“When you discover you are riding a dead horse, the best strategy is to dismount”

-Tribal wisdom from the Dakota Indians

It has been brought to my attention that one of my neighbors is really sensitive and sees nothing funny in my stories about his adventures, so I’m gettin’ off that hoss! And I will try my darndest to keep this promise…HOWEVER…it’s gonna be hard.

I have given the unofficial award for the first garden in the canyon. Now, before anyone can even hint about the garden, which will be the last to pop up, I will admit it is ours. Yup, out there you will see just a harrowed area that is actually starting to grow weeds again. It is the rain. Came at just the wrong time. Looked in the fridge and the potato starts have grown all right. But gray mold, not green leafy sprouts. I think they are the vindictive type. If I just throw them out in a heap, I know in my heart they will grow. But rot if I give them the dignity of the garden. Thank goodness for the garbage can.

Last week, My Hero took me on a memory journey to his elk hunting camp. He used this camp for a base for 31 years. It was either there or they didn’t hunt elk. He, along with his two sons and his brother-in-law journeyed there to hunt. He knows this area like the back of his hand. It is on Deadhorse Ridge in the Chesnimnus. He knows who camps where. It seems there are unseen addresses where only the regulars go.

One camp is in an area that allows many tents. These guys have a sense of humor. He said the first thing they do after setting up camp is to bring out this Double D size bra and hang it on a line. He thinks it is bragging but I don’t know… it might be they are trolling for a big-busted huntress.

We traveled some more and went to the Buckhorn Lookout. And it happened to me again. Every time I think I have been awestruck by the most beautiful scenery in the world, I see something like the view from this lookout. With the Seven Devils in the background, the Imnaha Canyon lies before you. There is a map that shows what’s what and where. The Forest Service fire lookout sits in this magnificent spot. It is time to thank God for my vision.

The tiny prickly pear cactus is taking their turn at decorating the canyon walls. The buds start out pink and then as they become blossoms, they change their minds and turn yellow. They make a beautiful centerpiece for a dinner. There is only one way to have anything to do with these thorny beauties. I know. I started out being careful and took a shovel to chop one off. I brought it in and tried to be careful when I put it in a dish. Wrongo, Buckwheat! I am now an expert at getting out the thorns. You take duct tape and go at it. Anyhow, I finally used these metal salad grabbers. It was worth it, because in my red bowl they were beautiful. It was sort of like having a snake in the middle of the table because everyone had to be very careful. I might steal roses from Pat next time.

If I was a priest and someone came to me and had a problem with pride, I know what I would tell them. Go my child and write a column. It will teach you how to be humble. First of all, the locals only read it to see if you got the facts right. Then they check the names, are they spelled right? Then, can’t you count for heavens sake? There are THREE Witherrite Grandmothers here, not four! And I am still waiting for a thank you for NOT writing some of the things I know. Sigh….