Thank A Vet!

We all know Veteran's Day is approaching, and I am sure most of understand and celebrate the meaning behind Veteran's Day.

November 11, 1918, began the armistice - a temporary cessation of hostilities by mutual consent* - of World War I. It was the “truce" between the Allied nations and Germany which interestingly took place on the eleventh hour, of the eleventh day, of the eleventh month. But the "Great War" (World War I) didn’t officially end until June 28, 1919.

Thus it was that President Woodrow Wilson in 1919, proclaimed November 11^thas Armistice Day.

"To us in America, the reflections of Armistice Day will be filled with solemn pride in the heroism of those who died in the country’s service and with gratitude for the victory, both because of the thing from which it has freed us and because of the opportunity it has given America to show her sympathy with peace and justice in the councils of the nations…"

However it wasn’t until June 4, 1926, that the date was officially and formally observed by the United States Congress:

Whereas the 11th of November 1918, marked the cessation of the most destructive, sanguinary, and far reaching war in human annals and the resumption by the people of the United States of peaceful relations with other nations, which we hope may never again be severed, and

Whereas it is fitting that the recurring anniversary of this date should be commemorated with thanksgiving and prayer and exercises designed to perpetuate peace through good will and mutual understanding between nations; and

Whereas the legislatures of twenty-seven of our States have already declared November 11 to be a legal holiday: Therefore be it Resolved by the Senate (the House of Representatives concurring), that the President of the United States is requested to issue a proclamation calling upon the officials to display the flag of the United States on all Government buildings on November 11 and inviting the people of the United States to observe the day in schools and churches, or other suitable places, with appropriate ceremonies of friendly relations with all other peoples.

In 1938, the 11th of November became an annual,legal holiday known as "Armistice Day."

Though Armistice Day was originally enacted to honor veterans of World War I, after World War II, veterans groups urged Congress to include all veterans in this act. Therefore in 1954, the word "Armistice" was replaced with the word "Veterans” ensuring the inclusion of all vets. Officially, June 1, 1954, November 11th became a day to honor American veterans of all wars.

Things get a bit convoluted when in 1968 a bill (The Uniform Holiday Bill) was signed to orchestrate a three day weekend for federal employees. Four national holidays were targeted now to be changed to Mondays: Washington's Birthday, Memorial Day, Veterans Day, and Columbus Day.

I remember the controversy this change created. Many thought (and I am one) the change would cause history to become distorted and the real meaning of the holiday to be changed or forgotten. Some states honored the change while some did not.

With this change, Veterans Day was celebrated on October 25th for the first time.  Because of the confusion the new date brought between the states there were  new, valid concerns. Some believed the original meaning of the 11^th hour, the 11^th day of the 11^th month would now be forgotten.

Our battle-worn flag charges forward,    
thanks to those who have served.

Due to these concerns, President Gerald R. Ford signed law to return the observance of Veterans Day back to its original date of November 11, to begin in 1978. Ford found overwhelming favor among veterans and the majority of Americans with this law.

Veteran’s Day observance now coincides with the date in history it began, not only preserving the historical significance and meaning, but also allowing us to honor patriots of all war s who  fought and died to preserve our freedom.

Though I have a loved one who has served in each of the major wars, this year, I have chosen a photo to honor those form the Viet Nam War.

“Courage is contagious. When a brave man takes a stand, the spines of others are often stiffened.” – Billy Graham

 And that is only one of the reasons we need Veteran's Day.

 

History Belongs

“History belongs to those who write.” I can't remember who said it, probably a Communist or something, but the truth is in this statement just the same.

In fact, there is a whole lot of truth in that statement. And it makes sense, doesn’t it?  I mean if we are going to keep history intact, and correct, it must be written down. Think about it; every accurate piece of history we have comes from the written word.  The first and most obvious example would be the Holy Bible, wouldn’t it?

But this post isn’t about that beloved Book, this time.  This post is about correcting fallacies that seem to be merging in slowly becoming “truth”. I’m not going to write about any big, life changing, societal events. This post will deal with “local” truth, that in the whole scheme of things really doesn’t matter very much; but it matters to me.

I had to attend a meeting last night.  I have attended many meetings like this, not always for the same cause. As examples, some of the meetings I have attended have been school board meetings, homeowner association meetings, land management meetings, home school meetings, or church Sunday school meetings, just to name a few.

Almost always, without fail, at any of these meetings I attend, I am the only “native” present. That shouldn’t really be any big surprise, the influx of people into this area over the last 40 years, almost ensures that there will be more people at the meeting that have moved into the area, rather than any that have been here for a few generations. 

The majority of people with whom I associate are not from this area.  The neighborhood I live in consists almost 100% of people that are not originally from the state of my birth. The church I attend probably has a 10 to 1 ratio of people from out of state as opposed to those that were born and raised here. That shouldn’t come as any surprise, either, as I attend a “denomination” that had beginnings in another state. Those from that state that have moved here naturally gravitate there when they seek out a church after they arrive. 

I say, "Welcome!".  I love my church, the people that attend there, and I love my neighborhood and the many new friends that I associate with in my life. Many feel God brought them here, and I have no doubt that He did.  There is no better quality of life and place to raise a family than right here where we live. God wants the best for us and He wants the best for our families.

That being said, however, I have never (and I mean NEVER) attended one of these meetings when some type of incorrect fact about our area didn’t come up in conversation. There are many incorrect beliefs floating around in the sea of local history here that simply are not true.

I will list a few, beginning with the rumor I hear most often. It is the one that I heard last night at the meeting I attended, which then led me to write this blog post with thoughts I have reflected on for so long and so often.

“Yeah it was scary when I first moved here. All the people here, had signs posted up on their property saying, ‘Enter at your own risk.’ Or ‘Keep out, or I will shoot!’.” 

"The properties and people look like something out of Deliverance!”

Yes, I have heard reference to that movie in regard to the natives that live here, over and over and over!  I actually sat through a meeting one time, when a woman present, told everyone there that “people in North Idaho were all inbred and not all there" [meaning mentally]. Now, one hears things like that from time to time, and one mostly would believe that it is joked about in anger or some dissatisfaction. But oh, my goodness!  I could see this woman really believed it! Bless her! It really made me question the tales I have heard regarding this kind of comment in respect to other areas across our nation. I don’t know about that, but I do know it is not true here!

I didn’t say anything that time at that meeting.  Most of the time I don’t say a word, realizing it would most likely be futile. People want to believe these things, it seems.  It has been propagated enough now, that it has pretty wide acceptance.

I sat in a meeting one time, when a woman lamented the fact that no one here knows how to drive on a freeway.  “They put their brakes on, on the freeway!” she exclaimed shaking her head.  I kept quiet.  I wanted to say, “How do you know they are natives?”  With the huge arrival of people in the last few decades, odds are in the favor of it being someone that is originally from out of state.  I mean think about it if the population was 30,000 (county) in the 1960’s when the growth was just beginning, and it is almost 150,000 in 2013, who do you suppose you are most likely honking at!  (see chart below) And with that kind of ratio, who do you think is most likely (considering the odds), honking at you?”

“Kootenai County has experienced exceptionally strong population growth since the 1970s. From 1997 to 2007, its population grew 34 percent from 100,108 to 134,442, while Idaho's population grew 22 percent and the U.S. population grew 11 percent. The county’s spectacular scenery, outdoor recreational opportunities, proximity to urban amenities, and high quality of life continue to draw new residents. Strong population growth shapes many aspects of the county's economy. The county seat, Coeur d'Alene, had a population of 42,300 in 2007. The population of larger cities are:  Post Falls, 25,400; Hayden, 12,600; and Rathdrum, 6,600. Kootenai County is closely tied to its Washington neighbor, Spokane County, with a population of 460,000.”¹

The first meeting I attended like this with the majority of people being from out of state, would have been in the mid ‘70’s. Now that has been some time ago, and I don’t even remember what the meeting was about, but I remember laughing, when someone pointed out that I was the only “native” in the room. Everyone got quite a kick out of it, laughing and joking that they finally met a native.  Now that was probably the very first time someone told me, that I am the only “native” they have ever met, but it certainly wasn’t the last.  In fact, it is now a refrain I hear quite often.

While most of the time I don’t say anything in a meeting like this, last night I could not keep quiet. When someone was going on and on about how scary the signs and people were, I had to respond.

“I’m sorry, you guys, but those people are most likely not natives.” And I proceeded to give a little history.  “We had a great many people start coming here in the late 60’s and early 70’s during the “hippy movement”.  People were coming here for the isolation, and ability to hide from authority.  Those people you are talking about most likely were not inbred natives, but left-over hippies protecting their ‘grow’!”

I had an Avon route in the early ‘70’s which in part included the Hoodoo Valley. I know the people that were there (and it wasn’t very many!). But this is the area most people like to point to about the “scary in-breds”. Most of them probably don’t even know where the Hoodoo Valley is, but as I said rumors propagate themselves and they have heard it so they restate it. The truth is however, most of these isolated areas drew a lot of people that wanted to escape, and/or grow their marijuana without being found.

That’s not to say “natives” haven’t posted signs warning people to stay off their property. Heck, I have thought about doing that myself.  But the stories that go along with “the scary natives and the threatening signs” simply are not true.

I want to share one more quick, story about this battle between natives and those that have “immigrated” here.  One evening as my family camped, I was sitting around a campfire with friends quietly listening to the men talk.  The conversation came up about construction in the area as this was the profession of these two men. They both had some obvious disdain for one of the builders in the area, with whom they both had worked.  They carried on a while about him and it mostly wasn’t very nice. I knew the man well, but kept quiet. I also knew his reputation; some of their discussion may have been warranted.  But, I couldn’t keep silent any longer, when one of the men said something like: “He’s just another native that hates Californians.” 

“Guys!” I exclaimed. “Hold on!”  This man isn’t a native! In fact, he is a Californian himself and he came here in 1968! His daughter is one of my best friends.”

Needless to say that stopped the conversation. I share this story, because believe me when I say this, there are as many Californians bashing the Californians that come here as there are "natives" doing the bashing. I’ve heard it! But for the record, I don’t care!

The truth of the matter is, we all just want the best quality of life we can possibly have, and when someone comes and tries to change all that, or brings destruction to our community, we cry out.  And well we should!  But it isn’t a matter of “native” verses “out-of-stater”. I see it more as a matter of protector verses destroyer. Most of us want to protect! As do every one of my neighbors in the meeting I attended last night.

The influx of people here really began in the late 60’s and early 70’s as I said. It increased exponentially when the big resort was built down town in 1986 due to nationwide advertising and promotion bringing more attention to the area.  The big amusement park north, built in 1988 brought even more people, also due to their nationwide advertising which of course brought more visitors that eventually came to stay. Nothing out of line there, every state across the nation is growing, including the states people are leaving.

Neither, am I so much looking through rose-colored glasses at the place of my birth in so much that I believe it is a place of perfection, or a Garden of Eden.  (Well, almost!)  Obviously, as any city across the nation we have blights on our history. One such example would be the stories of Satanism and witches that were said to be found in the little town of Rathdrum. Now while some of these stories got way out of hand and built up to untruths, there is of course partial truth in this particular rumor. Again, these were not locals, but rather people that came here for the isolation. In my early adult years, I had always heard the stories, as had my dad. As a young woman often traveling alone at night due to working a swing shift, my dad armed me with a revolver to keep in my car for my protection. We didn’t know how many of the rumors we heard were true, but we wanted to be careful. Again, it was mostly hearsay, but I do know there was an element of truth.  Imagine how surprised I was when watching Johnny Carson late one night, in the early ‘70’s, he had as his guest a “witch”. When Johnny asked her where her headquarters was, she calmly answered, “Rathdrum, Idaho”. 

I also worked with a man in Spokane who had been actively involved in Satanism. He had since been “born again.” And though, I no longer remember his name, I remember his long hair and dark beard; his peaceful countenance and his joy at now serving the Lord after going through all he had been through.  I remember our deep conversations as we worked on an assembly line that didn’t require a whole lot of thought or attention. He assured me that the covens in this area were “beastial covens” and not covens that sacrificed humans as was the rumor of the day. And yes! I know! That’s bad enough! But the "devil worshippers" were a very small number of people that succeeded in getting a whole lot of attention.

I want to make mention of another blight on our area, which of course most people are aware; and that is the neo-Nazis that made their home and had a compound at Hayden, Idaho. Again, these were not locals, but rather people that came here for the isolation and accentuated freedom we have here due to limited laws and “red tape”.  Again, this was something highly exaggerated because it made news! And a political agenda could be created from it as well. Yes! That makes news! They were no where near the force reported, simply a small band of people that were highly confused. Mostly they were young men that were recruited, because of a lack of home life and firm foundation. They were looking for a place to belong and they found it with Richard Butler in the manner much like any cult finds their devotees.  I worked with a couple of these young men in the mid ‘80’s. They were both from Ohio, as were also some of the other members.

They were lost young men, but they were always kind to me at work. “I would like you better if you had blue eyes,” one said to me at work one day. I became a bit concerned when they found my phone number and called me one night. But they never bothered me again. After hearing their oft quoted motto “rape, pillage and plunder” I was thankful they knew we didn’t see eye to blue eye and neither of them ever called me again.

I worked down town, when the neo-Nazis took credit for a bombing at the Federal building in downtown Coeur d’Alene.  My place of employment was just a block away, and I was at work when the explosion went off.  I remember my boss going outside to look and then she called me to look, too. The damage was minimal. A corner of the building had some rock blown out of the foundation. I had a good lesson in yellow journalism that night when I watched the news and they reported the atrocity of it all and the incredible damage. I don’t know how they did it, but the photography and video they used succeeded in making it look like it had been a massive explosion. I was shocked, because it just didn’t look like that in real life. And yes! I know! That’s still bad enough. But this small group of rebels certainly didn’t warrant the nation wide attention they received and for as many years as they received it.

I have one more important event that took place here in Idaho that I feel is worth mentioning. It certainly wasn’t any kind of “blight” on our history as the aforementioned, but rather it was a sad time that forever changed things. And that is the Sunshine Mine Disaster in 1972.  Ninety-one men lost their lives that day in a community of only a few thousand. That’s radical. They were daddies and brothers, husbands and sons. They were the men that were the foundation of that community. Of course this loss reverberated across that county and into the next. We all felt it.  We all lost someone, or were close to someone that did. It was our own personal 9/11 and it affected the communities much the same way 9/11 affected our nation years later. People grieved. Families were broken; understandably sadness took over. Depression, both mental and economic was a way of life for awhile. Obviously, it didn’t take any exceptional astuteness to feel the cloud that covered the valley. Some that were new to the area might not have understood it; but I can guarantee they felt it! However the people in that little community are strong and they rebuilt!  They overcame and that community honors, annually, those that they lost. When looked at in context of what happened, those people are an incredible source of pride for those of us that lived with them through that disaster. Those that were here during that time have not even an iota of disdain for a “less than perfect life” as erroneously explained by some. I will always correct any false assumptions in regard to this tragedy.

All cities and locales have things like what I have written about in their background; it isn’t anything unique here. We are not some low level place which breeds atrocities – quite the opposite!  We have a far better quality of life and fewer issues than most places. That is why so many come here. May they all grow to love it and respect it like the majority of us do!

There’s my soapbox…it became quite a bit more intense than I thought it would when I began writing this morning. I have lots of passion for this subject. It’s my home, it’s my roots; I want things accurate. I wonder how many will even make it through the length of this post. J Oh, well!

This isn’t an attack on anyone moving here from someplace else. It really isn’t! Like I said most of the people with whom I now associate and have contact (other than my family) are not from here. Of the people that read this blog, I would say only 3 are natives. So no, I certainly don’t have any criticism for those that came from someplace else. I am glad each and everyone is here.  I married a Californian.  I like to joke my son is a “half-breed”.  I hope people can see the humor in that. I simply want to make an attempt, as small as it might be - I really don’t have a great number of people that read this blog – at setting and keeping the record straight. After all, I am a firm believer in the fact that “History belongs to those that write.”

 

¹ http://lmi.idaho.gov/Default.aspx?TabID=2201&AspxAutoDetectCookieSupport=1

Historical populations
Census	Pop.		%±
1880	518		—
1890	4,108		693.1%
1900	10,216		148.7%
1910	22,747		122.7%
1920	17,878		−21.4%
1930	19,469		8.9%
1940	22,283		14.5%
1950	24,947		12.0%
1960	29,556		18.5%
1970	35,332		19.5%
1980	59,770		69.2%
1990	69,795		16.8%
2000	108,685		55.7%
2010	138,494		27.4%
Est. 2012	142,357		2.8%
U.S. Decennial Census[6]

County Census...1960 - 29,556      2012 - 142,357   Wow!!  Who do you think is honking at you?? ;-)

 

Those That Get It

No, I am not going to do it this time, I thought to myself.  I had already walked about 4 or 5 times; and with all I had going on, I really didn’t feel like I wanted to do it again…at least this time. But when it came time, and the phone call came asking if I wanted to, I couldn’t say no.

“Sure, I will be there,” I told her. This was, after all, an easy one: Small town, short commute, short parade route. It won’t kill me. It is for a cause in which I believe, and one I want to support. I had decided that a few years ago, when I first saw The Spirit of ‘45 march in another local parade that I was attending as a viewer on Veteran’s Day. Not too many days later, I found a Letter to the Editor in our local newspaper, thanking citizens for supporting The Spirit of ‘45, and asking for photos of WWII Vets. I immediately knew I wanted to send a photo of my dad – my own WWII hero. Thus the connection began.

The Spirit of ’45 originated a few years ago, as a nationwide program intended to bring honor and appreciation to our World War II Veterans. But it’s also a bit more than that, I think.  Their motto is: “Keep the Spirit of ’45 alive.”  To me, that’s more than just appreciation for our service men and women of the time, though that would be enough. But this program is also about understanding victory after a war well fought which was necessary for keeping our freedoms intact. It’s about welcoming those home that served us well, that offered up their lives and sacrifice simply because they knew it was the right thing to do. It’s about joy, and pride and unity of nation. It’s about the greatness of a nation, because of the principles on which we were founded. This is not a political group and The Spirit of ’45 works hard at keeping it that way, but for me there is a whole lot to gain in remembering our nation in their victory, and thinking about that which could have been lost.

As we walk a parade route, one can easily recognize those that “get it”.  They stand a little longer, clap a little harder; they are anxious to make eye contact. They want us to know that they are appreciative of us bringing recognition to our Veterans. And we want to say thank you to them, too. 


Those that Get It

There have been many memorable moments from the parades I have chosen to walk. One such moment was the time, a member from our group walked over to the sidewalk where the viewers sat watching attentively.  Our member wanted to shake the hand of a World War II Vet he had spotted in the audience - a rare site, indeed.  Turned out that vet happened to be my dad.

Another moment ingrained in my memory is the time we participated in the largest parade in our area. It is an evening parade that zigzags through the downtown streets of the largest city in our area. I was thoroughly enjoying the soft, summer night air while seeing these city streets and businesses from a completely different perspective. I usually only saw the heart of the city from a driver’s viewpoint, with bustling pedestrians in the crosswalks and cars weaving in and out of the 3 traffic lanes anxious to get to their location.  Though the streets were obviously now packed with more people present than ever seen on a busy work day, there was a certain calm over the city that was actually quite pleasant. The reception we received was incredible – this was an Armed Forces Day Parade and there were many military entries, with the goal being to honor those that have served our nation.

I was at the very back of our group this time, in the very last row. There were probably 45 teens and adults marching with us this time, so I could see why viewer acknowledgement of our group would wind down by the time it got to me.  We also would soon be arriving at the end of the parade route, so those we were encountering now, had probably been waiting a long time. I was getting tired, and ready to see the end of the route, but I happened to see a young man, probably in his 20’s remain standing throughout the entire time we were in his view. He was a bit radical looking, so it surprised me to see this type of appreciation from him. It shouldn’t surprise me I know, but sometimes it seems our youth don’t quite understand something so far removed from their lifetime. But this young man stood attentively, applauding until the very last line of us; and all of a sudden there he was looking at me, nodding his approval as we made eye contact. Almost out of sheer reflex, I pointed my finger at him and mouthed “Thank you!”  He approved; this meant something to him, I could see it in his eyes. My eyes fill with tears even as I write this, thinking about that kind of understanding and support from someone his age.

 

Yesterday as we marched, I found myself extremely glad I had said yes when my friend asked me if I would be there.  It was a subdued crowd for the most part, but I saw lots of old friends and customers from my book store lining the streets which made it a lot of fun. The walk was easy, the morning temperature mild. Applause was not rampant, but there were those that made a point to show their appreciation for a generation that should never be forgotten. This is simply a small way to ensure that what those men and women did will live on in our history; and with a hope that the spirit from that victory can be reawakened and renewed in pride and appreciation for a nation that desperately needs to remember and understand.

 

Freedom surely isn’t free. And it isn’t something we can only defend once in a while, but rather it is something that requires eternal vigilance.

I will do what I can to keep that spirit alive…and to honor and thank those such as the guy in the photo above - as well as the one that took the time to shake his hand because he is one that gets it.

Daddy and Me

Note: After I wrote, I read. I found this article that said what I could never say. I hope you will take time to read it: http://www.spiritof45.org/AINWWIIeditorial.pdf  From the article:

"They were, as my dad said, “just a bunch of dumb kids” when they stepped up to halt the greatest surge of tyranny, aggression, and outright evil the earth has ever seen. Then they helped rebuild their shattered world."

Now, that's the Spirit of '45!

 

*"Last year, both Congress and the Senate passed a resolution (HR 226) in support of Spirit of ’45 Day. Spirit of ’45 Day is observed every year on the second Sunday in August." ~ The Spirit of '45 Website

 

Ruby Ridge Revisited

Today, is the 20 year anniversary of the tragedy at Ruby Ridge. I wrote about it a couple years ago. I decided I would bring that post back around.  Sara Weaver's is an incredible story of forgiveness and grace. I hope you will take the time to read it.

Sara's story was once again told in our local paper, yesterday; reviewed on the local news, and told nationally this morning on 700 Club. It absolutely is a story that should never be forgotten. It is a story with a message that cannot be taken away.

The Clinton administration with Janet Reno, as Attorney General, bares much responsibility for what happened here.  It can happen again, if we are not careful.  But no one can change the outcome.

"Those who don't know history are destined to repeat it." ~ Edmund Burke

"Thy testimonies have I taken as a heritage for ever: for they are the rejoicing of my heart."

Psalm 119:111

Apprehended Hope

This Wednesday marks the 40^th anniversary of the Sunshine Mine Disaster in Kellogg, Idaho. On May 2, 1972, 91 miners lost their lives in one of the worst occupational disasters in our nation’s history.

There was nation wide news coverage at the time, but compared to today’s standards and means, we would now consider what was offered just minimal coverage.

On that spring day, so very long ago, an underground fire silently crept through the mine creating smoke, carbon monoxide and other life endangering gases that infiltrated the tunnels and shafts. One hundred seventy-eight miners arrived at work to begin their jobs in day to day fashion. Before the day was done, 91 would lose their life and only 85 would walk back into the diminished light of the spring day now greatly impacted by grief. Before the disaster was over several excruciating days would pass braced in the apprehended hope to which the families clung - that there would be others found and raised to safety. Only 2 additional miners would eventually be rescued from amidst the danger and damage. The final victim was brought top side on May 13^th; 11 days after the fire began. This hard-rock mining disaster eventually brought much needed change to an extremely dangerous industry, but I imagine that fact is only a slight comfort to the families that were forever changed on this distressing day.  

You can read the incredible story in two books that were finally written and published: The Price of Silver by John Day and The Deep Dark by Gregg Olson.  I’m not sure why it took decades for someone to write an accounting of the disaster, but I’m glad the story was eventually written.  For the more accurate accounting I recommend The Price of Silver; a bit less dramatic, probably not as enticing, but more factual, just the same.

The Sunshine Mine is still to date the largest silver mine in the nation, running more than a mile deep with over 100 miles of tunnels. Knowing that fact, and recognizing that at the time safety measures were minimal, we gain great understanding and appreciation for the rescue efforts that were nothing short of valiant with the limited resources on hand at the time.

But the tight knit mining community vowed they would never forget - and forget they never have. On May 2^nd they will once again honor the lives that died that day in a continually growing ceremony at the monument erected in the miners’ memory. A statue of a working minor was placed at the foot of Big Creek Canyon shortly after the disaster.  The 15 foot miner was purposefully located at this spot with his head lamp shining south in the direction of the Sunshine Mine as a physical reminder of the lives lost there on that dreadful day. At this year’s memorial, once again 91 chairs will hold mining hard-hats with head lamps that are never extinguished in the hearts of those that lost a loved one, 40 years ago.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’m not sure I remember the moment I actually received the news of the Sunshine disaster.  The impact on my life was minimal compared to those that lost sons and husbands; brothers and fathers.  I lost a cousin – I will call him DD.  He had a beautiful wife and two precious baby daughters. He was 23 years old.  He also left behind a loving mom, and brothers and sisters who loved him deeply. They had already suffered great loss when their husband and father had been killed in a mining accident about 7 or 8 years previously. 

What I do remember of the time, was the deep hurt I witnessed in the immediate and extended family. On a personal level, I also remember the uncommon kindness of some that showed their concern for me.  I was in high school, soon to graduate.  I will never forget my Government teacher kindly pulling me aside to ask me about the accident.  He had incorrectly heard it was my brother who was lost.  He had taught my brother the year previous, and he had also coached him in sports. I could see the genuine look of concern and sorrow on his face. “No”, I told him, “it wasn’t C. It was our cousin.” And I saw relief cross his face, but it was personal relief tempered with all-reaching compassion for the others. Another classmate had lost a brother.  Every life is as important as another, but of course it hits harder when one knows them personally.

I remember another classmate bringing me a beautiful card of encouragement, though we didn’t know one another well.  It is these types of kindnesses that one remembers for a life time. I don’t believe we should ever underestimate the simple gestures that we often times feel are so inadequate at a time of someone’s great loss. One never knows how it will encourage, or how it will impact one later at the memory.

Of course my cousins, my aunt and grandparents were the ones of most concern to my family at the time.  As I said previously, my cousins had already lost their dad in another tragic mining accident.  I have never forgotten the day we arrived at their home the day of my uncle’s funeral and DD opened the door and warmly greeted us with a smile and light joking that only minimally masked his grief. I was a small child, but I knew he was happy to see us.  It impacted me for a life time. I learned there can be joy in sorrow from my older and wiser cousin. One would never have guessed just 8 years later he would also lose his life.

Certainly I remember the tears the day my uncle died: my dad’s tears, the tears of my cousins, my sisters, the tears of my brother. Each of their reactions is indelibly ingrained in my memory.  And I will never forget the tears that fell at the death of my cousin. One of my uncles was especially impacted due to the fact that he was also in the mine that day. Thankfully, he was one of the ones that made it out; but he lost a nephew who he looked at as a best friend, as well as many other friends and co-workers. I have memories forever ingrained in my memory of my family’s loss.  I also remember my grandma’s words of comfort when she learned DD had probably been alive for a time at the 5600 foot level of that mine. “DD would have called on Jesus”, she reassuringly told us, “and I know He was with him through that time.”

The reassuring comments, the smiles that power through the darkness, the tears that bubble up from the heart to fall down a face in an expression of love and release are the things that are never forgotten at such monumental times of grief.

All these years later, there are certain memories that are as clear as the day it occurred.  Some of my memories are of past Sunshine Memorials where a friend’s face remains in my minds eye as if I were once again looking into his face where his reoccurring pain is one more time revealed.

Naturally the days after were dark and seemingly without life, as this small community that had lost 91 men recovered and rebuilt their lives. The displacement that occurred might be difficult for an outsider to comprehend, but to those most affected by the tragedy, it was the natural process of maturing through grief. Can you imagine how 91 lost lives affected a community with a population of little over 4000? (Kellogg and surrounding towns) Today, Kellogg’s population is still down by 33% of the 1972 count.

On Wednesday, there will once again be tears; there will also be smiles that power through because of the calming salve of time; and there will be words of encouragement and words of pride for each of the lives lost.  There will be connections once again established because of the common bond that most all that attend have always shared.

They will speak of a history, they will speak of a heritage; and there will be a new generation that learns and honors with acquired understanding.  They were noble men of a noble profession which is not only a part of our state history, but is a very integral part of the lives of families that were forever impacted on that day. We live in death.  And hopefully we grow; we learn; we love and we share.  It is as it should be, and I am proud of a community that has vowed to never forget.

Click here for information of this year's memorial.

More Than A Name

Saturday, December 10^th, was the Second Annual Ceremony for Wreaths Across America.  Well that is, it was only the "second" one for Matt’s squadron; but actually this ceremony began several years ago because of a young man with a profound desire. I wrote about the history of Wreaths Across America last year on my blog, so I won’t repeat the information, but I hope you will take the time to read about it, here.

As I said, it is a new endeavor for our local squadron. Matt was the one that had actually found out about the ceremony to honor our Veterans at Christmas time who have passed away.  He worked actively to bring the ceremony to this area.  While wreaths are being placed on graves across the nation, wreaths are simultaneously being laid at Arlington National Cemetery in Washington D. C. It is a very worthwhile program and it was once again a very moving ceremony at our local cemeteries for the second year in a row.

I was mildly disappointed, because instead of having the whole squadron lay the wreaths at both cemeteries, as they had in the past, this year the squadron was divided into two teams and half of them presented the ceremony at Riverview, (the new addition to Forrest Lawn) while the other half of the squadron laid the wreaths at Memorial Gardens.  It probably made the most sense to do it this way to save time, but I didn’t like it quite as well, because it felt like we missed out on what was happening at the other cemetery.

However, this fact certainly didn’t detract from the program. Things began with the National Anthem, as Civil Air Patrol stood in formation; the First Lieutenant gave a meaningful and thoughtful speech honoring our veterans and pointing out freedoms we would not have if not for these men and women of our armed forces. Next, a wreath was presented for each of the Five Branches of Service as well as one for the MIA’s.  Matt, as Lt. Colonel, led the flight in formation and also was honored to be able to present the wreath for the Coast Guard Branch of Service.

After Taps was played, the public in attendance was invited to aid in the laying of the wreaths.  I am so thankful to be able to participate in this activity.  It is such a heartwarming experience, and gives one pause to reflect on those that have so proudly and honorably served our nation.  This year, Wreaths Across America formally asked that as participants lay the wreaths on the graves, we take note of the name and branch of service from a grave of our choice and later take the time to research the veteran to see if we could learn a little bit about him; this making it more personal. The person then becomes more than just a name or statistic, but a person who was, in fact, very real.  I loved this idea, and the veteran I chose was a WWII veteran whose grave was embossed with the Scripture reference “Matthew 27: 53 -55”.  I am excited to start researching this man and hope to write more about him later.

It was a cold 22 degrees F. while we worked, but the chill barely noticeable in all the activity.  When we were done with our task and we got back into the car, my husband headed our vehicle north to the next activity on our agenda for the day.  I knew we would be passing directly by the other cemetery, and I secretly hoped we could stop to see what the wreaths looked like at this cemetery too.  Though I hadn’t said a word about it, my husband pulled the car into the cemetery at the first entrance.  I couldn’t have been more pleased.  As we approached on the south side of the cemetery, headed for the military section, I softly asked my husband to stop.  We were passing my brother-in-law's grave and I could see someone had laid a wreath on his head stone.  I knew in a moment it was on his stone. It was beautiful, and the fact that someone had found his grave to lay a wreath there this far from the military section really warmed my heart.  As I went over to the grave just to spend a minute, I was especially moved to see a small token I had laid there months ago, was still there.  I went to the car and asked Matt to get out and take a picture. 

Once he did, we went on to the Military Memorial where the bulk of the wreaths had been laid.  Last year, snow covered the ground in a deep layer of white; this year the ground was frosty green and the sun was shining brightly.  It was every bit as lovely as last year. We stopped for more photos, and then went on our way feeling like we had at least done a small part in honoring some of our nation's finest at Christmas time. I remembered the cadets last year stating that they wished we had a wreath for every veteran in both cemeteries. They were a little bit closer to that dream this year and as the years progress and this program becomes more well known, I'm sure they will one day meet their goal. And I also have a feeling there will be many others whose day will be brightened; hearts softly moved, with the surprise of an intentionally meaningful and decorative Christmas wreath placed on their loved ones grave.

A Recipe Worth Keeping

When I owned my book store, I tried to feature rare collectibles and old classics.  Somewhere along the way, I came across an old cook book that I decided to keep for my own. I displayed it on my shelf, but labeled it “Not For Sale”.

It is a 1902 edition titled Mother’s Cook Book containing “Recipes For Every Day In The Week.” It was published in Chicago, by Homewood Publishing Company. The title page informs us that it contains “Chapters on the Preparation of Soups and the Cooking of Fish, Meats, Poultry, Game and Vegetables, the Making of Bread, Cake, Pie, Pudding, Pickles, Sauces, Preserves, and Special Dishes." Glancing through the index, one will find it also includes recipes on "Drinks" such as "Green Tea", "Lemonade", "Eggnog" and "Fine Milk Punch". It includes a chapter on "Invalid Cookery" with great recipes that are helpful when your family is ill; and a chapter entitled “Cosmetiques” with information on “Complexion Wash”; “How to Clear a Tanned Skin”; and “Wrinkles in the Skin”.

The highlight for me is the way in which the recipes are written. I absolutely love the simplicity; but also that we can learn a bit of history and understand the way things once were by what is written in something as simple as a recipe. I thought it would be fun to share some examples:

Larded Grouse

Clean and wash the grouse. Lard the breast and legs. Put a small skewer into the legs and through the tail. Tie firmly with twine. Dredge with salt, and rub the breast with soft butter; then dredge thickly with flour. Put into a quick oven. If to be very rare, cook twenty minutes; if wished better done, thirty minutes. The former time, as a general thing, suits gentlemen better, but thirty minutes is preferred by ladies. If the birds are cooked in a tin-kitchen, it should be for thirty or thirty-five minutes. When done, place on a hot dish, on which has been spread bread-sauce. Sprinkle fried crumbs over both grouse and sauce. Garnish with parsley. The grouse may, instead, be served on a hot dish, with the parsley garnish, and the sauce and crumbs served in separate dishes. The first method is the better, however, as you get in the sauce all the gravy that comes from the birds.

Yum! And how about this one!

Potato Soup

Potato soup is suitable for a cold day. Make it in the following manner: Get as many beef or ham bones as you can, and smash them into fragments. Add a little bit of lean ham to give flavor. Boil the bone and ham for two hours and a half at least. The bone of a roast beef is excellent. Strain off the liquor carefully, empty the bones and debris of the ham, restore the liquor to the pot, and place again on the fire. Having selected, washed, and pared some nice potatoes, cut them into small pieces and boil them in the stock till they melt away. An onion or two may also be boiled among the bones to help the flavor. I do not like thick potato soup, and I usually strain it through a hair sieve, after doing so placing it again on the fire, seasoning it with pepper and salt to taste. A stick of celery boiled with the bones is an improvement. Make only the quantity required for the day, as potato soup is best when it is newly made.

Mother’s Cook Book also includes little pieces of advice such as this:

Coal Fire                                                                                                          If your coal fire is low, throw on a tablespoon of salt, and it will help it very much.

Ok; just one more; rather two:

Pearl Water For The Face
Put half a pound best Windsor soap scraped fine into half a gallon of boiling water; stir it well until it cools, add a pint of spirits of wine and half an ounce of oil of rosemary; stir well. This is a good cosmetique, and will remove freckles.

Wrinkles In The Skin
White wax, one ounce; strained honey, two ounces; juice of lily-bulbs, two ounces. The foregoing melted and stirred together will remove wrinkles.

I think I should try that one! This is a book I intend to hold on to for a long time. It is simply a joy to read and offers a taste of history to keep. Oh, also at the back of the pages is a chapter entitled "Miscellaneous". This chapter includes a wealth of information Mother might want to offer to others, including: "Sunlit Rooms"; "Pleasant Homes"; "How to be Handsome; and Laughter".

Laughter

...Laugh heartily, laugh often girls; not boisterously, but let the gladness of your hearts bubble up once in a while, and overflow in a glad, mirthful laugh.

"Sunlit Rooms" - Without which I feel like I could not live!  Therefore a favorite of mine from this book.

...The importance of admitting the light of the sun freely to all parts of our dwellings cannot be too highly estimated.  Indeed, perfect health is nearly as much dependent on pure sunlight as it is on pure air...It is a well established fact that people who live much in the sun are usually stronger and more healthy than those whose occupations deprive them of sunlight.  And certainly there is nothing strange in the result since the same law applies with nearly equal force to every animate thing in nature.

Ah, how I love the sun!  Finally in "Items worth Remembering":

A poor book had best be burned to give place to a better, or even to an empty shelf, for the fire destroys its poison, and puts it out of the way of doing harm.  Better economize in the purchasing of furniture or carpets than scrimp in buying good books or papers.Our sitting-rooms need never be empty of guests or our libraries of society, if the company of good books is admitted to them.

Well, there you have it. I hope you have enjoyed my sampling from a book that offers a taste of history that I intend to keep.

Emmanuel

I wanted to write a special Christmas wish for my blog on Christmas Day. Hopefully, what I have written will come across as that. It isn’t really about what it seems at first glance; ironically, it’s about how those that don’t yet believe, have helped us find Christmas by that which they themselves are seeking. I suppose it might seem a bit odd at this special time in the Christian’s calendar year, that I feel compelled to write about our Jewish friends. The Jewish people, through the centuries, have kept and preserved the Holy Scripture, knowing internally the importance and value. Of course by God, but through the diligence of the Jews whom God has chosen to use, we have the accuracy of the Bible intact.

The Jewish people pray every day for the coming of their Messiah. Every generation watches expectantly, knowing that this is the generation to whom their Messiah could be born. They read in Isaiah 7:14, a birth announcement, a prophecy of their Messiah Who is to come. “Behold, a virgin shall conceive, and bear a son, and shall call his name Immanuel.”

They know with great detail and incredible accuracy the One for whom they are waiting. They have searched the Scripture and they know He will be a Teacher, a Healer, One sent to bind up the broken-hearted, a Redeemer sent by God. They know He is to be born in Bethlehem. They know that though He is one Who has done no wrong, He is to be crucified as a common criminal. They know He will rise again 3 days after His death.

They have kept their genealogy accurate and safe, knowing their Messiah is to be “the Son of David” - born of the line of David. Because of the diligence in their preserving God’s message, and of course by God’s plan, we are able to see that Joseph was from the Line of David, through King Solomon; and Mary was from the lineage of David’s other son, Nathan.

There is only One that has fulfilled each of the prophecies given to us in the Bible, the prophetic picture of a Savior and King. But Isaiah 53:3 also tells us that He will be rejected by His own.

Today we celebrate the birth of a Child. It took 2000 years - from Abraham to the birth of this Baby - to prepare a people to welcome Him. More than 2000 years after His birth, Christians still celebrate in awe and wonder. He is Emanuel – God is with us; an extremely comforting thought as we celebrate the birth of our Savior this Christmas, but it is only the beginning of the incredible story.

Really, what I wanted to say in my Christmas message this year, is that Christmas is not just for those that have received a Savior; Christmas is for those that are longing for a Savior….for those of the Jewish faith; for those of a false faith; and for those with no faith at all. He was born to die, that man might live. Christmas is about God becoming Man – The Lamb that was slain - a pure, holy Sacrifice that we do not deserve. Christmas is in fact, about the Cross, and there is not a better time to accept His gift.

O come, O come, Emmanuel,

And ransom captive Israel,

That mourns in lonely exile here

Until the Son of God appear.

Rejoice! Rejoice!

Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel.

O come, Thou Wisdom from on high,

Who orderest all things mightily;

To us the path of knowledge show,

And teach us in her ways to go.

O come, Thou Rod of Jesse, free

Thine own from Satan’s tyranny;

From depths of hell Thy people save,

And give them victory over the grave.

O come, Thou Day-spring, come and cheer

Our spirits by Thine advent here;

Disperse the gloomy clouds of night,

And death’s dark shadows put to flight.

O come, Thou Key of David, come,

And open wide our heavenly home;

Make safe the way that leads on high,

And close the path to misery.

O come, O come, great Lord of might,

Who to Thy tribes on Sinai’s height

In ancient times once gave the law

In cloud and majesty and awe.

O come, Thou Root of Jesse’s tree,

An ensign of Thy people be;

Before Thee rulers silent fall;

All peoples on Thy mercy call.

O come, Desire of nations, bind

In one the hearts of all mankind;

Bid Thou our sad divisions cease,

And be Thyself our King of Peace.

Rejoice! Rejoice!

Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel.

Unknown Author - Translated from Latin to English by John M. Neale in 1851

~~~~~~~~~~~

Yet in thy dark streets shineth the Everlasting Light;
The hopes and fears of all the years
Are met in thee to-night.

Merry Christmas!!

Genesis 3:15; Deut 18:15; Micah 5:2
Isaiah 7:14 ; Isaiah 9:6-7; Isaiah 11:1; Isaiah 22:22
Zech. 9:9; Zech 11: 12; Zech. 12:10
Psalm 2:7 ; Psalm 16:10 ; Psalm 22: 7-8; Psalm 22: 14-19
Psalm 34:20; Psalm 35:19; Psalm 69:21; Psalm 110; Psalm 68:18
Isaiah 53

A Message from Pearl Harbor - Part One

Yesterday, December 7, 2010, was the 69th anniversary of the attack on Pearl Harbor, the event that propelled America into World War II.

I think that’s worth mentioning. I am reading a book by David A. Witts about World War II in the Pacific theatre; so perhaps it has been on my mind a little more than it otherwise would be. It is only coincidence that I chose to read this book at this time. I woke, yesterday, wondering if there would be any news coverage about that sad day. I was pleased to see Pearl Harbor was the lead story in our local paper. I know there were a few ceremonies around town to honor those that lost their lives there. There was at least one of my friends who posted on Facebook about remembering and honoring those lives. I intended to put a post on my blog about Pearl Harbor, yesterday; but I just didn’t get that far. Once again, I took inspiration from this friend to blog about something that I knew I should, but that I had simply neglected to get done… better late than never, as the saying goes.

If we forget our history, we will repeat our history. The book I am reading, Forgotten War, Forgiven Guilt is about how the war in the Pacific Theatre was often overlooked. The author goes into great detail about events and atrocities that took place, and how it is almost impossible to find any information about the Army Air Corps, 13th Air Force. My dad was a member of the 13th Air Force, so this is somewhat personal for me and I am totally captivated by this book. I highly recommend it. I will most likely do a “book report” on Witts' story a bit later. But for today, I really just wanted to pay tribute to a generation that fought and died for what they believed. To quote the author David Witts in Forgotten War, Forgiven Guilt:

"We entered Europe’s War at times and places of our choosing. The Pacific war came to us. The December 7, 1941 headline read: “Japs Bomb Pearl Harbor.” At that moment America changed forever. Outraged, we left plows standing in the field in a rush to enlist. We lusted for revenge against an enemy that stabbed us in the back. Volunteers stood in lines to join up. Women worked in factories. Mothers planted victory gardens. Children collected tin cans. Armies first clashed in hand to hand combat 5,000 miles away on a peninsula in the Philippines called Bataan and a rock named Corregidor."

A war for America began and ended in the Pacific. When it was over, a nation rejoiced. Victory was complete. Of course there would be sadness as well when lives were lost.  My own dad, said when he was on the island of Samar and heard the news, there was no great celebration by the servicemen as one might expect, or that we see in the movies...it was simply over; they had done their job; and they wanted to go home. For our nation, a time of prosperity was ushered in. It would be Baby Boomers, Bobby Socks, and Butcher Shops....blissful living and belated appreciation.

"When the War ended, we came home, went back to school and work. We were so busy trying to make up for those four lost years, we had no inclination to talk about our experiences. Our conduct was not original. It was traditional. It was a deeply shared national experience. There was no sneaking off to Oxford. Roosevelt’s four sons served in uniform. We dropped into the Memory Hole, still married to our first wives. But now, half a century later, there is a fascination about that War, its people, their agony and their ecstasy. Today’s interest in the War comes as a surprise to those who fought it. It’s good to know some people do care, realizing who paid the butcher’s bill for the prosperity they blissfully enjoy. Now that others want to hear our stories, they come as wistful goodbyes."

For myself, I'm not sure all the current "fascination" is good. Only because I am not sure there isn't an underlying political motivation behind it.  The "fascination" is only good if those interested get an accurate accounting. And as Mr. Witts says in his book, there has been much that has not been very accurate. But that is all for another post; today I want to say thank you.

To that generation, especially those that fought and those that died; I pay tribute. Thanks for the steak, burgers and prime rib, Daddy. I promise to learn the lessons you've taught, and keep our history pure.

“There are things worse than war, and they all begin with defeat.”

~ Ernest Hemingway