Heading home with tales of Idaho

I got a phone call yesterday from our 17-year-old grand, Matthew.  “Do you want to hear a story?”  I'm always up for a story.

He was driving along a country field on the way home from Priest River, truck windows open — he's been too hot ever since he came from Alaska to Idaho back in January.  Suddenly a chicken-sized bird of prey flew through the open window into his cab.  It panicked at finding itself in such a confined space with a human at the wheel.

Matthew was more startled than the bird, which might have been a peregrine falcon from his description.  He and it ended up in one-on-one combat.  He got his face scratched, drawing blood.  His glasses landed somewhere near the brake pedal.  He drove into the ditch trying to fend the thing off.

Finally, he was able to grab hold of it and heave it out his driver's window — where it flew off into wide open space and freedom.  Matthew got out and checked his truck — purchased this spring — which was of greater importance than his physical self.  He ascertained that both he and his vehicle were OK — and drove out of the ditch and home.

I have written about how this guy was charged by a grizzly while salmon fishing on Alaska's Kenai River last summer.  Within weeks after arriving in north Idaho he was hissed at by a cougar up a tree while hiking near Sandpoint.  Now this.

He is an outdoorsman.  We would love to keep him here, but Alaska is calling.  He was born and raised there.  We will have a farewell party for him in a couple of weeks — he's preparing a smoked salmon main course — and he'll drive his new red truck over the Alcan home.  At this rate, he might actually be safer there.

I had a chance for an impromptu “grandma glean” when he stopped by a few days ago.  This teen was “absolutely-no way-forget it-don't even talk to me” not coming to Idaho, when his mom — along with her new husband and his younger sister — decided to make the move.  His mother, whom he respectfully calls by her first name, really wanted him to give it a chance.

He did, resisting every mile.  The operative word is did — he did it.  And that's what I wanted him to understand.

“Matthew,” I told him, “You made it not all about you.  It was extremely hard for you to move — it was a big sacrifice.  Your mom wanted you to try it for six months.  You did.  You've been able to help out your family — and other people — while you were here.  We've been glad to have you, and I want to commend you for coming.”

I hope he will look back on this time with some measure of satisfaction.  He had new experiences — not everyone gets clawed by a falcon flying into their truck — and met some good people — and saw some new country.  He's got a wider lens.

And he now knows he can do something he doesn't want to do — for the good of others — and just maybe it will turn out to be good for him, too.  Minus the bleeding face.  But he did get a story.

Carol Shirk Knapp is the author of "The Preacher's Kid" column.