The Ladies Page

COUNTRY ECHOES

Since we last met on the Ladie’s Page life has handed us
many experiences, but the one that stands out rather stickily is
having an egg thrown at us on a Saturday morning – and this at 5:30
A.M. We were driving out of Boise, Idaho, headed back to
Wisconsin.

We were just getting settled back into our seat belts. Dawn was
spreading a rim of light across the surrounding buttes. SPEED ZONE
AHEAD reminded us to slow to the prescribed limit. And then it
happened. CRAACK – SPLUISH!

‘What was that?’ I shouted in a most unladylike way.

‘I don’t know,’ was my husband’s startled
answer. But then I turned my head and my tongue came darting out of
my mouth in the second unladylike gesture of the morning. It turned
down in distaste as I looked at the window which had protected my
nice clean head.

‘Uish,’ I said in dismay. ‘Uish. Keep on
driving.’ I shouted orders like a seasoned sergeant to a
company of green rookies. ‘Don’t stop. PLEASE,’ I added
with dictatorial firmness. ‘If that goop ever runs down in the
window we are going to have a mess.’ Involuntarily I moved over
closer to Alfred. Whoops! The seat belt was holding me. I pushed
the release gadget and again I almost shouted. ‘Look! Just
look! What is it?’ By now it practically covered the whole
window and the wind was working it around in strange, sloppy
patterns.

‘Do you suppose some big bird flew over and laid an egg in
flight?’ my husband asked, tongue in cheek. He was thoroughly
enjoying my early morning exhibition of woman’s
squeamishness.

‘Oh my! Yes, I surely expect so,’ I answered as I gave
him one of those cold wifely stares. But we kept on driving until
the mess was a bit less messy and then a station attendent kindly
removed all vestiges of someone’s prank. We repaid him by
purchasing his high test gas. He shook his head. ‘You certainly
aren’t leaving us with a very good impression of Boise, are
you?’ he asked.

‘Oh, I don’t know about that’, I answered breezily.
‘They swore at us in Boston, a few years ago. We got out in the
middle of an intersection when everybody wanted to move from the
opposite direction. Swore at in Boston. Egged in Boise! Maybe it is
some kind of traveling slogan we’ve picked up for
ourselves.’ And so we were on our way.

The car was traveling well for only having two people in it. Our
luggage was on the light side as we had taken some
left-in-Wisconsin pictures and furniture with us on the trip out.
Then I had ridden in apprenhension of having the leg of a chair
bang my head should it it come loose from its moorings. But the
weight was now replaced with rocks in the trunk – oh such pretty
rocks. I could scarcely wait to get home and arrange them on our
patio. Our daughter-in-law was happy with her favorite chair. I was
dreaming of how the personality of my patio was going to be
improved by these colorful rocks, and keeping my eye alert for a
few more specimens as we stopped from time to time. And I was going
home with such special memories of Succor and Jump River
Canyons.

Our daughter-in-law, Eileen, had been wanting to go to Succor
and Jump River Canyons for some time. Now we were there and she was
more enthused than ever. We packed a picnic lunch and drove for
quite some distance before we turned off on a trail which became
increasingly more filled with rocks, mostly round rocks, to be
sure. We were driving our car from Wisconsin, and the two back
tires weren’t really meant for this sort of travel. They had
been snow tires and the tread was well worn, practically all
gone.

We had come about ten or twelve miles when it happened. Out went
tire No. 1. My husband shook his head. There were no other
travellors in sight. We hauled out the spare and soon were ready to
travel again. Should we go on or turn back? I noticed the stones
weren’t all round. Some had rather sharp edges — and – there
were six of us. But we had come this far and the female members of
the party had looks of disappointment on their faces. So, in spite
of a feeling of great uneasiness we went on.

Oh! What a beautiful place! And they told that there were
thunder eggs here. This is a round rock with beautiful marble-like
veins in the inside, if they are split or sawed in two. In no time
at all we were all searching. Such lovely colored stones. We began
to gather them into piles without much consideration for our other
poor tire. My husband really began to look worried. And as we piled
them into the trunk he almost turned green. A couple of people
arrived in a pickup truck loaded with two motorcycles. He looked a
little less distressed,

I thought. At least we might have a ride out if things became
crucial. We decided THEY would follow us out. There were few places
to pass. After unloading their motorcycles they were off to the
pastime of riding the dunes. It looks like great fun but we
understand it is creating a problem of erosion on the hills. They
are wearing off the protective grass.

Quickly we ate our lunch. This time a bird did go over. In the
empty compartment on our son Paul’s plate he left a
contribution to Paul’s supper. ‘Humph, said Paul. ‘Did
somebody throw something at me.’ And he went right on eating.
As we were depositing the plates in the trash can we found the
answer.

Mr. B. hurried us into the car and we headed for home in Emmett.
We were very quiet. I think six people were praying. ‘Another
mile,’ we would sigh and say. We were all watching the back
window hoping the dune riding was very intriguing. When we were
about two thirds of the way to the highway they caught up with us
and indicated they wanted to pass. What else could we do? So far,
so good.

We made it to a filling station, had our spare repaired and had
no more trouble until we were almost out of Wyoming on the way
home. We ran into road construction and the other one gave up the
ghost also. So we had to buy two new tires at a filling station
garage there. We were going into Yellowstone and back across
mountains. We couldn’t take a chance. But I was still gathering
rocks. A beautiful place of rose quartz was given to me in New
Underwood S.D. We drove off the highway for a breather. We found a
reader of the Iron Men Album there. He owns A Case Steam Engine,
and his wife has a 1930 Paige car. They were so hospitable they
took us in their house and I petted their pet bobcat. To be honest
with you, I wasn’t too sure of this venture either. They had a
caged one out in the yard who was a menace just to look at. These
people answer to the names of Frances and Mary Bill. Thank you for
the rock, Mary. I got it home in fine shape. A week ago Sunday
morning I found a new rock in my collection. I couldn’t believe
my eyes. Here was a good sized silver colored rock, lovely and
shiny in the morning sun. It has the look of aluminum paint, very
carefully applied. And I don’t believe a bird dropped that
either. My husband had a very sly look that morning. It shall
remain permanently. It is the best ‘Conversation piece’ of
all.

So again we have been led safely to far places and back home
again. How good God is to us, not because we are worth it, but
because we trust him. The partings from our loved one are never so
hard if we can say, ‘God watch between us while we are
separated one from another.’ Our ten-year-old granddaughter
Cindy, had a hard time holding the tears back as we said goodbye.
Gail, who is eight, had fallen asleep. She can always find exciting
things to do no matter what.

Again the letters are speeding back and forth across the
country. With a family in Idaho, a couple in Jersey, another in
Delaware, and a family in Kansas City, we have to get used to
goodbyes. Now the youngest son is engaged to a lovely girl and a
wedding will be next in order. This will bring some of them home,
and home will be home again.

Farm Collector Magazine
Farm Collector Magazine
Dedicated to the Preservation of Vintage Farm Equipment