served in the lodge during the week. On the weekends, they serve breakfast at the saloon (in Yaak, two miles down the road) also owned by John and Dallas. That meant that on Saturday–the day of the event that brought us to Montana–we had to eat breakfast at the saloon. The Dirty Shame Saloon.

I can’t say I’ve ever had breakfast in a saloon. I can’t recall the last time I was IN a saloon. Back home we call them bars; the last one I’d been to was when I was in college. We weren’t sure what to expect. Turns out, The Dirty Shame was a delightful breakfast experience.

We were the only customers. I really liked that. We had our own personal chef. Floyd is his name and he knows how to cook a pancake:

Yaak MT breakfast at the Dirty ShameNo ordinary pancakes, these were huckleberry pancakes, and they were fabulous. I never order pancakes in a restaurant, but Bruce nearly always does. I tried a couple bites. I ordered a ham and cheese omelet our first morning there–yes, we ate here twice–and scrambled eggs the second. Neither day did I leave hungry or disappointed. Floyd, you made two fabulous breakfasts. Thank you!

You may have noticed that they think big around here. Below is my second breakfast here, but note the butter. It is served by the slab for the pancakes.

Yaak breakfast at the Dirty ShameI was asked whether I’d like hazelnut or vanilla flavoring in my coffee. I declined and said, “No, just plain, thanks.” I meant black, but he thought I meant cream without flavor, and promptly brought out a half gallon carton of half and half and set it near my plate. They don’t mess around here; they aim to please. I thanked him and smiled.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

As I looked at the table and remembered where I was, I felt a little giggle inside that threatened to break the silence. As time and place are everything, I could only smile once again:

Dirty Shame Saloon breakfast_July 2017 (1)My orange juice was served in a plastic Coors cup.

The choices are few for food in Yaak; there is nothing else on the main road either way unless one is willing or able to drive to Troy or Libby, some distance. In Yaak proper, below, one must dine at The Dirty Shame, buy food at the Yaak Mercantile, or eat at the other saloon next to the mercantile. That’s it.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

As we finished our meal in the company of a darned good cook and a delightful host, I thought, what a (dirty) shame that more people don’t know about this place. I don’t know if we’ll ever be back, but if we return, I know where to get a fabulous huckleberry pancake.

Next post: Day #3 and the reason for this trip.

Until then, Cheers!

A little slice of heaven

On July 27th we left the house at 7:00 a.m. Destination? Yaak, Montana. Why? My husband wanted to return to the place where he’d spent the summer 49 years prior. What could possibly lure him back to the middle of no where, that many years later? Stay with me; it won’t disappoint.


Fast forward to this summer. We arranged to stay in Yaak–there are very few options–but we were not disappointed in our lodging. In fact, the area has quite the history. More on that; stay tuned (it won’t disappoint, either).

Day #1: Arrival at the Yaak River Lodge, 10 hours from home. After a snack we moseyed down to the river behind the lodge. This is the first sign I saw. Suddenly it was hard to swallow. That’s when I heard: “Be aware, Karen, not scared!” OK, “I can do this,” I thought. Wait…are those bullet holes in that sign?! “Don’t ask!” I heard. Breathe. And again….

Who said that?!

Yaak River Lodge_Yaak MTWe saw no bears, but it was breath-taking and serene and calming and quiet and amazing. It was still. I felt peace. It refreshed me and as I stood along the bank, I felt inwardly energized and uplifted. I am forever amazed how nature and all its creations can be so empowering (if not a little scary). I guess they know how tempting it is to stay right there in that spot; other than the ground, there was no place to sit.

Yaak River Lodge_Yaak MT (2)
the captivating Yaak River

A short walk along the river, watching the deer dart away, standing in the cool breeze…it was the perfect treat to end a long day in the car.

bee on flower_Yaak riverbDay #2: We set out to find the Yaak River Falls and the Kootenai River Falls. It’s really hard to describe this area, to find accurately descriptive words. It was so still and serene that as I stood right here, below, the tears flowed. I was mesmerized. I didn’t want to move.

Yaak River_Yaak Montana July 2017
Yaak River, on our way to the Falls

Here’s what it looked like in 1968 when my husband caught sight of mama moose and her calf:

What was fun was watching my husband take it all in, to see this wondrous place once again.

Bruce along the Yaak River Falls area

Yaak River Falls, then and now:

Yaak River falls_1969

Yaak River Falls_July 2017
He thinks we are standing in the same spot 49 years later

Up the road we found the Kootenai Falls. What we didn’t know was what we’d have to do in order to get there.

Kootenai River falls_swinging bridge (11)
Looks easy enough

The trail led to this walkway that crossed over train tracks below. As we approached, so did a train. I froze as it zoomed below. I could not bring myself to stand directly above a moving train; I stood to the side (I’m guessing that’s when my legs locked). We bounced to the rumble below, and I clung to the fence wall. Others stood directly above effortlessly taking photos. I stood aside, trying not to throw up. I blurted out, “This thing is bouncing!” and the lady next to me said, “Wait till you see the other one.

kootenai-river-falls_swinging-bridge-12
My husband, taking the photos in the slide show

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Once the train passed and I could unlock my legs, we continued along the “trail.” Once over and down the other side, this is what we saw:

Kootenai River falls_swinging bridgeTake a look at those stairs. I heard, “Don’t look down!” Right. I just finished BoUnCiNg up there and they say ‘don’t look down’? Are they ballerinas? You can see the ground…not good for the weenies faint of heart. Oh, well; onward. At least I had the sense to wear good shoes. Sensible shoes. With my brand new inserts. As the mother of two Eagle Scouts and the wife of a former Scout Master, I was prepared. On second thought, for females (who have given birth) who dare cross, Burlington Northern should provide a box of Depends. There should be warning signs. I might have to write them a letter.

Finally, the Falls. We could go left, or left. Got it.

Kootenai River falls_swinging bridge (9)Huh? Left or left? Right. I mean left. We veered left.

And, what’s this about a Swinging Bridge? I just bounced and now they want me to swing? Someone around here has been smoking funny cigarettes. As one with a healthy fear of heights, I was feeling pretty darned proud of myself for having just crossed bounced over a moving train. I was beginning to feel a little bit invincible….

…until I saw the teenage boy who, on his way back, began jumping up and down, right in the middle. That’s him, below. I’d considered crossing until his antics blew that to H E  double match sticks (God BLESS you, young man!).

Kootenai River falls_swinging bridge (16)
wise lady waits until aerobics mid-bridge have stopped

Kootenai River falls_swinging bridgeBut, oh, what a view. I took this shot from 20 feet out. It took me 30 minutes to get there, but, whatev. I pivoted left and snapped a shot; I pivoted right and snapped another. I quickly turned and knocked over the lady behind me headed for the entrance.

Backtracking along the same trail (are you confused? You should be), we veered left (or was that right?) and found a better view of the Falls.

kootenai-river-falls_swinging-bridge-25Gorgeous, fabulous, peaceful, beautiful, amazing, breath-taking…none of which adequately describe this area. Maybe they all do. Either way, guests stood silent, watching, studying, taking it all in. It was a little slice of heaven.

Kootenai River falls_KarenGiven it was in the low 90s, we headed back to the trail head for a cool one:

Kootenai Falls_huckleberry lemonade
Huckleberry lemonade

And that was the end of our first full day in our little slice of heaven.

Next post I’ll show you our lodging, the “area” where we stayed for three nights, and share a bit of local history. There’s a reason they don’t tell you BEFORE you arrive…but, when in Rome…I mean, Yaak.

What do you think of the scenery?

If eyes were made for seeing

On Being Asked Whence Is the Flower

~May 1834


 

It isn’t May, and these aren’t rhodies, but they are beautiful. I had to share. Enjoy!

The rest of the poem is at the end.

first lily

morning poppy

blooming rosemary

bachelor buttons

queen anne at dusk
Some call Queen Anne lace a weed; I think they are beautiful.
queen anne
The blossoms can grow the length of a hand. Those are BIG weeds (according to the husband).
queen anne purple center
Ever notice the centers? Tiny purple blossoms. 🙂
high above the cabbage
Oh, fine! It’s a weed. But, look at that moon and the colors of the sky! I had to include this one.
seeds grown from the green house
Grown from seed in my tiny greenhouse.
poppy in bloom
In full bloom.

volunteers in the garden

 

daisies from last year
Volunteers from last year take up a full bed.
IMG_20170709_123114206
This year’s hanging baskets brighten both porches.

This is where we sit each night, to regroup, share a meal, and always a few laughs. This is my haven, my preferred place in all the world. Right here. Outside. Breathing in the fresh air (when the farmer next door hasn’t just spread manure).

new deck and remodel of garden
Our newly, about 98% finished deck, surrounded by all of the above flowers.
garden remodel
Current project: to redo the back yard, in progress. I am supervisory personnel. 

Sometimes, when tractors have stilled and farmers have quit the day, we hear a different kind of music:

I hope you are lucky as well in that you have beauty in your life, each and every day.


The Rhodora

~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes,
I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods,
Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook,
To please the desert and the sluggish brook.
The purple petals, fallen in the pool,
Made the black water with their beauty gay;
Here might the red-bird come his plumes to cool,
And court the flower that cheapens his array.
Rhodora! if the sages ask thee why
This charm is wasted on the earth and sky,
Tell them, dear, that if eyes were made for seeing,
Then Beauty is its own excuse for being:
Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose!
I never thought to ask, I never knew:
But, in my simple ignorance, suppose
The self-same Power that brought me there brought you

The pieces left behind

I’ve been thinking lately about posterity. It comes with the prominence of wrinkles. I’ve wondered what my children will remember most about me. It might be that I was a strict mother (She was mean!), or that I preferred family time over all else (She never let us have our friends over!), or that I made everything from scratch (She made us eat whole grain noodles!), or that I loved family movie night (She used to hog the couch on movie night!). Above all else, I hope they recall how much I love them (She wanted to hug us all the time!).

Life is about more than today, and more than yourself.

We cannot as children know the mind of our parents. Not until we grow older and have lived a bit of life. Was I strict? Of course! There’s no better way to learn right from wrong, manners and good behavior, than at and from home. I was their first teacher. If it meant I taught them to survive, I’ll gladly wear the “Mean” banner. My reward? I have very well-mannered adult children. Were their friends welcome? Of course! Did I prefer time with my children than time with all others? Of course! Only a parent knows. Do I love their friends? Of course! I just prefer my kids. My reward? My kids know they matter most.

Did I make them eat “weird” food? Of course (if you call whole wheat flour “weird”)! How better to learn the palates of the world than to try something with various ingredients, right from home? Did I make them try alternate flours? Did I use coconut milk? Did I use egg substitutes and Adams peanut butter? Of course! My reward? All of them love to try new foods (and all later thanked me). My other reward? Currently, among the five people I call my children, there is lactose intolerance, severe food allergies, gluten intolerance AND Celiac disease; I have no choice. It’s second nature to each of them for me to use almond flour, or egg substitute, or coconut milk in my cooking. They don’t blink an eye when they know something I’ve made uses non-traditional ingredients.

What will your legacy be?

We’re gathering soon for a birthday celebration, and I’ll be cooking the meal. The requested dessert was Short Cake with fresh berries. How could my son have known that his great, great grandma Lucy had the best recipe ever? Did he know about the butter layer in the middle? I wrote about Lucy’s delicious dessert a while ago; you can see the recipe and ingredients here.

What will your great-grandchildren be told about you?

I never met Lucy, nor did my children, but all of us visited the house where she raised her children. We stood in her kitchen. I have something that belonged to her.

Lucys cookbook from 1933_Lucy Fox Beachler_Dorothys mother_a
Kitchen Guide, 1933

This was Lucy’s cookbook, one she passed on to her daughter, Dorothy, my children’s grandma. The binding is there but hardly functional.

IMG_20170704_074747673The pages are very fragile. They feel thin and dry; they crumble to the touch.

IMG_20170704_074644097The pages are so old and dry, in fact, simple touching and turning breaks off tiny pieces. And, this seemed rather symbolic. I cannot handle or look through this book without leaving tiny pieces behind.

IMG_20170704_075125604And, that’s when it hit me that my legacy does not need to be extravagant. It need not be expensive items, heirlooms, or hefty bank accounts. Maybe the best legacy is the way in which someone is remembered, the way in which someone lived their life. It could be in the way someone prepared for each day, the design of the food on the table. Maybe it’s simple preparation, thinking of others.

Creating a legacy does not have to be a burden,

The short cake recipe calls for many taboo ingredients. While I’ve made this more than once as written, my cupboards hold a variety of choices.

IMG_20170704_074537726I have in stock gluten-free, oat, brown rice, coconut, and tapioca flours.

it can be your joy and can create

I keep on hand coconut milk in both the carton and the can. I recently started making oat milk and oat cream from that oat milk. Ever tried ice cream made with both full fat coconut milk and home made oat cream? It’s a work in progress. And, speaking of ice cream, do you know that a fabulous sugar free fudge sauce can be made using unsweetened chocolate, cream, butter, sour cream, and sugar substitute? Stay tuned….

your satisfaction with living each day.

I have coconut sugar, Truvia, Stevia, Splenda, plain old sucrose, and honey and molasses. I keep egg replacer in the cupboard and fresh eggs in the fridge. If neither works, I keep a chart nearby of other replacements for eggs. Bananas can be used depending on the recipe. I was once told by one of my children that they love to eat at my house because I store all the non-traditional ingredients. That’s not a compliment I’ll ever forget.

What kind of world do you want to leave your great-grandchildren?

I keep Smart Balance in the freezer for when I want to bake something calling for butter. Is it the same? No. Does the final product lack in taste? Sometimes one can tell, but it’s not so different as to be unacceptable. Do I make a practice of using plastic butter? No. Do we all prefer the original ingredients? Sometimes, but are we willing to forego the “regular” stuff so that one person can enjoy the meal? Better yet: am I willing, as the cook, to make an original AND a second one for the people who cannot tolerate the regular ingredients? Of course! I love to bake (meaning, they will always want to visit, and they will know I’ll be well-prepared).

What can you do today to help create that world?

~ Jonathan Lockwood Huie


My children don’t need me the way they used to; they are what the world calls millenials. They are grown and quite capable of making their own mistakes decisions. I cannot solve all of their problems, I cannot fix the troubles they meet. I can, however, give them the fuel to function at their optimal best. When they share my table, I can provide nourishment I know works for their bodies, eliminate those that don’t.

It goes back to their first dinner table when they saw “brown” noodles for the first time. I wanted them to consider other options. It goes back to those oat pancakes that to this day, they say, made them gag. I wanted them to be open to new ideas. All three swear we force fed them garden beets. I don’t remember it exactly that way, but…

IMG_20170704_074754892Life is about more than ourselves.

These are the pieces I’m leaving behind.

 


P.S. I was a couch hog.

The way you love your partner

“Marriage is not a noun; it’s a verb. It isn’t something you get. It’s something you do. It’s the way you love your partner every day.”

~ Barbara De Angelis


I’ve been thinking lately about a near miss, something that happened in March that still gives me pause. It started out as a much-needed girls’ weekend at the beach. We’ve taken this trip many times, the girls and I, and went away without worry. We’d left behind our families, homes, and pets on Friday, and came back refreshed and giggled out on Sunday. We gossiped, talking late into the night; we ate too much junk; we drank too much wine (is that possible?); we ate too much chocolate (also impossible). We shopped. We walked. We slept in. We washed dishes, hours after each meal. We sat around in our jammies until 11 am, or later. We broke as many rules as we could, the makings of a great girl’s weekend.

It was great, but it could have turned out a lot differently.


When I leave for the weekend, I always text my husband to let him know I arrived. He does the same when he goes away. Friday evening, March 17, sometime after we arrived at our destination, I texted home. There was no response.

I wasn’t overly worried. I knew he would be out and about, working on our deck and in the garage on other projects. Our daughter had arranged to meet a friend on Saturday, so Bruce was home alone. By Saturday, when I tried to call and could not reach him, I started to worry. Between 10 and 11 a.m., I texted again and called three times. Nothing.


The girls and I were on foot, walking the promenade, peering into shops. It was cold but sunny; so bright, in fact, it was difficult to read our phone screens. The lack of response made us all uneasy. Deb tried to locate the house phone of my neighbor, Richard. She could not find it. It was hard to miss the worried look on their faces. That sick feeling took hold. I felt shaky. My hands became clammy. My mind was racing and I couldn’t focus.

Richard and I are Facebook friends, so I sent him a written message. He didn’t answer.

“Marriage is not what everyone thinks it is. It’s not waking up early every morning to make breakfast and eat together. Its not cuddling in bed together until both of you peacefully fall asleep.

After a few minutes, I noticed the small green dot next to Richard’s name, which, I presumed, indicated he was on Facebook at that moment. I’d never tried to make a call using Facebook. I didn’t know how to use that feature. I pushed the icon. I soon heard a faint, “Hello?”

I said, “Richard, this is Karen, your neighbor.” I paused. There was no response. I later learned he was just as astonished as I was; he’d never used Facebook to make a call and to this day does not know how we both managed to do so.

It’s not a clean home and a homemade meal every day. It’s someone who steals the covers and elbows you in the face. It’s a few harsh words, fights and the silent treatment, it’s wondering if you’ve made the right decision.
It is, despite all of those things, the one thing you look forward to every day.

I told him I was away but had not been able to reach Bruce. I asked if he could go over and take a look around. He said he was on his way. Then I waited. And waited.

It’s coming home to the same person everyday that you know loves and cares about you. It’s laughing about the one time you accidentally did something stupid.

After a long ten minutes, I heard my phone ring. Richard was standing in front of our garage. Our car was gone, but Bruce’s truck was there. My daughter’s car was gone. All of this was what I expected to hear. But, where was Bruce?

I asked Richard to walk around to the back of the garage and look in the window. He would be able to see whether or not the car was inside. He hung up and said he’d call right back.

It’s about eating the cheapest and easiest meal you can make and sitting down together at 10pm to eat because you both had a crazy day. It’s when you have an emotional breakdown and they hold you and tell you everything is going to be okay, and you believe them.

My fear was, since Bruce has Atrial Fibrillation, there had been a heart issue. Worry sent me to the worst possible place: I feared he’d had a stroke and was lying helpless somewhere on our property. When he stood at the back of our garage, Richard called me again and mentioned he could hear very loud music inside. Typical. Bruce cannot function without his “Oldies” and always leaves the radio playing full blast.

It’s about still loving someone even though they make you absolutely insane.

Our car was gone, Richard said. I breathed a sigh of relief. At least that meant Bruce had probably taken off for parts. I next asked Richard if he wouldn’t mind driving to our greenhouses (we have 23 acres and the business end is at the opposite end from the house); he said that was his next stop.

Living with the person you love, is fights about absolutely nothing, but is also having a love that people spend their whole life looking for.

About five minutes later I received two phone calls. Richard dialed me as he pulled into the business driveway after spotting our car. He tells me he’s spotted Bruce with a gorgeous blond. I tell him that’s fine; I’ll kill them both later.

As I finished explaining how I was about to murder two people, my phone rang. Bruce. And, do you know what happened? I was so relieved to hear his voice I could not speak. The tears started flowing and my throat thickened and my chin started shaking.

It’s not perfect and it’s hard, but it’s amazing and comforting and the best thing you’ll ever experience.

We don’t know what happened, but he didn’t receive any of my attempts to reach him until 24 hours later. My texts came in the next day. He wasn’t overly worried when I had not checked in with him; he figured I was having a good time and is not the type to worry (this is very good; it provides the balance given my propensity to fear the worst). It was a scare I hope to never relive. It made me think about a situation I may be in someday, but hopefully not.

And, it got me to thinking about marriage and what we have right here, together. When I read these lines in purple today it struck home and highlighted that imperfectly perfect thing we have here that is difficult, wonderful, hard, lovely, hot, cold, warm and everything in between.

“….it’s amazing and comforting and the best thing you’ll ever experience.”

In my case, I have to agree. Maybe it’s age. Maybe it was getting scared and fearing I’d lost something great. Maybe it was the realization time is limited. I don’t know, but it shook me up and I didn’t like it one bit. I could hardly wait to get home.

Go ahead and share a picture of the person you love and copy and paste this, make their day.”


2014_Bruce at Astoria Column

Now, about that blond….


“In order to achieve anything you must be brave enough to fail.”

~ Kirk Douglas