Saturday, April 30, 2011
Thursday, April 28, 2011
In addition, Clint made tremendous effort to restore the site that was disturbed by the building fronts, construction crew, and later the feet pounding of the actors and production crew on the little ridge and river drainage near the quaking aspen. Winter seemed to come quickly that year and for a bunch of us, it was hard to spot evidence of the film set trampling that next spring; though we tried. We also tried to find some kind of film crew artifact. My friend Lon and I located “the rock” that one of the miners was chipping on in an early scene from the film.
When it finally came out, Pale Rider sort of stunned people, because it was a break from the classic Eastwood tradition. He played an even quieter, low-key character, and I remember people being confused about connecting a “preacher” role to him. Others, expecting the active dashing and violent Dirty Harry way of life found this movie kind of slow and spacey; features I didn’t mind at all this time. I just soaked in the scenery that I knew was almost in my backyard. I had driven our old Buick Wagon up there, and forded the rocky river crossing half a dozen times, hiking up to some of the “real” old mining cabins and diggings.
Soon afterward, a local man, David Butterfield had us typeset and produce an exhausting field guide to potential filming locations across
this big rock with a candy vein of gold in it
scintillating under the stars
and lay me down under the silver fruit
Press the gold of my ear to the vibration
to sense if I can detect the echo of
when Lurch -or was it Jaws?
Split this baby in half
with an old 1863 hickory stick sledgehammer
I’ll bend up over the hill tonite
too itchy and scratchy for a truck in that rough spot
to see if I can’t see how these hills have changed
I’ll pack up the DVD player
better bring a spare battery juice-pack
Cause it’s cold in those Idaho hills
I’ll freeze frame on the DVD
sections of Mountains in that backdrop
and compare it to our current status
I think of the nameless preacher in the movie
and for some reason the Beatles real nowhere man
jangles my juices like Satchel Paige on opening day
Sometimes it feels like we’ll still be standing strong
long after these hills have fast eroded away
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Honor Indigenous people with a Camas Lily license plate.
Kudos to Tony Evans for his four-part broad ranging Express series on Native Americans, and their close connections to our valley. Not only should every Southern Idaho Historical Society consider permanently linking to the series, but also, as one local scholar observed; it could be upgraded into a pamphlet or small book and made mandatory or recommended reading as part of local school curriculums.
Particularly interesting in Tony’s story are the parts about Native Americans powerful relationship with the Earth through the camas plant. It was refreshing to read about the annual Camas Lily Days Festival featuring “Indian dancing, arts and crafts and the traditional baking of camas bulbs in rock-lined fire pits covered with wet grass and earth.” As well as June’s energized
For years, I’ve been a proud displayer of Famous Idaho Potato plates on some of my rigs, but as camas roots are four times more nutritious than our average russet, I would be happier than a sunny camas bluebird to upgrade to such new customized plates.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
I can’t see driving 85
It’s remarkable that the
Perhaps this particular observer has not yet examined some of the Autobahn’s recent troubles: Two summers ago, on a day when “heavy rain suddenly gave way to blinding sunshine, catching motorists unaware,” more than 65 people were injured in a massive pileup, including 10 critically.
In early April of this year, 50 more cars were involved in another massive Autobahn pile-up, caused in part by a blinding sandstorm, created by plowed neighboring agriculture fields. This fiery crash left 10 dead and almost 100 injured.
One of my co-travelers has observed that I often drive like a country bumpkin. Perhaps it’s because, while negotiating local roads, I think of these dicey situations and my own beloved ones lost in fiery crashes. And my personal grief is not isolated, as our country loses over 30,000 motor travelers a year to road deaths; many of them on high speed rural roads.
However, since I’m mostly unfamiliar with
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