Writers Corner for February 3, 2012

1, FEBRUARY, 2003: In remembrance of the seven astronauts who died in the explosion of Space Shuttle Columbia

What lies there, beyond the hill?

A river's bend, Oh! What to see?

What will they find,

For you and me?

Those who went so far, so far.

To lead mankind from star to star.

The cost, this was a tragic day.

They chart the course,

Of the Milky Way

- Marvin Tyacke, Post Falls

•••

OLD FAITHFUL, THE FRENCH GULCH BEAR

By John L. Eisler

I live in an historic location up French Gulch Road in Kingston, Idaho. The original owner shared almost two hundred acres with his two brothers. The house I own (with the friendly cooperation of the bank) belonged to Oscar Johnson. Oscar originally operated a dairy. Over time he changed from milking cows to killing them and operating a widely known and well-respected meat processing operation. Even decades later, when someone asks where I live, all I need say is, "I live on the Oscar Johnson place."

The responses are immediate. Almost as quickly they say, "My folks used to get their beef there." Some alternate responses are, "I used to get my beef there." That response usually comes from a senior citizen. The third response is, "Oscar used to process my deer, elk, or moose." This comment was depending on what game they had taken.

Oscar was a wise businessman and he served his customers well. Many of those folks that commented would also say, "I used to cut meat there." Or, "My mom used to wrap meat for Oscar."

Now you have to remember that Idaho is a mostly rural environment. Years ago that was even truer. Bears were a common sight and if you know anything about bears you should know that they are voracious eaters. Public television often runs specials on bears that break into vehicles and homes in search of food. Oscar was frequently troubled by bears coming onto his property to eat the hides from slaughtered cows that he sold to a tannery. To stop this pillaging, he would take the assorted fat scraps from the processed beef and walk across French Gulch Road and dump it on the hillside. The bears would eat the scraps and leave his hides alone.

Many families that lived in the Silver Valley would plan an outing on Sundays to come see the bears on the hillside eating the scraps laid out by Oscar.

Bears, like all animals, humans included, are creatures of habit. Bears, not unlike many humans, are also inclined to go the easiest way. There was one particular bear, "Old Faithful," that had staked out a space on the hillside. He would show up about an hour prior to Oscar walking across the road and sit directly above a bare spot where Oscar dumped one of his meat scrap boxes. Oscar would walk up the hill to the bare spot and "Old Faithful" would sit quietly until Oscar dumped his meal. Oscar would go back to the processing shop for additional scraps and take those to two other spots on the hill. The other bears would amble down and occasionally engage in roughhouse play to claim their bounty. "Old Faithful" would finish his meal and walk off into the woods.

In spring, he was the first bear to show up for Oscar's scraps and as summer turned to fall, he was the last bear there prior to going into hibernation.

It is a privilege to inhabit this historical home and hear the tales of time gone by. This tale was told to me by an older fellow named, "Claude."

Claude went on to say, "I was just a little nipper and I would go to watch them kill the cows. Oscar always did the actual butchering. They would yank a cow up on the meat rail and Oscar would cut out the heart and the liver. He would hand them to me and say, "Take these to your Ma."

"My little arms would be full of the still warm heart and liver. I would arrive home all bloody from carrying the meat to my Mother. Oscar knew that we needed help with groceries and his gruff manner covered the true kindness in his heart. As I got older, I had a part-time job helping with the butchering. Even then I would go outside and watch "Old Faithful" when Oscar took him his afternoon meal."

•••

A LITTLE PART OF WHAT IS IN MY HEART FOR YOU, JOHN

How can I ever forget the very first time that I saw you?

You walked through the door so tall and so strong...

I really thought I must be dreaming!

And then I just said, "Are you John?"

My life from that day has been magical,

Nothing has been quite the same!

So amazing, the melding of two different lives...

It's almost like playing a game!

A game or a puzzle, whatever it is...

We certainly don't take it lightly,

Our biggest contention is: "Who'll wash the dishes?"

And that we discuss only slightly!

Dear John, you're the greatest of men,

You're my dearest, my darling, my honey...

So handsome, so wise, so patient and kind,

So much fun, and also so funny!

This is our second married Christmas!

Our world is so glorious in so many ways,

It seems like a dream of content!

Happiness spills into all of our days...

Our blessings just keep on unfolding!

It seems like you've always been there.

You're definitely my better half!

It's so fantastic being able to share

All our ups and our downs!

Each moment is just made to treasure.

We take things one step at a time.

I feel that we're rich beyond measure!

Oh how I do love you, my Mr. P.,

You make each day such a joy!

How can I ever thank you enough?

(So glad I'm a girl, you're a boy!)

Well, soon it will be "ninety-seven"!

And now I would just like to say...

What we have right here is pure heaven!

I pray that next year will bring all that you wish,

Especially happiness and health.

I know that for me, I have all that I need...

Because YOU are my life and my wealth!

- Valerie Podesta, Hayden

Editor's note: Valerie wrote this in 1996 for her husband John, who died in September.

•••

The Press Writers Corner features original, creative writing submitted by our readers.

Send your Writers Corner submissions to Maureen Dolan, [email protected].

We prefer email submissions, and we ask that you limit the length of your stories and poems. Please include your hometown with your submission.

You can send hard-copies by mail to Maureen Dolan at The Press, 201 Second St., Coeur d'Alene, ID 83814.