☼ GreentranstÖrmer ☼

2012-01-21T09:43:00.000-08:00

Some simple steps to improve highway safety

(Final draft)

It’s outstanding that in 2011, motor vehicle fatalities in Idaho dropped to their lowest rate in 50 years. Idaho Highway safety manager Brent Jennings remarks, “We believe that we can attribute this significant decline in fatalities to the educational programs, the partnerships that we have in education, in engineering, law enforcement, and emergency medical services.”

A related category where I would like see continued improvement, is for our highway personnel to encourage each other to position highly visible “Workers Ahead” signs well in advance of the actual roadwork and from all directions leading up to the job, even if it looks as though their tasks will only encompass a brief period. We already have rigorous safety standards in place to promote this; however, here is where I would like to make a personal observation on the subject:

Back in the mid-90’s on Highway 75 north of Hailey, there was a case where a utility contractor, perhaps thinking he would only be there briefly, set out a handful of safety cones in the vicinity of his boom truck, before rising to work on some power lines. Unfortunately, this was near a blind curve in the road, and a mechanical support-leg from his work vehicle was protruding into the highway 1½ feet. A southbound motorist did not notice this obstruction in time to react properly; and suddenly veered, causing a horrific head-on collision. This killed a young man named Ken who was traveling north. Upon investigation, local authorities revealed that the company doing the utility work did not follow the law, as they neglected to carefully lay out 3 sets of “Workers Ahead” signs in specifically staged areas, and a court found the contractor partially accountable for the damages.

Before Ken’s life was taken in that wreck, I was fortunate to become briefly acquainted with him. I learned that he was a hard-working family man with two small children. And I could sense by the deep engaging way he gazed into people’s eyes, that he was a salt-of-the-earth type of individual who was genuinely interested in whatever you were up to. Sometimes in the evenings, I would hear Ken practicing tight with his band, blanketing Old Hailey with a friendly atmosphere of soft jazz notes.

Therefore, as Ken was a long-time pillar of the community, for months afterward, many folks held some outrage against the contractor partially responsible for the crash. A local newspaper reported in depth on the various safety protocols workers should follow and word spread wide to all roadmen that they had best follow these rules. However, after a few months slipped by, I noticed some workers had started slacking off again from their diligent safety duties, such as not using flaggers in places where they clearly should have, or working late with insufficient lighting. Over the years, I’ve made mental notes of these irresponsible acts, sometimes seeing workers placing themselves in conditions even more dangerous than the one that killed Ken.

Then last year, another acquaintance was killed in a worker-zone crash on a different stretch of Highway 75. In her case, questions have arisen as to whether the workforce there posted enough advance warning, before a truck driver unsuspecting of the stopped traffic ahead, plowed into several vehicles.

With these crashes, I like to believe my friends were something better than statistics and hope that some good can come out of their tragic losses. Although, we will always face danger on the highway; I implore our dedicated workers in the concerned spirit of Ken to do everything they can to make us safer for 2012 and beyond.

2012-01-19T04:33:00.000-08:00

A simple step to improve highway safety

It’s outstanding that in 2011, motor vehicle fatalities in Idaho dropped to their lowest rate in 50 years. Idaho Highway safety manager Brent Jennings remarks, “We believe that we can attribute this significant decline in fatalities to the educational programs, the partnerships that we have in education, engineering, law enforcement, and emergency medical services.”

A category in which I would like to see continued improvement is for our highway managers, workers and utility contractors to encourage each other to position highly visible “Workers Ahead” signs well in advance of the actual roadwork and from all directions leading up to the job, even if it looks as though their tasks there will only encompass a brief period. We already have rigorous safety standards in place to encourage this; however, here is where I would like to make a personal observation on the subject:

Back in the mid-90’s on Highway 75 north of Hailey, there was a case where a utility contractor, perhaps thinking that he would only be there briefly, set out just a few safety cones in the general proximity of his boom truck to work on some overhead power lines. Unfortunately, this was near a blind curve in the road, and a metal support-leg from his work vehicle was protruding into the highway 1½ feet. A southbound motorist did not notice this obstruction in time to react properly; and suddenly veered, causing a horrific head-on collision. This killed a young man named Ken who was traveling north. Upon investigation, local authorities revealed that the company doing the utility work did not follow the law by carefully laying out three sets of “Workers Ahead” signs in specifically staged areas and a court found the contractor partially accountable for the damages.

Before Ken’s life was taken in that wreck, I had been fortunate to become briefly acquainted with him. I learned that he was a hard-working family man with two small children. And I could sense by the deep engaging way he gazed into people’s eyes, that he was a salt-of-the-earth type of individual who was genuinely interested in whatever you were up to. Sometimes in the evenings, I would hear Ken practicing tight with his band, blanketing Old Hailey with a friendly atmosphere of soft jazz notes.

Therefore, as Ken was a pillar of the community, for months afterward, many folks held some outrage against the contractor partially responsible for the crash. A local newspaper reported in depth on the various safety protocols workers should follow and word spread wide to all roadmen that they had best follow these rules. However, after a few months slipped by, I noticed that some workers started slacking off again from their diligent safety duties, such as not using flaggers in places where they clearly should have, or working late with insufficient lighting. Over the years, I’ve made mental notes of these irresponsible acts, sometimes seeing workers placing themselves in conditions even more dangerous than the one that killed Ken.

With these crashes, I like to believe my friends were something better than statistics and hope that something good can come out of their tragic cases. Although, we will always face danger on the highway; I implore our dedicated workers in the concerned spirit of Ken to do everything possible to make us safer for 2012 and beyond.

2012-01-06T04:50:00.000-08:00

Is Idaho Power exaggerating savings on ‘smart meter’ plan?

A December 22, 2011 Mountain Express news update, reported the swift completion of Idaho Power’s smart meter installation, saying, “Idaho Power touted the cost savings and energy savings that have resulted from the initiative, including eliminating 80 vehicles from its fleet, saving on fuel and maintenance costs because employees are no longer driving 1.6 million miles per year to read meters, and eliminating access issues like locked gates and protective dogs.”

Yet, mere weeks later the power company is raising their monthly customer service charge from 4 dollars to 5 dollars – a 25% increase! What type of savings is that? This is not the first time in recent history that Idaho Power has slipped on a promise. You might recall the sleek glossy brochure they mailed when they first began implementing the smart meter switchover; which assured customers that they would be notified with a knock on the door. Comparing my own less-than-satisfactory experience with various neighbors on this, indicates that this simple courtesy often did not happen.

Some folks across the Heartland are speculating that these new meters are emitting overly powerful amounts of microwave radiation. However, an Idaho Power rep. told the Express that our local brand of smart meter transmits personal information only over the power lines. I suppose that I can believe that for now, however; with the previous company overstatements in mind, I would be interested in learning more about how this really works.

Meanwhile, the same neighbors I talked with earlier are now joking some that Idaho Power installed a Men-in-Black-like zapper into these innovative meters, in hopes of making consumers forget the grand savings which they promised us.

Hailey, too, has an enchanted forest

On September 30^th, a young couple suddenly found themselves in a crunch to move to a new house before the harsh Idaho Winter set in. They heard about one down by the river in Hailey, with a nice big yard and within easy walking distance to town. They visited the potential house, and remarked that the surrounding neighborhood felt like it held a good vibe. Soon after saying this, a wild rabbit in the yard let them walk up to it and pet it! There, at the edge of the woods, the rabbit almost fell asleep, while they gently stroked its soft white fur.

*

The young couple stood outside talking, with the people currently renting the house. While doing so, the rabbit rebounded from the far side of the yard, and started performing an elaborate little dance. It spun and sprinted in little counter-clockwise circles, while playfully kicking up its spiffy heels. They had never seen before such a happy bunny, with characteristics and personality bordering that of a loyal dog.

*

The young couple conveyed the story to a handful of friends, wondering if this was a good sign, for them to move into the new house. One of the friends noticed that the cheerful event had occurred at the end of the month, which, while involving a rabbit clearly held strong connections to mystery and myth. Folks from many cultures believe that if you encounter a rabbit when the calendar is turning, or recite “Rabbit, Rabbit!” as your first spoken words of the new month, then this will bring you good fortune.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rabbit_rabbit

Perhaps the fact that the young couple is closely connected to the earth was something sensed by the excitable bunny. Regardless, The couple decided to move into the new house, and I’m looking forward to hearing more about their future encounters with the swift acrobatic lucky rabbit.

This remarkable nature encounter reminded me of another anomalous event that occurred in the same neck of woods a few years before, which is the tale of:

The Owl and the money clip

At their old Hailey place, Robin and Tonia had lived together with their children, and a single mother and her kids. This arrangement worked well in some respects, but it was also a bit cramped, which tends to get worse during long Idaho winters. Both families had traveled down to the Bellevue Triangle a few times to look at a prospective house that was larger. All four kids loved it, as did Tonia and her single mother friend. Robin wasn’t so sure though. After all, they had already moved earlier that same year. His hesitation was understandable, as the new house cost more and he is the main breadwinner.

*

With the deadline looming to give notice, Robin was feeling the pressure to decide soon; and on the last day of the month, he vociferously announced that evening that he was “going off fishing.” He hiked down to The Draper Preserve, specifically to spend some time alone and reflect on the difficult decision. After casting some nice lines, the evening progressed into twilight, when suddenly an enormous great horned owl, swooped down 40 feet over the river and dropped something shiny in the water. Robin waded out carefully to where the owl dropped the item and discovered that it was an empty money clip. Examining it closer, he discovered that the silver was emblazoned with his very own initials!

*

Robin took the owl’s message as a powerful sign, which helped him decide that his family would be better off if they made the big move, which they did and are still happy about today. Something else interesting about this story is that most people that we’ve shared it with agree that they probably would have made the same progressive decision to move, even though the owl had dropped an empty money clip. One friend even opined that it’s healthy to get out to explore nature when we’re faced with such huge life-changing decisions. And it’s certainly nice to be given powerful bird and rabbit auguries to help guide those choices. While our money clips may start out empty; sometimes with enough fortitude, stick-to-it-ness, and a developed sense of listening closely to what nature is trying to tell us, miraculous pennies from heaven will shine, rewarding us plentifully in due time.

2011-10-24T16:17:00.000-07:00

Nuclear satire fallout

Last month, The Times-News was kind enough to print a letter I submitted suggesting that we dig deeper for more viable nuclear waste solutions. (Link) http://magicvalley.com/news/opinion/mailbag/letter-to-the-editor-an-idea-for-storing-nuclear-waste/article_fb339e1a-eb04-11e0-b8cc-001cc4c002e0.html

Soon after, the same letter was brought up in a local discussion board, where a blogger named ‘Nukeworker’ tried to ridicule me, saying “I recently saw a "science show" that had 3 people going from a volcano in Iceland to the center of the earth where there are dinosaurs and they came out another volcano... Journey to the Center of the Earth... This nice tale has more scientific facts than anything in your letter.”

‘Nukeworker’s’ terse response motivated me to explain: “My piece was meant to be read mostly as satire, although it also contained some radioactive elements of truth. Here in Idaho though, satire is often misunderstood, probably because there is not much need for it in such a beautiful paradise. However, if we don't soon come up with more feasible solutions to our severe nuclear waste disposal issues, there are strong chances that our whole region will revert back to a "hellish environment."
*
On a related note, I find it interesting that our Congress now has a bill before them, which will make it a crime to poke fun at or satirize the TSA in any way. What will evolve next? Dehumanizing, joke-proof conditions for all nukes?”

After diagramming the satire, it was refreshing to hear again from ‘Nukeworker’ who said he missed it at first, but now appreciates the humor. Now I imagine him gazing with new light, deeper into the idea of Mel’s bottomless pit; which after all is a faultless fit, for nuclear waste radiating comfortably in the center of the earth, as well as putrid plutonium propheteers, blowing their mad tops about volcanoes, while caught in tight blogging snits.

2011-09-24T20:34:00.000-07:00

Let’s bury nuclear waste deeper

Recently, I came across an ancient earth-science textbook, which, while reading, reminded me how the depths of our earth buzz with high levels of radioactivity. The same week, I happened upon an account of Mel Waters and his fantastic 25-mile deep hole, in close proximity to the Hanford Nuclear Reservation –the most radioactive place in our Country. This got me to thinking how, that a viable solution to our horrific nuclear waste problems would be to thrust the insidious waste back into the hellish environment, from whence it came.

Why waste trillions of dollars ferrying nuclear waste to Yucca Mountain or the INL, where we’ll need to secure it under expensive guard for millennia, when a much simpler solution is near at hand? Therefore, I propose that our Department of Energy in conjunction with our Department of Environment Quality, conduct extensive feasibility studies to determine how drilling deep-hole repositories near every nuclear plant should be best done.

Besides supra-natural pits such as Mel Waters’, those who are quick to embrace the nuclear renaissance should consider extracting deeper, old fracking pits, as well as dried up oil wells, such as Deepwater Horizon, where we’re practically halfway there with the shaft.

2011-09-11T13:00:00.000-07:00

2011-08-27T22:27:00.001-07:00

Don't disparage one of Idaho's great small towns

The first year I moved here, there was an incident on Main Street involving two women in a fender bender. Instead of rushing out of their cars to blame each other, they both emerged to apologize profusely and peacefully. They each made sure that the other person was all right, and then gave each other sweet bear hugs. After that, they agreed that they should meet together soon, because it had been too long since they had seen each other.

This remarkable event defined for me what the essence is of everything good about Ketchum; and perhaps for what is great about many small western towns: good people who care about each other, more than they do for their measly worldly possessions. Therefore, it grates at me, when I hear intermittent comments that disparage the town and townspeople of Ketchum (and the Wood River Valley). Some will say, "I have no desire to visit Ketchum, or any of the people up there." That's too bad, because if you take a closer look, this pedestrian-friendly town offers much for young and old, rich and poor, sick and well.

Like most Idaho towns, Ketchum has changed over the years. Yet, it retains many high-quality aspects of a hardy Western town. When it comes to weather, Ketchum is in the top 10 percentile of sunniest towns. The people here are equally sunny, and there is ample reason for this. A river runs through it, offering opportunities for enjoyable fishing and water sports. We have a popular YMCA. On summer Tuesdays, a vibrant farmers' market attracts vendors and customers from throughout southern Idaho. After that, energetic music performers play freely til twilight in our Forest Service Park.

For the spiritual, Ketchum has more than a handful of sacred places to worship. When someone becomes severely ill, or is in a crash, our community often bonds together, helping with fundraisers.

Wagon Days brings a festive weekend of olden-times coming alive, as craftspeople, blacksmiths and storytellers demonstrate their trades and speak their lore. Wagon Days also features the largest non-motorized parade in the west.

Ketchum's Community Library has an extensive regional history section, with helpful staff and an oral history program. The library also hosts frequent lectures and enlightening events, featuring respected authors and adventurers from near and far.
Ketchum has dozens of fine restaurants. We have movie theaters; nine (and growing) outdoor parks, live stage and Huck Finn-like swimming holes. Free newspapers, magazines, maps and wi-fi are abundant. We also have a water park, bringing boundless glee to splashing kids. On the edge of town, Sun Valley Co. has installed a gondola for uplifting Bald Mountain rides.

This list of what good things our fine town (and valley) has to offer is much longer than this, but I hope for now this gives some hesitation to those who are quick to sneer at lively Ketchum.

I sometimes wonder if some of Ketchum's harsh critics have even spent much time here.

~ ~ ~

After last July’s candlelight vigil march for Bowe Bergdahl, the local soldier captured in Afghanistan; I sat with some friends, one of whom described an image she thought best captured Hailey's essence. One of the men attending the ceremony had left his tools in the open on the back of his truck, parked in front of Zaney's Coffeehouse, where the event began. The tradesman had drawn a large cardboard sign, asking passersby to leave his tools alone, because he was standing for Bowe. And the aura of respectfulness that evening permeated the atmosphere so thick that nobody dared tamper with his tools. Then we agreed that we all look forward to the day when Bowe can return to this pleasant valley, where his friends and family can openly share with him, some strong bear hugs.

2011-08-24T13:23:00.000-07:00

Stop inviting burglars to ransack your home

As we know, our latest social networks like most tools can be used for good and / or nefarious purposes. Facebook has a popular application, which invites groups to social events, and then asks if you will be participating. A problem with this, is, the second you’ve confirmed that you intend to be present at some special event, you may have alerted a miscreant that your house will be unattended for some time.

When many travelers leave for vacation they take simple precautions such as locking doors and windows, securing burglar alarms, adjusting lights with timers, and canceling newspaper and postal delivery. It may not have occurred to some of these same wise souls that by advertising the fact they will be gone, they’ve taken the guesswork away from potential robbers.

We haven’t reached the age yet, where it’s become unstylish to send old fashioned R.S.V.P.’s via mail or over the phone. Depending on your circumstances, it might be wise to hesitate confirming through an online social network easily penetrated by strangers that you plan to be away from your house for an extended period.

2011-08-21T08:11:00.000-07:00

Stop inviting robbers to burglarize your home

As we know, our latest social networks, like most tools can be used for good and /or nefarious purposes. Facebook has a popular application, which invites groups to social events, and then asks if you will be participating. A problem with this, is, the second you’ve confirmed that you intend to attend some special event, you may have alerted a miscreant that your house will be unattended for some time.

When many travelers leave for vacation they take simple precautions such as locking doors and windows, setting burglar alarms, adjusting lights with timers, and canceling newspaper and postal delivery. Most folks wouldn’t leave a pile of freshly laundered money drying off in the front windowsill, would they? It may not have occurred to some of these same wise souls that by advertising the fact they will be gone, they’ve taken the guesswork away from potential robbers. It’s bad enough that criminals who gain passwords to smart-meter accounts will soon hold the capability to determine whether or not residents are home. Don’t double-confirm that you will be gone by thoughtlessly clicking the “I will be attending” button.

2011-08-14T10:47:00.000-07:00

Let’s have cleaner money

A few years ago, a Clark County, Nevada investigation showed that a Vegas clinic was not using clean syringe procedures, which over a four-year period contaminated dozens of anesthesia patients with incurable hepatitis C. This seemed odd, especially since Las Vegas is the same city where casinos and hotels often offer to help clean your money. When did we start giving sanitized money a higher priority than we do to medical patients?

For many reasons, our money is one of the filthiest things that we handle. And for years, it’s been a lively topic of local discussion, about how Ketchum has an overabundance of grubby banks. With the new credit card reform laws finally being implemented, it’s interesting to watch how to make up for purported losses; some neighborhood banks are incrementally raising fees for their simple checking and ATM services.

During this shift, bank managers must certainly be keeping a close eye on public reaction. With this in mind, it would be refreshing to see some banks around here, began to offer a new service in the form of disinfecting paper currency and coinage. Besides helping defend locals and tourists from diseases and flu, banks would also be protecting their most precious assets - their dedicated tellers – from nasty germs while handling the dirty money, lessening sick days, etc.

Besides Vegas improving the odds for healthier customers, such purification programs have become popular in a few other countries, such as Japan. A bank around here ‘wishing well’ on its clients in such a courteous manner would stand to profit gainfully and karmatically from this clean advice.

2011-07-24T13:25:00.000-07:00

A basketball trade secret that can help

Along with a billion other riveted viewers, it was with great interest that I watched Yao Ming ceremoniously open the first game versus the United States by zinging through a three-point shot. During a break from the game, the TV featured a brief documentary of how popular basketball has become in China and as a lifetime basketball aficionado, this also enthused me.

With the economic development of China, with thousands of new basketball courts in the land, I would like to make an observation from the viewpoint of aspiring school-ground players.

Every bouncing kid knows that when they come upon the court, if the net is torn or missing, this takes some of the wind out of their sails. With the great expenses of new courts, poles and baskets, the net is usually first to go bad. And with the nets gone, children will often go off to play a different sport.

Nylon nets attached to heavily used basketball hoops often wear out within a few weeks. A way to remedy this is to soak the net in boiled linseed oil for a day and then let it dry out for another, before hanging it from the basket. Preparing a net in this way increases its life tenfold. Soaking a net in linseed oil sometimes shrivels it up a bit, requiring maintenance staff to shoot swishes for stretching it back out.

In this manner, the workers will have achieved what many amateur basketball players dream of, as they will then be receiving pay for shooting and making baskets.

Letters and Blogs

2011-07-22T04:29:00.000-07:00

Questioning Idaho Power’s simple promises

I gave a hearty laugh, when stepping out of the shower recently, the electricity went off and I discovered that an Idaho Power representative had swiftly switched out my electric meter for a supposedly smarter one. The quandary was that nobody had knocked on my door to inform me, as the company had promised in their widely-mailed sleek glossy brochure. And it’s too bad that this simple discourteous oversight happened, because; as a former meter reader myself, I was positively looking forward to a healthy face-to face discussion with the rep.

I had planned on asking the experienced tradesman questions; such as what happens to those who want to opt out of their new forceful system? And what do they say to those who don’t desire a higher level of complexity?

Perusing the brochure closer, I saw that Idaho Power assures that these up-to-the-minute smart meters are secure. And I agree that they are well over 99 percent secure. The problem is that the old-style meters were 100 percent hacker proof. Nobody had remotely penetrated even one, nor ever could.

I wonder if I’ll laugh as nearly as much, when we see this next secure promise broken.

2011-06-28T18:28:00.000-07:00

Idaho Mountain Express: Expert: Go ahead, enjoy the circus - June 15, 2011

Photo by Tony Evans

Some are born to sweet delight

When I was around 10 years old, my best friend at the time, Andy Jack, and I traded stories about what our first memories were. Amazingly, his was from a time when he was a mere sixth months old and his dad took him to the circus for a ride upon an elephant!

My first memory was not nearly as cheerful, although it started out that way. I was one and a half; fifty years ago now; and my mother was having some girlfriends over for a sun-bathing party. As I watched the women in their bikinis on that hot day, enjoying early 60’s music blaring from a fuzzy radio in the background, and drinking cold drinks, a bee began to pollinate the tulips in our backyard. As the bee buzzed between flowers, I got caught up in the action, and wanted to be larger part of the beauty. I thrust my finger out to the sky and said, “Come to me bee! Come to Me!” Well, right then the bee landed on my finger and stung me deep. Being such a young lad the poison felt about as shocking as a rattlesnake bite, and try as I did, I could not stop from bawling for a long while. Mom’s immediate assistance was comforting, and though the poison probably made me stronger, I couldn’t help but wish later that my first memory had been something more delightful such as Andy’s when he felt like a young price during his colorful three-ring circus elephant ride.

2011-06-25T01:46:00.000-07:00

Good reasons for retaining meter readers

As a former meter reader I find it regretful to see that numerous utility companies are phasing out these important jobs. Traditionally an entry level avocation, many career Gas, Power and Water personnel began initially as meter readers; learning the ropes of their trades by inspecting every corner of the system, and getting to know their grids as well as the back of their hands.

Meter readers often walk 8-12 miles a day. While on foot they usually see much more than car-bound employees do; sometimes noticing crucial infrastructure issues, such as a service box or sewer top caving in, dead tree branches leaning against power lines, or a strong scent of gas emanating from the street.

By elimating these key jobs, our utility companies will no longer have these warriors watching out for us in such close ways. Not only that, but with the sudden push to “smart grid” metering, our Idaho Public Utility Commissioners would be wise to ensure that these new systems are highly hacker-resistant, before full implementation. For instance; imagine an enemy breaking into the grid, to shut down the full configuration, causing long-term damage to power lines, substations and even home electrical systems. This is not far fetched, as nefarious hackers have already infected various financial institutions, global security systems and millions of personal computers. Unlike old style meters, smart grid meters are susceptible to online attacks.

Recently, precocious and prolific blogger Ran Prieur made a related observation, “Did pirates have to protect their wooden legs from cyber attack? Do slide rules get viruses? No! But medical implants are now on the same path as Microsoft Windows and the tech system as a whole: adding more complexity, and creating more openings for failure, which can be patched only with more complexity at greater expense.”

2011-05-21T16:42:00.000-07:00

Superior sportspersons soar over losing definitions

The mythological status that we bestow upon winning sports icons is inspirational, but all too often our must-win culture deems the person who places second a failure. Take for instance, Germany’s Jan Ullrich: Here is a man who actually won the Tour de France bike race back in 1997 and earned second five other times. Mr. Ullrich is also a gold and silver medal Olympic Champion. Yet, in 2005, right before that year’s race, USA Today portrayed Mr. Ullrich as an ‘also ran’ saying, â€œHe lacks mental toughnessâ€ (Reibal). Here is a super athlete in the top one-billionenth percentile of all human racers; yet the media continuously portrays him as a loser. Something needs fixed when according to such doctrines; if you are not sitting on top of the world you are a letdown.

The same goes for professional sports at many levels. Even though Boston and New York’s baseball teams sometimes win pennants for World Series berths, unless the team actually wins the series, it is a tough traumatic event for the team and that team’s city! Enthusiasts, whose teams score second, truly believe that their lives as fans would have improved in magnificent ways, had not the most infinitesimal of heartless pebbles shifted an easy grounder, to bobble an erroneous course through their first baseman’s legs. When this happens, teams instantly trade ‘losing’ players, while managers’ heads get the chop. For years, fans caught wearing the insignia or even colors of the trailing team, become subject to ridicule -at least until that next rematch. Sometimes this happens even when the team is generating millions in profits, and would be considered successful by most other business model measurements.

The honorable thing to do when this happens is to ignore this mockery, while attempting to gain character from the process. This is not easy, as there are hundreds of Monday morning ‘expert’ pundits for every professional player and coach. Yet sports figures with integrity can rise above this common challenge and prove successful by disregarding this emotional blather; knowing that as important as fanzines portray these games to be, they can look to many other vital things in life to gain rewards from. True superstars often use lessons distilled from their competitive glory days to shine in non-sports related venues, contributing global assists to the downtrodden.

Sportspersons have much to live up to, when glorified as idols that represent everything good in this weary world. A few aspire to and actually reach this high standard and are worthy of such idolization. It is excellent when they attain this level, but even the most glorified of heroes make mistakes. Being subject to failure humanizes the most respected of sports idols, but if they handle this quandary properly, they can come away even more victorious, albeit human. Paradoxically, being fallible enables humans to overcome mistakes, achieving higher levels of admiration than they could if they were actually flawless entities.

A prime example of sportsmanship played out in 1976 on a field at the Spokane Special Olympics. During the 100-yard dash race, ten physically and mentally disabled contestants assembled beaming full of life, each one eager to win. At the gun, they started out, except for one small lad who stumbled, rolled over and began to cry. One or two participants heard the boy and turned back. A young girl with Down Syndrome bent down on the racetrack, kissed him, and said, ‘This will make it better.’ Then they linked arms and walked in unison to the finish line. Everyone in the stadium stood stunned. There was not a dry eye in the arena, and the cheering still echoes years later, resonating in witnesses heads whenever they recount the story. This incident demonstrates how â€œTrue Championsâ€ sometimes thrive in unexpected places; places that some of us might wrongly regard as lowly.

Tales of football icons fumbling their fortunes emerge from the underside of the arena.

It seems that some fabled players, after having almost everything in life catered for them, have had difficult times adjusting to less lavish lifestyles when their careers are cut short. Some end up strung out on skid row or even in jail. Bruce Lowitt from the St. Petersburg Times writes about players who have resorted to selling their Super Bowl Rings only a few years after earning them. In his story, Getting the ring can be easier than keeping it, he interviews Kansas City pawnshop owner Don Budd, who says, “It was hard for me to believe that someone could reach that pinnacle and be willing to give up the one object that says, ‘I was the best’ Nowadays, Mr. Budd averages 10 players a season, who sell out their rings in this last line of defense between poverty and homelessness” (Lowitt).

Yet sometimes, after hitting all-time life-lows even these trounced players rebound, redeeming themselves as even better persons than they had been at the height of their ball-playing careers. Hall-of-Famer Jim Brown, (who was raised by his great-grandmother from age two, because his parents were gone and his grandmother was an alcoholic) left football while at the top of his sport, moving up even higher on the scale of true karma to counsel troubled teenagers and creating positive inroads for getting gangbangers off streets. After all, for kids struggling in traumatic times, seriously doubting everything, nothing beats hearing legitimately gifted voices of experience from high-profile persons who have tasted extremes of both sweetness and bitterness. From delicate golden syrupy pancakes stuffed with caviar and Savoy-truffles and Faberge omelets, to soppy milquetoast and rotten eggs for breakfast with a side of saltwater decaf from Hard-Times Cafe.

Embracing wide spectrums of experience develops a broader person. Denial of bad experiences is necessary within certain degrees, but in many cases, denial isn’t the healthiest course of action.

How often in life, have you heard someone say about a traumatic event, “I wish it hadn’t happened to me, but I’m a better person for it?” In Kathleen McGowan’s Psychology Today article, “The Hidden Side of Happiness” she shows how a rich rewarding life often requires a messy battle with adversity and that we have a built-in human capacity to flourish under the most difficult circumstances. Thus the paradox, “what doesn’t kill you can actually make you stronger.” We sometimes confuse adversity with failure; therefore making a distinction between the two can be healing in of itself. Knowing that you have given it your best at a sporting event or some other task, yet did not ‘win’ first place, should not by any means disallow you to proudly walk away from your valiant efforts.

In the mountaineering community, there are several well-documented incidents of professional climbers attempting to ascend high peaks, and then due to safety or weather concerns, turning around within shouting distance of the summit. Jon Krakauer, in his award-winning Into Thin Air chronicles the case of Swedish ultra-athlete Goran Kropp. After traveling from sea level from Sweden on a specially built bicycle laden with 240 lbs of gear, robbed and beaten along the way, Mr. Kropp finally reached the base of Mt. Everest, intending to climb it without bottled oxygen or Sherpa support. After a few training days, Goran reached 26,000 feet, aiming for the top the next morning right after midnight. Krakauer’s eagle-eyed perspective recounts:

“For the first time in months almost no wind blasted the summit, but the snow on the upper mountain was thigh deep, making for slow exhausting progress. Kropp bulled his way relentlessly, upward through the drifts, however, about by two o’clock Thursday afternoon he’d reached 28,700 feet, just below the South Summit. But even though the top was no more than sixty minutes above, he decided to turn around, believing that he would be too tired to descend safely if he climbed any higher.

To turn around that close to the summit (Rob) Hall mused with a shake of his head on May 6 as Kropp plodded past Camp Two on his way down the mountain. That showed incredibly good judgment on young Goran’s part. I’m impressed,“ considerably more impressed actually, than if he had continued climbing and made the top.” (Krakauer).

Therefore, it is nice to see that at least in mountaineering circles, you do not have to park yourself on top of the world to be a winner. Principled warriors from other avenues of life would do well to take note of this. Being able to analyze mistakes, remember and learn from them, applying them to future tests, is one of the highest aspirations achievable and a fundamental nature of wisdom. Studying and learning from our failures can be a great human gift.

In this age of Licitly split information it’s nice that more people appreciate this dilemma, offering optimistic opportunities for squeezing out from dangling second-leveled crevices.

END

` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` `

Works Cited

Krakauer, Jon. Into Thin Air (excerpt).â€ Salon 24 May 1997. 20 November 2006.http://www.salon.com/may97/wanderlust/passages970524.html

Lowitt, Bruce. “Getting the ring can be easier than keeping it.” St. Petersburg Times 26 January 2001. 11 November 2006http://www.sptimes.com/News/012601/SuperBowl 2001/Getting_the_ring_can_.shtml

McGowan, Kathleen. “The Hidden Side of Happiness.” Psychology Today 02 May 2006. 08 November 2006 http://www.psychologytoday.com/rss/pto-20060216- 00001.html

Reibal, Sal. “Focus gives Lance head start as Tour de France nears.” USA Today01 July 2005. 10 Nov. 2006 http://www.usatoday.com/sports/cycling/tourdefrance/2005- 06-30-armstrong-cover_x.html

2011-05-18T22:07:00.000-07:00

Be prepared for summer snake encounters

A friend spied some rattlers skulking around out Croy Canyon recently, and she asked me if she should go to Hailey’s St. Luke’s clinic for treatment, in the event that one was to strike out and bite her. In short, the answer is no, because the Hailey clinic is no longer an Urgent Care facility, and does not stock antivenin. However, St. Lukes Hospital a few miles south of Ketchum does carry rattlesnake antivenin and has treatment available at all hours.

When traveling in the backcountry, far from hospitals, it’s a good idea to pack a first aid kit, and perhaps a snake-bite kit. A key point to remember when a snake sinks its fangs into you or a friend (or Man’s best friend) is to not panic or run, because an increased heart rate will speed the flow of venom in the circulatory system. Try to calm down and stay hydrated, but do get far enough from the snake so it won’t try to bite again. It’s important to identify the snake if possible, but use common sense and don’t try to catch the snake! Even if it is not a poisonous snake, you should cleanse the wound thoroughly, using warm water and antiseptic soap, before applying a snug dressing held by an elastic bandage. If feasible, carry the victim to the nearest available vehicle, before transporting him or her to the ambulance or hospital. If a rattlesnake bites you and you opt to drive to the hospital, rather than taking an ambulance; you would do well to call ahead, to tell them you are on the way, so staff can begin making preparations for your treatment.

Occasionally some hardy westerners try to “cowboy up” after receiving snake bites, telling themselves that it’s not so bad, and they forgo any treatment. Later some come to regret this, as the area where they were bit, succumbs to a large amount of permanent tissue damage. Not only that, but since snakes subsist mainly on rodents, even non-poisonous snakes carry loads of filthy bacteria in their mouths; which with fang-bites can lead to terrible infections.

Some other key points to remember are: Do not apply ice to the bite wound. This will not slow the venom flow. Also, do not use your mouth to suck out the venom. The accepted wisdom used to be to use a snake-bite kit to suction out the venom, but lately that’s been up for debate. Remove jewelry and other items which may constrict with swelling. A few years ago, a friend exploring in the remote Owyhee Desert had a rattlesnake bite his dog in the head, which started swelling to the point where he had to snip off his collar, before they could reach the vet.

Some vital prevention tips regarding snakes are:

Snakes like to avoid the hot sun, by hiding under rocks or in crevasses. Stay away from reaching in there. When camping, zip up your tent the whole way, to keep snakes from squiggling in. Shake out shoes and clothes before dressing. Be a noisy walker to scare snakes away.

Local lore has it that rattlesnakes are seldom seen above 5,500 feet. Although this may be a good rule of thumb, it’s not absolutely true, as snakes do not have altimeters built into their brains and depending on climate conditions, sometimes creep upwards to 7,000 feet and higher. Snakes sometimes seem to favor old abandoned mining operations.

Much of this has been covered before in local newspapers, but it’s helpful to remind folks to be serpent-wary, with the plentiful amount of outdoorsy types constantly exploring here, during our high snake season.

Once during a highway cleanup, Jim Banholzer got bit in the jeans by a lightning-quick rattlesnake, and he has been paying close attention to their interesting habits ever since.

2011-05-16T13:32:00.000-07:00

The Owl and the Money Clip

Here's a story from Jim Banholzer that involves owl medicine. He heard it from a friend, Tonia, after he helped her and her husband Robin, move into a new house near Bellevue.
+++

At their old Ketchum place, Robin and Tonia had lived together with their children and a single mother, an arrangement that worked out great in some aspects, but also was a bit cramped, which tends to get worse during harsh Idaho winters. Both families had traveled down a few times to look at the prospective larger house. All four kids loved it, as did Tonia and her single-mother friend. Robin wasn’t so sure though; after all, they had already moved earlier that same year. His hesitation was understandable, as the new house cost more and he is the main breadwinner.

With the pressure on to decide soon, one evening Robin vociferously announced that he was “going fishing.” He walked down to the Big Wood River to spend some time alone and to specifically reflect on their situation. As twilight progressed, an enormous great horned owl swooped down over the water and dropped something shiny. Robin carefully waded out to where the owl dropped the item and discovered it was an empty money clip. Examining it closer, he saw that the silver was emblazoned with his own initials!

Robin took the owl’s message as a powerful sign, which helped him, decide that his family would be better off if they made the big move. Coincidentally, a few months previous, at their old house I had dropped off some animal totem books, including one that focused on birds as messengers. On a whim, I marked one of the owl stories with a copy of my own owl story, using it as a bookmark. It's called The Midday Owl who Withdrew from the Bank.

What’s interesting about this story is that most people who hear it agree that they would have made the same decision, even though the owl had dropped an empty money clip. One friend even opined that it’s healthy to get out in nature when making such large life-changing decisions and that it was a nice enough to be given such a powerful bird-augury to help with the choice; as pennies from heaven will arrive in their own due time.

2011-05-16T12:32:00.000-07:00

Gene’s 1962 truck ‘Merlin’

A Trucker's tale

Back in cold February, I was chugging up Highway 75; when suddenly right before Ohio Gulch, the rig started behaving badly and jerked to a halt. Turns out it was the transmission, and even though a mechanic-friend had recently inspected it with a fine-toothed comb, it was shot.

That cost some big bucks; and then, only a few weeks later, the truck started acting up again, at that exact same spot. As Blaine County locals know, Ohio Gulch is the turnoff for the dump transfer, and just south of where the State sometimes sets up truck inspection stations. It’s also essentially the last safe place to pull over; if you’re heading north with a big rig in the area, and it happens to break down.

The second breakdown was caused by a fuel pump problem. I thought it was strange and yet a little fortunate that the truck decided to break down at the same safe pullover spot twice. Then I remembered; fifteen years ago, I was driving a rig full of rocks for a stonemason, and that truck broke down at the same precise spot. I had loaded Gene’s truck to the brim, with four and ¼ tons of river rock. As we approached Ohio Gulch, his truck started thumping loudly from the right rear side. I pulled over and soon saw that the wheel had actually rolled out from its base, while the lug nuts whizzed off like hot bullets in the wild-west sage. Although the tire and rim had shot off, it had miraculously wedged upright into a corner of the truck, keeping the masonry rocks from spilling out.

As I hitchhiked to the East Fork jobsite, passing over Greenhorn Bridge, I became thankful that the truck had not decided to shuck off its rock, back to the river there. I wasn’t looking for that type of legend on my resume.

It’s funny; every time I drive past that Hyndman Creek house with a friend and see those river rocks shining so intact, I feel compelled to pull over, point at the stones and tell this story.

And it makes me curious to hear about other people’s experiences of breaking down at same spots.

And while we did laugh later, Gene told me, when he saw me walking the last leg of Hyndman, two hours late and with no truck, he thought, “This can’t be good.”

Addendum:

Another synchronicity occurred few weeks ago, when I was in this same proximity, dumping off an old mattress at the transfer station.

While up there, the garage-styled back door of my work van became wedged open in a manner that I could not shut it. Since I had another job scheduled, I tied everything down that might come loose, clamped the door to the roller as a precaution, and then headed back out on the highway with my rear door ajar.

As I pulled out, I gave the only other vehicle in the area a wide berth to scoot around me, but he would not pass right away. I felt as though he was checking out my rear door and might try to flag me to inform me it was open.

Finally, as he passed, I noticed that he was driving a service vehicle for Overhead Door repair company! As my problem is in the area of his trade, he was probably checking out my disabled door. At the next intersection the light conveniently turned red, giving me enough time to jot down his number.

The amazing thing is that he passed me, right at the same spot, where I've broken down thrice before. As I pointed out to a friend, he was a helper. And come to think of it, now; all four times that I've experienced mechanical difficulties at the Ohio Gulch "Bermuda triangle for trucks" eventually, a helper has always come with gracious assist.

After discussing this with the friend who has great insight, she asked me, "What colors do you see in the sky when you break down?" I don't understand what that could have to do with anything regarding the breakdowns, but believe me, whenever I notice anybody else experiencing trouble in that same area, I study the sky, thinking of her unusual question.

Perhaps, someday, I can be the helper for someone else in this area who is experiencing a breakdown, and recount this interesting tale to them as we try to fix whatever problem they are having, as we curiously bide our time.

2011-05-08T20:16:00.000-07:00

Winning!

Last night the press club announced that I won a 1st place award for General  Excellence for editorial writing in the public relations division.    Here are the three that won the award:

http://www.mtexpress.com/index2.php?ID=2005134119&var_Year=2010&var_Month=11&var  _Day=17

http://www.mtexpress.com/index2.php?ID=2005130045

http://www.mtexpress.com/index2.php?ID=2005133011&var_Year=2010&var_Month=09&var  _Day=01

    I also earned 2nd place in this same category in 2008 and 2009.       http://idahopressclub.org/annual-awards/2010-best-of-awards/item/114-public-relations

Here is some background info for my three letters of public interest:


Elk making a comeback is a follow up of sorts to a column I wrote for the Express five years ago titled: Golf Course offers Links to Nature. That account of my experience working as an irrigator for two summers ran synchronisticly the day before an Idaho Fish and Game elk round up, where in a remarkable display of ungulate athleticism, one legendary cow escaped by leaping clean out of the 8 foot tall corral!

This letter gained 87 replies on the Express website, making it their most commented letter of 2010. Within those comments I was pleasantly surprised to see a few hunters temporarily exchange their arms for pens and healthily scribe some poetic dialogue probably good enough to make Lawrence Ferlinghetti smile.

My second letter, Lower speed limit has benefits mostly speaks for itself, while urging citizens to consider advantages they can gain by adjusting to slower paces.

Considerable telephone calls and concerned community letters like my third; Soldiers deserve to have a flag, were enough to pressure the Copper Ranch Homeowners Association to capitulate into allowing the Perfect family to display an American flag on their porch as a symbol of support for their son Edward; recently deployed overseas to the war in Iraq with the Idaho Army National Guard’s 116th Cavalry Brigade. I’m especially proud of this letter, because I was the person who first gave the Express the tip of this story’s newsworthiness. The feature Family fights for right to fly flag became the most commented news article of the year on the Express’s website with 132 comments.

The morning that this story ran in the Mountain Express, a person closely associated with the family, called to say that she had talked with Robin Perfect, who was overwhelmed with emotion, seeing how supportive our community is.

Further regarding news tips; perhaps this is something that the Idaho Press Club should consider for a future category. In the spirit of Idaho’s Mark Felt (Watergate’s Deep Throat) the Press Club could name the award in honor of this Twin Falls native. If circumstances necessitate it to be so, the Press Club could present the award in secret -only revealing the deserving recipient’s name at a much later date.

2011-05-07T13:15:00.000-07:00

Halfway to revealing of Arbor Day time capsule

In the spring of 1986 I was part of Fall Church’s Beautification team. Our dedicated landscape crew consisted of Julie, Henry, Lawrence (Butch), James (Pee Wee) and I. For Arbor Day that spring, our group planted a six foot redbud tree a few feet off the curb in the parking lot directly across from the police station downstairs entrance. At the time, some city officials (from the personnel office?) made a photo op of the tree planting and created a time capsule with the snapshots, along with various other pertinent items of the era; including local newspaper clippings, and copies of the Cherry Hill Chronicle.

Later on, after inquiring more about the time-capsule, we learned that it was not buried anywhere on the grounds, but rather filed away in a secure cabinet somewhere in City Hall. As this week marks the halfway point to the grand revealing of our time-capsule, I wonder if any of the current Falls Church personnel have knowledge of its whereabouts.

Furthermore, as many municipalities have begun using online calendars that reach decades ahead, I would like to suggest that Falls Church personnel note on their calendars that Arbor Day of 2036 is the day for the grand revealing that we were promised. Meanwhile, I will mark my own day-planner in such a way that if I am lucky enough to still be alive in 25 years, I would be delighted to attend the small ceremony of the time-capsule re-opening.

2011-04-30T18:36:00.000-07:00

The Dalai Lama in Sun Valley

When His Holiness the Dalai Lama wrapped up his visit here, he made an interesting observation about jet-setters. He said that it’s remarkable that paper-rich people in our society pay handsomely to travel thousands of miles for meeting and celebrating with strangers, seeking spiritual enlightenment in faraway lands; yet we do not invest free time to cross the streets to get to know our own neighbors.

2011-04-28T06:10:00.000-07:00

“The Only Tough Part about Having To Film in Idaho Is When You Have To Leave” (Clint Eastwood)

Enlightening Eastwood's Pale Rider

With a vision for a Statewide Movie Signage Proposal

By Jim Banholzer

And special lights from Brad Nottingham & Professor Tom Trusky

Watching Clint Eastwood movies, particularly his well-crafted Westerns are almost like enrapturing religious experiences for some big screen buffs. Each of his movies project priceless lessons; even when he portrays an antagonist, such as the callous elephant hunter in White Hunter, Black Heart. Astoundingly enough, Clint filmed much of Pale Rider right here in Idaho, with a theme as timeless as the Boulder Mountains. Clint plays a nameless preacher protecting a poor prospecting town from a gang of ruffians sent by a greedy mining corporation, to intrude on their claim. This striking film, the first Western of which he was the producer, was created in1984 around Boulder City north of Ketchum and over by the Vienna Mine near Smiley Creek. Pale Rider was the predecessor to Clint’s 1992 Academy award-winning gem, Unforgiven.

Each time I watch Pale Rider, I focus on the recognizable background terrain, sometimes freezing specific frames to find my way around in the mountains. As Brad Nottingham was a local then, he reminds us:

“For Pale Rider, there were some filming issues evident in the movie as you see it today, which brought comment: it was filmed in our typically beautiful late Indian summer, and some of the riding scenes were shot just before and after an unpredictable early season snow, which frosted the upper parts of the ranges, while quickly melting off the lower elevations. As a film viewer, a period of time that seemed to be about a week, appeared to toggle from summer to winter, which brought some criticism, I remember; but any of us mountain folk wouldn’t give it a second thought.

*
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 Idaho, including information about accommodations and prices, in order to drum up more interest from Hollywood. After the book was published, I remember that there wasn’t much response, until the Bruce Willis engine began churning up sleepy Hailey in the 90s.”

While reading Brad’s insights, it struck me that the filming of Pale Rider was a significant enough event that we should commemorate it with a historical sign. Folks at The Idaho Transportation Department were receptive to this idea and revised the Wood River Mines sign to include such a tribute.

Part Two

Soon, after we relayed this information to Boise State University English Professor Tom Trusky, head of the Idaho Film Collection, Tom became enthusiastic about the Pale Rider tribute and expanded the idea with a “Statewide Movie Signage Proposal.” To quote Professor Trusky:

“The tourist / publicity value of such signage is apparent and locals might appreciate such knowledge, too, if they are unaware of their cinematic heritage. As well, given the recent interest in bringing film production to the state, such signage would not only be public acknowledgement of Idaho’s considerable contribution to the film industry but also serve as a reminder to contemporary filmmakers of the Gem State possibilities.”

Although we now face tough economic times, and are sometimes unsure where money will come from to fix and maintain highways, Tom’s Statewide Movie Signage proposal is precisely the type of project with which we can enrich Idaho’s future. By merging the information superhighway with our back road signage, we could show the world how we stand on the cutting edge, as well as being able to cut through bureaucracy in hard times.

As technological capabilities continue to advance in affordable ways, it would be uplifting to see Idaho embrace the techno-generation by attaching to our already successful historical signage program, interactive items.

For instance, when traveling up Highway 75 past the North Fork Store, when reaching the perimeter of interest where Marilyn Monroe starred in Bus Stop, we could make an alert available for interested travelers’ digital devices. A short holographic film of Marilyn hypnotically dancing with a billowing skirt on driver’s dashboards would keep dozing dads chipper and alert, lending to driver safety. Then, for the next fistful of history, when reaching Pale Rider’s Phantom Hill, we could create the sound of bullets whizzing by your ear, for a subsequent alert. After a quick Galena Lodge pit stop for perusal over photographs stuffed with Idaho’s rich silver history; proprietors of the Sawtooth Valley could smilingly profit by providing related reading materials to satisfy recently western-whetted appetites.

Eventually, we could develop inexpensive solar powered information kiosks for our pullout areas. Our transportation department R&D teams could further engineer signposts to include efficient emergency communication devices such as the new smaller cell phone antennas currently under development. Additionally, we could imbed a camera within the untouchable hologram-eye to thwart vandals. When tampering is detected, we could program the sign to announce in Clint Eastwood’s sternest voice, “Go ahead! Make my day! Because you are now being filmed by an interactive sign commemorating Idaho films!” Stranded drivers in remote areas where cell phones often misfire could come to know these special signboards as secure places. Drivers passing by the Pale Rider signpost could even be inspired to take after the nameless preacher’s lead, and provide gracious assist to marooned travelers.

Certainly, ITD already has some technologically savvy leaders aboard. This is my third positive experience with ITD leadership, which proves to me that they utilize a high level of innovativeness in their daily working environment. I hope that someday soon, our leaders will advance these landmark ideas past the incubation stage to transform these signpost pullouts into something that truly enhances our landscape. And when that day comes; since Professor Trusky has ascended into that grand script in the sky, Brad Nottingham and I would be delighted to see our Transportation Department name the Statewide Movie Signage Proposal in Tom’s honor.

(End Part Two)

Footnotes:

You can read more of Brad Nottingham’s insights on the “good guys” in the Idaho Film Archive on Pale Rider: http://www.boisestate.edu/hemingway/film.htm

Complete text here:

http://privateidahoconversationleague.blogspot.com/2008/03/brad-nottinghams-pale-rider-memories.html

Lastly a related poem:

The Rock

I know about where it is
this big rock with a candy vein of gold in it
scintillating under the stars

I want to find this Idaho Sword of Shannara
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

Yepperdoodle
I’ll bend up over the hill tonite
a-foot
too itchy and scratchy for a truck in that rough spot
to see if I can’t see how these hills have changed

Yeah that’s it
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

On spectacular evenings like these
Sometimes it feels like we’ll still be standing strong
long after these hills have fast eroded away

Original URL for Enlightening Eastwood story:

http://greenvanholzer.blogspot.com/2007/04/enlightening-eastwoods-pale-rider-by.html

Footnote: Not long after posting the earlier missive to my personal blog, I noticed that it was getting twice as many visits as the rest of my stories combined. A year ago, Dave Worrall from the U.K. contacted me, mentioning that he is writing a book for Solo Publishing about Clint Eastwood’s Westerns and looking for some old photos of the Boulder City territory. After we exchanged a few e-mails, including a photo of the Wood River Mines sign, I suggested he subtitle his book “Clint Eastwood = Old West Action” since they are anagrams of each other. Furthermore, with a little photoshopping, he could design the equals-sign to resemble a smoking rifle barrel.

Footnote 2: With the Senate recently passing a bill, to create a fund to offer incentives to film movies and TV shows within the state, and with the newly created Idaho Film Bureau ready to offer these incentives as soon their funding comes through, perhaps portions of this funding could help with such a program. As the next logical step in the evolution of Idaho’s popular Highway Historical Marker program, perhaps the Idaho Film Bureau could even ask for donations on their website, from those who have favorite Idaho movies and would like to see those specific movies commemorated in such fashion.

Elaborations on vision for Statewide Movie Signage proposal

When ITD amended the Wood River Mines sign to include a tribute to Clint Eastwood’s Pale Rider it was not a full commemoration as we had hoped, however, they did recognize the historical significance of the movie. From my previous experience with Idaho Transportation Department personnel, I sense they have some highly capable leaders aboard and would likely be open to a proposal, which better honors Idaho films.

We should start with a prototype interactive movie sign, sticking with Pale Rider. After developing it, we then present it to ITD and the Idaho Historical Commission; perhaps even the governor. Besides the gimmick, I suggested earlier, of utilizing Clint Eastwood’s stern voice; we could design the sign to be vandalism resistant. Although millions of tourists have driven by the mountain goat observation telescopes near the same highway area as our proposed Pale Rider tribute, those instruments have been left mostly unscathed, since installed fifteen years ago. Interactive kiosks featuring short movie clips, designed in a similarly excellent manner, would automatically gain respect from most passerby. An editor I spoke with recently mentioned that arts and humanities grants are readily available to help jumpstart such projects.

Once we install the first interactive sign, we should have a press release. The movie industry will take note and want more of the same. This might be all we need for the project to take on a life of its own. After the movie signage proposal merges better with Idaho’s already successful Historical Signage program, we can enhance the project’s evolution by doing several things. For one, the film bureau could develop a “donate to your favorite movie” button on their website. Idaho’s Historical Society, Transportation Department and The Internet Movie Data Base ought to consider a similar donation option. After reading a few items about Idaho movies, some fanzines will likely find themselves wanting to contribute to a cool commemoration. Another timely follow-up would be to commission someone to write a guidebook to Idaho movies, including a map of the landmarks. The signs themselves could direct film buffs to other nearby movie signs.

If this highway project takes off, eventually the Idaho Tourism Bureau could develop Idaho or Northwest movie tour packages, including visits to movies under production. After tourists enjoy brief clips or holograms of the movie near the same site where it was filmed, an educated tour guide could speak more about the movie and answer relative questions. We could also program questions and answers into the interactive signs, along with a suggestion box that sends e-mails to the pertinent film bureau manager, etc.

Another thing the project could focus on is the surrounding areas where scenes from the various movies were filmed. For instance: When there is a diner where a breakfast scene was filmed, or a dance scene at a lodge, those places could be mentioned in the interactive signs / companion guidebook / interface devices and might be encouraged to display a plaque or aptly named items on their menus relating to silver screen scenes filmed in their establishments.

Although Idaho faces a budget shortfall, I believe this project is the kind we need to enrich Idaho’s future. The team at the Idaho Film Bureau is already aiming to do this, albeit on a larger scale. Now is an important time as any for us to invest in innovative ways in Idaho’s future.

Final footnote:

JEREMIAH ROBERT WIERENGA wrote a recent in depth article for Boise Weekly about Idaho struggling to gain a foothold in the film industry.

From the article:

“Although a late contender in this cinematic boxing match, the Idaho Film Office hopes our state’s celebrated scenery and enticing rebate incentives will bring film productions back to Idaho, which hasn’t billeted a big-budget movie since Dante’s Peak was filmed here more than 10 years ago.

“The film offices in individual states are economic development agencies,” Kathleen Haase (an industry specialist at the Idaho Film Office) said. “What we try to do is create an attractive environment in the state to lure productions to come to the state, spend their budgets, which are sizable … and hire our crew here. We hope to create jobs, and we bring in economic activity in [the] form of investment in the state from outside the state.”

The passage of the bill represents a major coup for the filmmakers who call Idaho home, but the battle is only half won. Although the measure has been approved, financial backing for the rebate still has not come through.

“We’re still hoping to have ours funded,” Haase said. “We’re at the mercy of the governor, our department and the Legislature as to funding.”
Initially, the Idaho Film Office received a flurry of calls in response to the adoption of the bill but interest has waned.

“We had to be very clear that indeed we have not yet been funded, so we’re sort of in a bit of a holding pattern until that does happen … [We're] ready to go out there in anticipation of it being funded sometime,” Haase said.

There is hope that financing for the measure will be approved by next summer. Because the incentive is funded through the Idaho Department of Commerce’s budget, which in turn is approved by state government, passing the measure is merely the first step in implementing the program. Haase encourages local voters to call their legislators in support of budget approval. While the bill received a good deal of support from local filmmakers and public figures, she hopes that the public will now take an active hand bringing the backing necessary to expand Idaho’s film industry.”

Full article here:
http://www.boiseweekly.com/gyrobase/Content?oid=oid%3A319320

2011-04-27T14:29:00.000-07:00

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 Fairfield festival, something else nice that I would like to see is a tribute to the Native American / camas root connection through our Idaho DMV specialized license plate series. An artist rendering of the camas celebration, based on the popular Sacagawea dollar coin template would make a good fit.

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.

2011-04-13T07:40:00.000-07:00

I can’t see driving 85

It’s remarkable that the Texas government is in the process of upping their speed limit to 85 mph on over 500 miles of main roads. Perusing through some of the Texas newspaper comments indicates that there is a strong majority in favor of this action. One notable commentator said “They’ve never had a problem on Germany’s Autobahn (where there is no speed limit), so why not raise it here?”

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 Texas roads, maybe there’s something safer about them, that I’m not considering. It would be nice to hear from Dallas to see what that insightful Times-News frequent letter contributor Max Hatfield’s take is on this. As for myself, I can’t see how a dawdling country bumpkin like me can be reasonably expected to merge safely from highway ramps, onto the Interstate, with oncoming traffic buzzing at 85 and even faster!

2011-03-22T03:06:00.000-07:00

Ancient Airport Anecdotes

In my years of working around aircraft here in Sun Valley, I developed a respect for the inherent danger of turning props, fuel trucks and deicing equipment. Back then, while deicing hundreds of planes so they could fly safe, I sometimes wondered as to what extent future clean-up crews would need to go to excavate tarmac and the contaminated dirt beneath; if we ever relocated the airport. Now as that day approaches; it will be interesting to see how the airport authority handles this, as well as seeing what safety standards they set in place for the new airport, regarding innovative heated deicing booths with environmentally safe collectors for the polluted fluids.

Meanwhile, while recently recounting some old stories about airport safety, a friend suggested that I write a few of these down for the public’s enjoyment. So here goes:

While first training to be airline worker in Sun Valley, my co-workers told me about an incident involving Horizon Air’s initial flight into the Wood River Valley. Back then, Horizon was flying trendy 17-passenger Fairchild Metroliners. They had a pilot and co-pilot, but no flight attendant. If you were above average height you would need to duck to negotiate the way to your seat. The Metros had two luggage compartments; one in the rear or aft of the plane and a second smaller one with doors on each side of the nose. If you were a ramp worker, you needed to remember that the luggage compartment in the nose of the aircraft did not pressurize upon takeoff. Therefore, you did not load objects affected by high altitude, especially pets into the nose!

Milt Kuolt was the primary founder of Horizon Air and the 1981 christening flight into Sun Valley was a blue ribbon ceremony. Mr. Kuolt also owned Elkhorn Resort; thus he was following the same successful formula Averill Harriman used transporting Union Pacific railroad passengers into Sun Valley. For that first flight though, someone had forgot that basic safety tenet and loaded the founders’ dog into the front of the aircraft. Fortunately, the dog only had a slight case of the bends and was resilient enough to shake it off after a few hours.

With this in mind, it’s remarkable how for my own first training flight, a comparable mistake almost occurred involving another Metro. It was November of ’93 and I had just returned from Seattle after passing the rigorous exams Horizon gives to prospective employees. During our training session out on the ramp, three co-workers introduced me to our pilots and then showed me the protocol for loading the aircraft. We secured the luggage doors properly, and although we were under pressure for the plane to leave on time, some last second passengers arrived and our ticket counter kindly decided to accommodate them. Suddenly, my co-workers started running around the ramp in a tremendous rush so we could maintain an untarnished on time record. As I was being trained to haul the GPU away from the props after we jumpstarted the plane, I noticed one of the workers open the doors to the nose of the aircraft in case we needed to store some carry-ons. The passengers got on, we started the plane and it went down the taxiway in good time.

However, a few minutes later the plane suddenly returned to our ramp area. Turns out that in our great rush to get the plane out on time, nobody had re-secured the far nose door! Further compounding the safety issue with this door, was that there no “open door” indicator sensor attached to the nose doors for this model of aircraft. Furthermore, from the cockpit it was impossible to see if the Metro nose doors were secure. Fortunately, an alert airport tower controller noticed the door swinging open as the Metro approached the runway from the taxiway and radioed our pilots about the problem. I shudder to think what could have happened had that plane actually taken off with the nose door open. And finally, when it did take off securely, I’ll never forget that after the co-pilot called in his times over the radio, he added: “And way to teach that new guy the ropes, Darcie”![1]

To be continued…

[1] Not her real name.

2011-03-21T03:25:00.000-07:00

Sometimes 100 year events occur in our lifetime

It’s remarkable how some Idahoans who are connected with the nuclear industry are downplaying the horrific events in Japan. While some of these officials say they are confident that a similar event could never happen here, I sense a credibility gap and I’m unsure whether they are seriously taking into account all contingencies.

For instance, what about the fact that the INL operates amid an earthquake zone; one strongly active in recent times? On the 20^th anniversary of the 1983, 6.9 Borah earthquake, STEPHEN WEISER, Assistant deputy director of mitigation for the Idaho Bureau of Disaster Services said "Central Idaho is extremely vulnerable to earthquakes and has a great deal of seismic activity.”

Besides occasional earthquakes, other challenges that the purportedly fail-safe and “clean” nuclear industry needs to contend with are the possibilities of terrorist attacks, infrastructure wear and tear, discontented employees, and plain old human error. Then there’s the proud legacy of nuclear waste. Our Country stores more spent fuel rods than Japan does, and this insidiously deadly radiation will endure an epoch tenfold longer than the most ancient Egyptian pyramid.

100 year events sometimes do occur within our lifetimes: 9-11, Pearl Harbor, Hurricane Katrina, The Indonesian and Japan Tsunamis, Mt. Saint Helens exploding, the Teton Dam bursting or even spring flooding in Woodside. It’s downright disingenuous for putrid plutonium propheteers to claim that a nuclear accident could never occur here; especially when one already has. We will be stuck on the road to ruin if our leaders continue to be too shortsighted to plan no further than the next election, muffle whistleblowers so we don’t learn from our mistakes, and neglect to upgrade nuclear plants to high modern standards; trading short-term gain for long term environment disaster.

2011-01-01T11:44:00.000-08:00

Keep engine idling fine high at filling stations

Kudos to the Ketchum Police Department for their diplomatic approach in asking the City Council to reduce the stiff $100 - $300 vehicle idling fines. I was wondering why I hadn’t heard about any motorists being actually penalized yet, and was impressed when I heard this appeal. While the City Council may compromise on this, I would like to suggest that there is at least one sector, where they should keep the fine as high as it is, or perhaps even increase it: That area is right at our local gas pumps. Since the wintry weather has set in, I have witnessed several motorists filling their gas tanks, without turning off their engines!

Curious about this, I asked some local station attendants about how frequently they see this, and was told that it is occurring on a daily basis. I’m wondering if the motorists who fill their gas tanks with engines running realize how dangerous this is, because the results could be quite terrifying.

Unlike the idling ordinance, which I find posted nowhere in town, clear warnings are highlighted on the front of every gas pump to shut off the engine before filling your tank. However, with dozens of motorists in the valley apparently ignoring this basic safety tenet every week, the odds have increased for a simple bit of static electricity to cause a tragic event.

If not fining people for this, I believe that it is at least a concern, where the Ketchum City Council should ask our Police and Fire Department leaders to refocus vigorous educational warnings on dangerous idling engines.

2010-12-23T17:21:00.000-08:00

Idaho Burning Woman Auguries

For every light, which flicketh on,

another salmon cease to spawn,

The hunter without spiritual prayer,

teaches his young great despair

Fisherman never giving thanks;

discards plastic on river banks,

Each piece dropped by river oak,

a rainbow does fade and choke

One who has stopped reading books,

is out poaching royal Chinooks,

He who harms creatures with no need,

shall nevr know love of woman indeed,

She who hurts a little sage hen,

shall not become true love of man,

An animal knows when you fear it,

and can read the good your spirit

Humans not built separate from nature,

but tangled now with Techno-future,

Can we learn living side by side,

with shady spots and complicated pride?

One could read tracks to a day,

until ego began to shade his way,

Her stickers urged “Visualize World Peace!”

yet friendship with her neighbor ceased

Save the lion, wolf and bear,

but what about the kids you care?

High schools parking lot’s a mess,

projecting acts of generation next

Each delay of children’s center,

a young lad loses a valuable mentor,

Drinking and speeding up and down,

such hobbies paint your face a clown,

Son’s military service brings law and order,

Wild man discovers new psychic borders,

Every hungry truck engine left while idling,

A Persian Gulf soldier drowns in oil fighting,

A day spent within forced mechanical shields,

Distances one’s touch from beauties fields,

Every radioactive bomb a dud,

Gain we anew one field of spud

Each spilled barrel of in-toxic-crated waste,

A song filled meadow churns slow to paste,

Following a daily ritual too close,

hollows mans spirit into a ghost

Too much time on highway lately?

Pirsig’s advice: think laterally,

The crooked road you’ll find much more,

the cup of time fulfilled will pour

With Faster, Hurry! Go! Go! Go!

You might just zip, right past the show,

Airport paves a runway long,

cooks gridlock in a country song,

Each tailgate to a bumper,

forces a body to become a jumper

Too much fame, too much luck,

into Private Idaho you duck,

Inner city pressure forced you here,

wolverine medicine revealed over beer,

Hamp man dressed down, furtively glancing;

try soft deceit for excellent dancing,

Social help not here with this wealth,

we’re forty-ninth in mental health,

Each resort by glamour lighted,

another criminal is invited

With synthetic chemicals excessive high,

dark questionable characters draw a nigh,

A pot of gold will drive some crazy;

our moral lines become quite hazy

My last letter to Dad & mother,

“Valley’s brimmed with small potatoes smashing one another,”

Each new shelter built on field,

mountain lion blazes new trail to yield,

Tree roots cut with sewage hookup,

Great horned’s cloak above is shook up,

A house built with intent of wrath:

Man himself loses access path,

A truth that’s told with ill intent,

beats any lie you can invent,

Should I do a good job replacing this grate?

Hey, it’s a low liability State

Many friendly waves not acknowledged;

snared upon wrong books in college?

Shiny idea gems from the mind were taken,

when the Indian’s land was forsaken

Not returning to swim in lake and ocean,

begins to bring gesture without motion,

Fearless leaders guide the human race,

but look how quick their aged face

Think ye the mental storm hard to handle?

try finding two honest men with one candle,

Purify yourself often in Gaia forest;

help marriage of Earth & Man not be divorced…

2010-11-10T05:01:00.000-08:00

Unreasonable flag restrictions

It’s remarkable that representatives of Hailey’s Copper Ranch Homeowners’ Association would demand that Robin Perfect remove the American flag decorating her front porch, as it is a strong symbol of support for her son Sgt. Edward Nalder, recently deployed overseas to the war in Iraq with the Idaho Army National Guard's 116th Cavalry Brigade.

Especially significant is the fact that this is happening in the same small town where we already have a soldier missing in action, U.S. Army Specialist Bowe Bergdahl.

Traditionally for decades, all flags and statues have been exempt from most homeowner association bylaws. However, in recent years these new little forms of government have become increasingly more powerful, so much so, that some have been testing new waters.

Certainly, there are positive aspects to having close-knit community oversights; however, to maintain unwavering attitudes about allowing simple family support for our troops, in the form of small American flags, especially around Veterans Day; is strong evidence of a homeowner association becoming too damn big for their britches.

Perhaps, for this Veterans Day, the Woodside Homeowners’ association should consider ‘a Perfect olive branch’ by offering in place of these pesky individual flags, to build a giant community American flag, over where the old Ironwood gym was supposed to be refurbished, along with signage commemorating Sgt. Nalder, as well as any other local soldier-warriors currently deployed in our terrible wars.

2010-10-18T19:09:00.000-07:00

A new method of courtship bugling

I was helping a work crew in a mid-valley garage recently, where we were shifting some mechanical equipment around. The job was going well, when suddenly from outdoors we heard an unusual screech from one of the lifting machines. We went outside to see what the problem was and soon realized that it wasn’t the lift-gate at all, but rather an elk bugling from the adjacent woodlands and quite loud too.

Some friends pulled up for a short visit, and we mentioned the trumpeting elk. They shut down their idling engine, listened for some moments and soon heard the hearkening music; accentuated by aspens quaking in the foreground. We shared pleasant smiles and they shortly went on their way. A bit later, we needed to pick up more equipment, so we began to head out. Within a minute we heard the lively elk bugling again and I suggested to the friend riding in the advantageous shotgun position that he make preparations to shoot a photo.

As the bull elk continued calling, we cautiously pulled closer. Soon we were within thirty yards of the large mammal and our friend appeared ready with the phone-camera clutched in his wrist. However, as we braked to a quiet halt, I saw that I was mistaken: Our friend was not preparing to shoot a picture or video of the lively elk, but was rather involved with an intensive text message. At first I thought that he was jesting; surely it’s not every day you get treated to a majestic elk bugling in such close proximity.

The other two of us, softly cried to him and said, “Okay the joke is up, and you can take some photos of the elk now.” However, he continued with his rigorous personal text messaging. Then we wondered if perhaps we had it backwards. We knew that the friend riding shotgun is an outdoorsy type and perhaps for him fantastic elk bugling is a common occurrence. Still, the episode baffled the other two of us: We hoped the reason he ignored our pleas to capture the simple photo in the enchanted forest was that he was performing a little bugling of his own. If this is the case, we hope that his amour responded in kind to his new-age ritualistic test message. Maybe, for a first date they can share an unbridled nature walk together. If he times it right, he can impress her with our bugling elk.

2010-10-06T14:53:00.000-07:00

An unexpected bungee jump

After Lana cleaned up from tipping over the birdbath, I turned my attention back to the underground antenna project that part of our science class was working on. There was an improved incentive too; as a large mining concern had expressed interest in helping to fund the venture. After a few hours of medium progress, I stepped outdoors for some fresh air and saw that Lana’s pink Porsche was gone. I had told her that she could stay over, but would have to use the guest room, as I needed some splendid isolation to focus properly.

Lana probably took this the wrong way, in light of the recent conversation we had about our old feelings racing back toward each other. However, as always, work came first for me, and this newfangled communications project was promising. While outside, I noticed that the porch light wasn’t actually burned out, but that somebody had unscrewed it and tucked it into an old robin’s nest. That was odd enough, but then in the reflection of the obsidian mirror sundial, I saw some items scattered about, presumably from Lana’s satchel, when she took her midnight spill. Leaning over to pick them up, I found a map with Amy’s house circled in red. Why would Lana need that? Suddenly, the thought crossed my mind that I should have presented Amy a pendulum with a more robust rock, or better yet some nunchucks. I hastily tried to ring Amy, but it went straight to voicemail.

I meditated for a moment and tried to conjure up some remote viewing powers. What I could see didn’t look good, so I rushed the pantechnivan over to Amy’s. Lana’s pink Porsche was parked by Amy’s driveway at the end of a long set of skid marks. Through the upstairs bay window, the action appeared chaotic; however I could only see one shadow. Insistently, I rang the bell, and pounded on the front door, but to no avail. I circled the perimeter to find every door locked tight. Meanwhile, the clamor from upstairs continued unabated.

Returning to the van, I macgyvered what was there, affixing a rope ladder to the house from a bungee-cord web. As an early season frost set in, I clambered up the makeshift ladder, trying to gain a grasp on the gutter. It was too slick though and I slipped off the edge. The bungee cord caught me and there I was, stuck dangling from my ankle, bouncing in Amy’s courtyard. Right then a police car screamed in and shined his bubblegum lights all over the place. Then through the loudspeaker, a sturdy voice demanded, “Freeze up right there Max Rudolph! This is your sheriff, Wilt Fleming!”

About the author: Although the speed limit has been reduced to 15 or 20 in many Hailey neighborhoods, the last time Jim Banholzer received a traffic infraction was in 1985.

2010-09-24T07:17:00.000-07:00

Lana’s midnight shadow factor

Although I’ve long been infatuated with Lana, something about her had been bothering me; ever since the 4^th of July when she and I explored the subterranean tunnels that web beneath Hailey’s Main Street. Throughout the festive holiday she kept pressing me to disclose the secret location of the second silver-laden pantechnivan. Then, right before we celebrated the fireworks, I noticed Lana leafing through my personal journal in the library. That wouldn’t get her very far though, because I’ve written most of my notes in cryptic code. The thing that niggled at me the most was that when Lana and I embraced close on the Mint’s deck during the parade highlights, I noticed that she didn’t cast a shadow.

By having no shadow, I mean that as we hugged, I only saw one small silhouette on the north ground between the two of us. Granted the parade ends at the same time the sun is near zenith, but still; right when I noticed this strangeness, Lana made an excuse to dash inside The Mint, where the design of the lively dance hall makes it difficult to distinguish individual shadows. That evening too, as we walked out Quigley, it was too dark to say for sure, but every time a skyrocket went off, I noticed the same fleeting phenomena. Thinking back on it now, Lana chose a path, so we wouldn’t walk past any mercury vapor streetlamps. She seemed utterly determined to not reveal anything to me about her darkness.

What was I to make of this? Actually I hadn’t thought much about it since the holiday, and even less recently, now that sweet Amy had become a larger part of my life. Still though, there was something irresistible about Lana, and if she wasn’t way down in L.A., I would probably be more obsessed with her. Meanwhile, Amy graciously accepted the sage pendulum I had purchased from Holli Jewelers. After determining which way indicated ‘yes’ for her, Amy made it swing in a positive direction over dozens of queries. Finally, I asked her to focus on something to make the pendulum sway another way, and when she did, I sensed that she was asking the universe about Lana.

Since it was a school night, and I still needed to conduct some tests on the antenna in my home lab, Amy and I parted ways at McClain’s. After a few hours in the lab, I felt as though I was making some progress on the underground project, when suddenly both cockatiels started squawking up a storm. I laid down my earphones and heard a squeak at the front door. When I tried to flip the porch light on, it was burned out. By the light of the waning moon, I saw an unfamiliar car in my driveway – an expensive looking pink Porsche with shaded windows. To show I was unafraid, I thrust open the front door with great force and knocked the perpetrator to the end of the porch and head over heels into the birdbath. Lo and behold, it was Lana! And she was dressed to the tees there to surprise me. Now all soaked, I tried to yank her out of the birdbath, but it was unstable, and when I grabbed her wrist, we both came crashing down onto my obsidian mirror sundial. Lana said, “You’re all wet, Max Rudolph and about as clumsy as Maxwell Smart!” The water was warm in the nice evening as we lay together, catching our breaths with the cockatiels cooing in the background. It was amazing how fast my old feelings started rushing back again in Lana’s alluring presence, and suddenly I suspended my earlier criticisms, making myself blind to those silly questions about her elusive shadow.

About the author: Jim Banholzer once visited the Enola Gay warplane at the Smithsonian Institution, where he noticed that the lighting of the museum was such that no shadow was cast beneath the Bombay doors from where our first nuclear bomb exited.

2010-09-12T20:53:00.001-07:00

Measuring Amy’s mood

It was great to be back at school instructing, and the first day was an emotional one for many of the parents, dropping their children off and snapping Polaroid’s for posterity. Some of my science class students had participated in the Chalk Cave spring field trip; so after we held a discussion about improving cave communications, half the class decided to work on a project for developing the newfangled underground antenna to further refinement.

After class, I walked down the quiet hall, carrying one of the multi-pronged antennas out to the van, when Amy suddenly whipped around the corner and one of my metal tentacles snagged on her golden hair. It took a few minutes for me to untangle her; and while brushing against Amy, I remembered the sensual flying dream we had experienced. Then as she looked at me with an unsettled gaze, I realized that I had absent-mindedly forgotten to tell her about the soaring dream! I guess it was so vivid, that I subconsciously assumed she already knew about it. But now with reality back on the radar, I folded the transmitter up, grabbed Amy’s hand in the hallway, and started to recollect the dramatic dream, demonstrating how we steered in the sky by using each others wrists as joysticks.

Amy smiled a few times, as I went on with the tale. At the part, where she showed me how to control our altitude through breathing; she said it felt like a fantasy straight out of Hesse’s Demian. Then, as I tried to ask Amy how her classes were going, she shot out, “Why haven’t you called me for three weeks, Max Rudolph!” I was left speechless, and after we parted ways, all the way home with the antenna annoyingly rattling around in the back of the pantechnicon; I realized that I should find a way to make it up to her.

While cruising north, the new speed limit of 45, gave me some constructive time to plan how to make things right again with Amy. The antenna bouncing around in the back, reminded me of various other unseen communication channels. Then it dawned on me that I should travel up to Hollie Jewelers to find Amy a pendulum so she can read my true intentions. As I walked into the jewelry store its high vibration reminded me of a holistic healing center or perhaps a church. While Leanne laid out a small array of pendulums on the counter, I immediately saw which one was Amy’s. It was the sage-green one; earthy, with tiny specks of star-shine glittering from its outer edge cuts. Leanne, kindly allowed me test the pendulum, and when I asked if it was right for Amy, it spun wildly in an affirmative direction.

I left Hollie Jewelers with a secure feeling of joy in my heart. The gift-wrapped pendulum would be a unique way to open the door for Amy to accept my apology. I even remembered to charge my cell phone this time, and as I drove the 45 mph back down valley, I called and asked if she could meet me again over at McClain’s Pizza, where I would surprise her with the dynamic gift.

About the author: Jim Banholzer has been practicing driving his pantechnicon at 45 mph in anticipation of the healthy new speed limit reduction.

2010-08-30T16:29:00.000-07:00

Speed limit reductions have certain benefits

At first glance, the hard news that the speed limit between Ketchum and Hailey will be reduced to 45 may feel like a drag, but at the same time it can be healthy for us to remember that there are several benefits to this sweeping change.

When our traffic flows at 45, it will lessen animal / vehicle encounters. Not only will this horrible carnage of large mammals and peoples pets be reduced; but also the moderate speeds will give motorists smoother opportunities to merge into traffic, as well as offering us shorter braking distances for various quick emergencies, and improving fuel efficiency for most vehicles.

Furthermore, slowing down could inspire some motorists to better appreciate our valley’s scenic corridor. Cognizant drivers and passengers will have more time to soak up its sunny splendor, as the 45 mph will gift us with an ideal traveling rate for cloud-watching; constructively daydreaming about the physics of angels, or perhaps for better organizing in our heads, letters to the editor about other ways to improve the valley. Soon, the locals who have decided to live here and the tourists who enjoy visiting, who only blurred by our mid-valley majesty before, will begin noticing slow-motion trees in pocket-parks for later hugs.

Slower limits will give bus commuters more time to enjoy gazing out the window, or perhaps for absorbing a few more pages of the good book or newspaper they’re reading. Speed kills, and as Kris Stoffer points out in a recently related letter, many beloved community members have lost their lives or health on the human highway, and the time for this grand paradigm shift to an unhurried speed has now arrived.

2010-07-27T21:54:00.000-07:00

Pink rabbits & phantasmagoric flying dreams

(Part one)

It was interesting to hear last week about Amy’s uplifting dream of us flying together over Hailey’s 4^th of July Fireworks, because I had a similarly powerful dream regarding sweet Amy back at our old Petit Lake family cabin. I haven’t been up to Petit for ten years, but recently went on Google Maps and flew around the woodsy neighborhood a bit. Something, I’ve always admired about my father, Rainier Rudolph; is that whenever he bought a house, it was always adjacent to some woods, giving us young rapscallions a healthy place to scamper around to release our energy.

In the dream, I awoke on Saturday daybreak and went outside, barefoot in red pajamas to collect an Idaho Statesman from our snowy driveway. In reality, we lived on the sleepy dead end, but in the dream, cars could now connect into the forest. In fact, it was a bustling thoroughfare now; for some elaborate racecars were speeding into the hilly woods up to Alice Lake, and one or two old jalopies were pulling out to return to civilization. Even though it was snowy, I was excited to be back, and to show Amy my treasured childhood summer home. We thought we should take an encompassing stroll around the Lake, while waiting for the newspaper. So, still barefoot, we walked east, to see several children shouting with squeals of glee, preparing to sleigh down our cabin hill. It was a magnificent morning for sledding, and we trudged up the knoll a way, to be closer to the enjoyment. Halfway to the pinnacle, the children easily maneuvered around us, in figure-eights on their toy-sleds. While we reached the top, we saw several more houses. The furthest yard was filled with dozens of other children, enjoying some festive event. The first few modern homes were quiet and dim, but the ancient house was where the action was. As we approached, we saw a great cauldron of stew boiling over a pit in the front yard, while the happy children continued to dart about, every which-way. It was a four-story grey house, and I tried to picture it from my past. I remembered it being an old house, even back when I was young. Then in the hub of activity, we spied the property owner. She was somebody, I knew from decades ago, but she hadn’t aged much. She had some wild grey curly hair around the fringes of her head, and everyone there respected her with high regard. Trying to be polite, I asked in a curious voice, above the merry din, “How old is this house?” She was elusive with her answer, but smiled, and then kindly but sternly, grabbed me around the forearms, saying, “I remember your kind Max; I had to straighten you and your brother out a few times, from some of the trouble you caused out here in the woods!” I thought that this wasn’t necessarily true, but perhaps there was a small element to what she spoke. We briefly conversed some more, then I asked what her name was. She spoke a name so peculiar that I knew instantly Amy and I would be incapable of remembering it.

To be continued…

Pink Rabbits & Phantasmagoric Flying Dreams - Part two

(Continued from last week)

It was as if the strange woman had cast a spell upon her obscure name, rendering it impossible to recollect, although, I do remember her long singular name had four “i’s” in it. She released us and we trotted a little further down the wet and rocky Petit Lake trail. As the snow melted in the late morning forest sun, I came upon two more houses that I remembered from childhood: the last one an old blue Victorian, facing Toxaway Loop. I vaguely recalled some sort of strange happenings there too, but couldn’t penetrate the decades-old memories to put my finger on it yet.

Suddenly, as I spun around in the wet mud, I realized that I was able to fly again. I grabbed a hold of Amy and we flew feet-first with our bare toes sticking out straight ahead of us. Remarkably, the fact that we were able to fly felt quite natural, as it usually does with such triumphant flying dreams. This incubated a thought that I would like to twist our bodies to face forward and fly like Superman and Superwoman to show the Petit-Lakeians what their prodigal son had learned, while gone ten years on vast Indiana Jones adventures. They will love this! -I thought in a powerful inner celebration, and they will talk about it for decades! The plan was for Amy and me to float slow-motion past the children’s clamor and their holiday cauldron, while giving them the broadest smiles we could possibly manage. However, when we tried to spin about, to fly face-first like Superheroes, something went off kilter with our inner gyroscopes. A queer anti-gravity force led us to a higher altitude, and unexpectedly we were soaring in fast motion clouds, directly behind four space pilots and four astronauts. Those high-flyers were all relying on spacesuits and other backup technologies, so we laughed at them, as we took wing on mind-power alone! It all felt quite fearless, but for some reason, Amy and I were unable to switch our inner gears back down to earth, no matter how hard we tried. Then finally Amy showed me the secret – that is, we could regulate our altitude by taking deep breaths, just like with scuba diving in Petit Lake.

Abruptly awakening to present day reality, I lay there motionless for several minutes, lightly buzzing about the powerful flying dream. Then, as the dreamscape partially melted, it occurred to me that those uncanny houses in the woods were never actually there, but rather had been places imagn’d from childhood dreams. Vivid places I occasionally revisited over the decades, where many events had taken shape and form – enough to record a small history deep in my subconscious. These made me wonder if this all was merely in my mind, or are our minds potentially more powerful than what our instructors taught, in earlier schools of thought? When we dream, do we somehow mysteriously connect to otherworldly dimensions, where ongoing ethereal events persist in parallel fashions?

Then I realized that I had been sleeping on a sofa with a cushion that Amy had specially embroidered for me. She emblazoned it with some cute animals, most notably some pink rabbits dancing on the pillow, which had been pressing softly against my dreamy head…

About the author: Once in the middle of an incredibly lucid dream Jim Banholzer tried to leave a phone voicemail to the waking world. He strongly felt like it went through, but when he awoke to check his messages he was disappointed to find massive nothingness.

2010-07-14T21:43:00.000-07:00

Compound whippersnappers

I must have still had some spelunking left in these aged bones; because when Lana showed up unexpectedly to visit for Hailey’s 4^th of July celebration, I escorted her to the Mint, and from an underground room there felt compelled to reveal to her the secret subterranean chamber that webs beneath Hailey’s Main Street. As we spryly passed by the remnants of an old Chinese opium den, I joked that this would make a fitting place to set up a closed meeting to relax the fossils who are paranoid about shifting the airport to a safer position.

While showing Lana the underground door that exits into the Hailey Museum, suddenly some penny-candy dropped from one of the overhead vault openings and we realized that the popular parade had begun. We hustled back to Bruce’s basement, where an undercover Allen & Co. agent assisted us out of the black hole and over to a prime vantage point above the Mint’s balcony. Although we were surrounded by old friends; Lana appeared nervous and every time a firecrackhttp://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,940747,00.htmler popped, she jumped an inch closer. Soon we were holding hands and some of those strong sentimental feelings I had toward her started racing back.

At the high point of the procession, an unscripted fight broke out between two members of the shoot-out gang. Since they had already performed earlier, this made it difficult momentarily to distinguish what was real and what was fiction; until a noble mechanic single-handedly dispersed the actual fisticuffs, moments before local authorities arrived at the surreal scene.

After the heat of this explosiveness, that evening, Lana and I strolled out Quigley to witness the fireworks. Although it lasted barely twenty minutes, it was a fine presentation, and there were a few sizzlers I hadn’t seen since Love American Style. Equally notable was the small number of walkers who had hiked this short distance, as even through the weather was fine; most of the rocket watchers had driven over in a second slow parade.

The next day Lana flew out of town like a blissful comet. Meanwhile, I had been thinking quite a lot about Amy and the inspiring way she interacts with people and pets. For some reason though, we’d been having a difficult time reconnecting. During a long squawk around the library, my cockatiel’s Sheila and Joe had become entangled in the landline, yanking the wire from the wall. Since the walls are 18-inch thick cement, it requires a special drill before I can fix the phone. In addition, the solid cave-like properties of the house creates weak cell reception; so the only time I can reach Amy is when I’m out walking Bud. For the last two weeks, we’ve been mostly misconnecting. Maybe I should suggest that we meet together in person sometime again soon, perhaps for a nice slice at McClain’s.

About the author: After waking from last winter’s long hibernation, Jim Banholzer realized that he had incurred a mild case of Dunlap’s disease; whereby his belly had ‘done lapped’ clean over his belt. For treatment, he skipped pizza for forty long days; and now, since the belt has returned to its old healthy notch, he’s strongly dreaming about a scrumptious pepperoni / pesto pie.

2010-07-06T20:48:00.000-07:00

Further map puzzles plus two lovebirds

After the children emerged from the depths of Chalk Cave, we placed the series of collected map parchments on the pantechnivan lift-gate and blew the old dust off. Half of the children crowded there with me, while the other half stood with Amy under the ancient desert arch and pored over the rare Salinger book with great interest.

I knew these maps well, but even after studying them into the wee hours many nights, I still had a hard time fathoming how the ancient ones were the most accurate; especially when considering that the ground here expanded with a new lava flow, a mere 27 years ago. How in the world could the oldest maps in the group, hundreds of years old, have known about this future event and been delineated with such fine matching detail? Could it have something to do with the ancient arch and what local indigenous people sometimes whisper about? After all, there are transformative wormholes in the universe; so why not one here in our stunning Picabo desert, next to the future airport?

Meanwhile, I had more pressing earthly needs to attend to. As Amy and I caravanned separately back to the Wood River Valley, I sensed that she would want to know where my relationship with Lana stood. Amy already knew that I much preferred love over war; but now I would have to gently break her news that I’m polyamorous. As I parked the van in the drive, I saw that my cockatiel Sheila was still outside, pecking at the living room window. This was puzzling to the max, because twenty minutes ago, while emerging from Timmermans dead spot; I saw that Amy had texted me about Sheila’s great escape and return. When I pulled the door open, Sheila streaked straight for the cage, where there was another cockatiel locked inside. Wait a minute now - which one was the real Sheila and which the pseudo-Sheila? The two birds resembled each other so well that they could have functioned as each other’s Doppelgangers. Fortunately, I had methodically trained Sheila to respond to my prompts in meaningful anagrams. So when I called out “Drunken Sailors!” from inside the cage the real Sheila immediately squawked back “Darkens oil runs!”

At this juncture, I unlatched the birdcage to let the two Sheila’s become better acquainted, while swapping out the bottom lining for some fresh newspaper. Soon, the birds made it clear that the second Sheila was not another female and that they would make a good mating couple.

As I ambled over to the map table to grab a large magnifying glass, I noticed that the real Sheila’s song was less discordant than usual, which made me believe that it would be a nice change, to listen to her fulfilled melody enhance the library background. Then, as I set down to study the esoteric map information closer, Amy rang my phone and I asked her if she had any good names for a strutting male cockatiel.

About the Author: Jim Banholzer is mostly a quiet hermit; but he could surprise you with an occasional glint of hope.

2010-06-20T14:19:00.000-07:00

Team efforts and seed ideas

After the first two braves shimmied through Chalk Cave’s teensy rock mouth opening, we sent in three more pairs of well-equipped students each succeeding hour. I had mixed feelings about bringing communications into the cavern, as caves are well known for being hallowed sanctuaries from the powerful bombardment of our communication spectrum. However, since our tech students had invented this novel antenna, which they had spiked into the soil above Chalk Cave’s elongated passageways, this would be a good means for us to test and fine-tune their new underground radio transmission system.

Meanwhile, Amy and I climbed back up the ridge and over the dually van to discuss what to do about its flat tire. I was hesitant to hoist it up on a jack, since it was bulging with the extra weight of heavy silver; when Amy observed that since it was only one of four rear tires, we could still operate the pantechnicon by shredding the rest of the ruined tire clean off. Seeing no better tool than the spear point, which first caused the flat, we used it to slice the remaining rubber remnants away. Next, I shot a Polaroid of the spear points’ black mirror face, and posted it to my adventurous Max Rudolph facebook page. Then we used the same weapon to burrow a hole in the hard earth to return the artifact where it belonged; hopefully burying it deep enough so nobody else would experience a flat tire there for another five hundred years.

The afternoon was turning late, when we received communication that the first group had discovered the Salinger & mysterious map parchments Lana and I had hid in the lava tube last year - and they would soon be returning with it. They also reported that the strange luminous humming was continuous throughout the cave depths and they couldn’t pinpoint the exact source from where it stemmed. As Amy and I waited along with the remaining schoolchildren, we studied the vast landing where our community’s wise elders had rallied together as a cohesive team and slated the new airport to be. Here we marveled over some of its pros and cons. Then we popped the question to the children, what they thought if we were to work out a unique deal with the authorities, whereby our class could have a supporting role with the new airport. “What do you mean, like a de-icing / car wash for airplanes or something? – quizzed one of the kids.

What the children didn’t know was, since last year after coming into possession of the enlightening maps that our crew was about to extract from the cave, I had worked out a legal claim over the forty untaken acres. Standing under the ancient wooden arch gave a better perspective, as from the light there; we could see that the lava terrain of our new land clearly held a darker color then the surrounding sun-parched earth did. I remembered hearing that during the Borah earthquake of ‘83 that there were some heavy rumblings in the Picabo Desert and wondered if the earth here at the time had expanded unnoticed with a small lava flow, thus giving birth to this uncharted land. Later on, an INL seismologist confirmed this to be true and right now beautiful Amy’s star struck eyes practically popped out when I formerly announced that this land ripe for claiming next to the new airport would soon be ours and the silver safely tucked away would fund whatever positive foundation we wanted to construct upon it…

About the author:

Twice when Jim Banholzer has taken Polaroid’s of indigenous artifacts, unusually colored swirls, not noticed before, have inexplicably appeared in the background. He lives in an old dynamite shack, where he feels fairly safe from the over bombardment of outer communication influences. Not turning the TV on much, except for baseball or the Discovery Channel, helps this mood. At this stage in his life, he feels like his man-cave is a good energy spot, somewhat conducive to productive writing.

2010-06-11T05:58:00.000-07:00

Max’s map irregularities – Chapter 17

I slept a bit uneasy after setting off the car alarm, right when the time seemed perfect for Amy and me to share our first sweet kiss by the romantic sage grouse lek setting. The next morning we awoke to a warm sun at the Trapezoid Lake campsite and when I glanced over at Amy, for a fleeting moment I saw a million stars still reflecting in her twinkling eyes. Then, as we watched the remaining grouse fly off in pairs to a northern place of wisdom; one of the students remarked it didn’t look as if they soared very high and wondered how the new adjacent airport would affect this magnificent bird migration. Our own decampment would be a short one too, and after dousing the smoldering fire, Amy helped me hitch our camp gear up to the silver pantechnicon. Then we navigated along with the children in the school bus, up the isolated desert road, over to nearby Chalk Cave.

☼☼

We pulled through an ancient wooden arch, to a clearing in the tall sage, and came to a loud popping halt. A sharp obsidian spear point sticking out of the gravel had punctured one of the dually van’s rear tires; but at least it was at the same spot where we wanted to park. We would deal with the flat later, for now we were at today’s destination. And although we were within 50 feet of the cave, it took several minutes before any of the students noticed the jagged mouth opening. Behind the schoolchildren, I squeezed Amy’s hand tight as we clambered down past a juvenile owl pecking at a pile of brown rattlesnake eggs in the hot rocks. After cautiously passing the guardians, we felt a cool breeze emerging from the tiny lava stone entrance. This desert quietude held a dissimilar vibe than the Wood River Valley and as we listened closely, it sounded uncannily as if the cave mouth was whispering a message for greater mankind. It was almost celestial noon and though our shadows were small, the barely detectable voice singing from somewhere in the cave depths had everyone’s hair on edge.

☼☼☼

Two of our tech students set up an elaborate portable antenna they had invented, and spiked it into the rough terrain above the cave. This newfangled device would enable us better communications throughout the cavern and not only that, but it also had a recording mechanism attached. Then, the same young braves volunteered to spelunk headfirst into the darkness. Meanwhile, since Amy had been observing our schoolchildren through rosy Holden Caulfield filtered glasses lately, I wondered how she would react when she discovered that Lana and I had previously stashed a mile within the lava tube, a rare copy of Salinger’s Ocean Full of Bowling Balls. Although this great unpublished work is not supposed to be released until fifty years after Salinger’s death; the preceding year I had visited Princeton’s tightly controlled Firestone Library where the only public copy available is kept; and then through several fortnights of burning the midnight ethanol; I rigorously committed the fine work to memory; before meticulously hand scribing a second copy. This uncommon duplicate now laid in a wooden box eight furlongs deep within the climate-preserving walls of Chalk Cave. And as an added bonus; within this good medicine box, laid a series of parchments – several official maps that indicated some unclaimed land, somehow overlooked all these years by various government agencies. Moreover this unspoken-for tract of free land lay smack-dab between Chalk Cave and the proposed airport taxiway’s south perimeter!

About the author: After mostly conquering his claustrophobia, Jim Banholzer has shyly spurlunkered in several Virginia and Idaho caves. Only once has a Guardian rattler struck at him, but its wicked bite merely pierced the jeans and not the flesh. Someday he would be curious to peep through the wormhole of a mysterious ancient desert arch.

2010-06-01T02:47:00.000-07:00

Catcher in the Sage

(version one)

Soon after secreting away one of the silver-laden pantechnicons in a remote high desert area; I rendezvoused with Amy and the bus-load of eager school children she had driven down for our overnight field trip at Trapezoid Lake. By evening twilight we gathered enough dry sage for a small campfire near the wall tents, along with some out-of-this-world rabbit stew that Amy had cooked up. As nearby planets etched their elliptical orbits against the Milky Way’s silvery fog, the children appetites were whet for story time.

Feeling like a young Ivan Swaner, spinning a fanciful tale, I recounted how we had discovered substantial silver in the cairns, aided by Clark’s anagram clue. As the sage grouse settled down in the background from their ritualistic mating dances; I announced to the children that they would soon have some input as to how we should invest the second silver wagon stuffed full of cash. I glanced at Amy across the smoky campfire, and as she leaned with Bud against the wagon, something good stirred inside me. I appreciated how she had taken care of my pets while I was on the wild Red House, Nevada adventure; and now she had even brought the schoolchildren down for this beautiful spring overnight excursion. I was starting to look at her in a brighter light, when suddenly that well-worn copy of Catcher in the Rye flashed at me from her back pocket.

All of a sudden, I practically snapped. Just when I thought that Amy was somebody that I could start spending some quality time with, Holden Caulfield stood brazenly in the way. My hand snatched the cursed book from her pocket and in one motion flung it angrily toward the sputtering campfire. It bounced off a river rock and opened to the page where Holden was trying to scrub off some expletive graffiti from his school wall. Some of our schoolchildren were aghast; for this was a side of me they were unaccustomed to seeing. My voice had risen and I started lecturing Amy that she was allowing herself to become snared by the wrong books. I sternly warned her about poring over this dangerous book; especially if she was going to have it near the children. And with that, and my drumming voice overpowered the last sage grouse murmurs, signifying an end to the spring mating season. To top it off, I howled at Amy, “Why don’t you try reading, a couple of nice zesty Vardis Fisher romance novels, instead?”

Fortunately, by then, several of the schoolchildren had already drifted off to sleep under the peaceful stars. I apologized for my loud intensity to the handful still awake, a little late for me to consider that some of them probably never camped out before and may have been easily frightened. But none seemed too upset. On the contrary, it felt as they were gaining a valuable learning experience - which is exactly what field trips are made for. And for the second half of our outing we would be dragging the second silver pantechnicon wagon over to Chalk Cave, near the new airport location.

Courting in the Sage

(version two)

Feeling like a young Ivan Swaner, spinning a fanciful tale, I recounted how we had discovered substantial silver in the cairns, aided by Clark’s anagram clue. As the sage grouse settled down in the background from their ritualistic mating dances; I announced to the children that they would soon have some input as to how we should invest the second silver wagon stuffed full of cash. I glanced at Amy across the smoky campfire, and as she leaned with Bud against the wagon, something good stirred inside me. I appreciated how she had taken care of my pets while I was on the wild Red House, Nevada adventure; and now she had even brought the schoolchildren down for this beautiful overnight excursion. I was starting to look at her in a brighter light, when suddenly that well-worn copy of Catcher in the Rye flashed at me from her back pocket.

My first inclination was to snatch this cursed book and thrust it toward the sputtering campfire. But then, I caught myself, and remembered how this book has some redeeming qualities, once you learn how to read between the lines. Plus; there was no sense in making a scene in front of the schoolchildren, and tarnishing the sage-grouse courting ritual we had brought them down here for. I could tell that they were into this natural ceremony too, as, when I went into the wall tent to check my e-mail before retiring; I noticed that the group had posted the video of the wildly fluttering grouse they had filmed, onto my Max Rudolph facebook wall.

As the children began to drift off under the starry skies, I delicately reminded them that tomorrow would also be a big day for our group, as we planned to explore that sacred cave area, near where the fresh airport would be built. I wanted them to envision how this proposed project would play a large part in their futures, as well as letting them have an actual say on its impact. Before retiring, Amy and I drew near, and held each other close by the campfire, with the sage grouse romantically murmuring in our background. Like the book in her back pocket, it slowly dawned on me that that there was much more depth to Amy than I had initially recognized; and in this awakening spring atmosphere, I suddenly wanted to learn everything good about her…

To be continued…

About the author: Jim Banholzer, like Holden Caulfield wishes that he could scrub off every bad graffiti expletive from the world’s walls, so his little sister would not have to face its terrible ugliness.

2010-05-15T21:40:00.000-07:00

Max’s Anagram Bonanza

(Final version for May 19 edition of The Weekly Paper)

As our search for hidden treasure continued around the parched Clarksville ranch, we didn’t unearth any notables that first day, or the next. Soon, it was going to be time to hightail it back to the Wood River Valley and I didn’t want to return empty-handed. We were low on water and beer anyway, so for the last evening, my friends and I returned to the hoppin’ Red House bar.

Aaron picked up an old menu from the dusty table at the entrance. Why they had menus, I had no clue, because they only served burgers and beer. The atmosphere of the place could have used a “Sorry, we’re open” sign, too. Why, Dugout Dick’s caves in Salmon offered a more comfortable ambiance than here. Suddenly, I noticed on the reverse of Aaron’s menu some familiar handwriting – the same quirky handwriting style from the puzzling map we had quizzed over for days. At the bottom of the Red House bar menu, barely legible, was scrawled in green ink smudges: “Look in Arson Crick –signed Clark.” That was our answer! As usual, Clark was speaking to us through cipher and now he had left us another beyond-the-grave clue. From our long cryptic talks together, Clark knew that I had acquired a taste for snappy anagrams, as well as spicy hamburgers, in my worldly travels. I’m sure he chuckled as he calculated that I would eventually come across his clue at the Red House, Nevada bar. “Look in Arson Crick” was an anagram for “Look in Rock Cairns!”

After re-supplying some liquid provisions, we sped back to Clarksville and held my metal detector against the heart of first cairn we approached. When I set the sensor to silver, the gauge went haywire, so I flicked it off and we carefully stripped the balanced rocks down to their foundations. Inside each jagged cairn, Clark, or some cooper, had sealed hundreds of uncirculated Liberty Dollars into dozens of cork casks. We were going to need to hire a couple of Nevadan pantechnicons to safely extract this shimmering coinage before transporting it northward. I rang Amy, who was petsitting Bud and Tweet; and with a silver smile, explained I was going to be a few days late and that I had a grand secret. I then asked if she could make arrangements for an overnight field trip for the schoolchildren. Amy and I wanted to show them a mating ritual, in part to celebrate my newfound wealth. This was the perfect time of year to see the male sage grouse strut their stuff near Trapezoid Lake, then afterward, we would all ambulate over to Chalk Cave, where, although I had some definitive ideas about how to transform my newfound wealth into dynamic action with that land near the new airport, I was curious to ask the children that I had taught all year for their constructive ideas. This special cave would make the ideal backdrop.

About the author: Jim Banholzer enjoys fiction, and sometimes is astounded when discovering that some of the characters there, grow to become more three-dimensional than many real people do.

2010-05-12T17:35:00.000-07:00

Max’s Anagram Bonanza

As our search for hidden treasure continued around the parched Clarksville ranch, we didn’t unearth any notables that first day, or the next. Soon, it was going to be time to high-tail it back to the Wood River Valley and I didn’t want to return empty-handed. We were low on water and beer anyway, so for the last evening my friends and I returned to the hoppin’ Red House bar.

Aaron picked up an old menu from the dusty table at the entrance. Why they had menus, I had no clue –because they only served burgers and beer. The atmosphere of the place could have used a “Sorry, we’re open” sign, too. Why; Dugout Dick’s caves in Salmon offered a more comfortable ambiance than here. Suddenly, I noticed on the reverse of Aaron’s menu some familiar handwriting – the same quirky handwriting style from the puzzling map we had quizzed over for days. At the bottom of the Red House bar menu, barely legible, was scrawled in green ink smudges: “Look in Arson Crick –signed Clark.” That was our answer! As usual, Clark was speaking to us through cipher and now he had left us another beyond-the-grave clue, as “Look in Arson Crick” was an anagram for “Look in Rock Cairns!”

After re-supplying some liquid provisions, we sped back to Clarksville and held my metal detector against the heart of first cairn we approached. When I set the sensor to silver, the gauge went haywire, so I flicked it off, and we carefully stripped the balanced rocks down to their foundations. Inside each jagged cairn, Clark or some cooper had sealed hundreds of uncirculated Liberty Dollars into dozens of cork casks. We were going to need to hire a couple of Nevadan pantechnicons to safely extract this shimmering coinage before transporting it northward. I rang Amy, who was watching my dog Bud and Tweet the bird; and with a silver smile, explained I was going to be a few days late and that I had a grand secret. I then asked if she could make arrangements for an overnight field-trip for the schoolchildren, so that Amy and I could show them a mating ritual, in part to celebrate my newfound wealth. This was the perfect time of year to see the male sage grouse strut their stuff near Trapezoid Lake and then afterward we would all ambulate over to Chalk Cave, where, although I had some definitive ideas about how to transform my newfound wealth into dynamic action, with that land near the new airport, I was curious to ask the children that I had taught all year for their constructive ideas and this special cave would make an ideal backdrop for that.

About the author: Jim Banholzer enjoys fiction, and sometimes is astounded when discovering that some of the characters there, grow to become more three-dimensional than many real people do.

2010-03-26T21:40:00.001-07:00

A windfall in trash for Idaho Falls

As the Idaho Falls City Council’s decision to increase the maximum littering fine to $1,000 will be a positive financial boon, and make the city appear more pristine; it will probably also include some far-reaching ramifications not anticipated. With this in mind, city leaders should consider the following, for clamping down on the strongest rubbish offenders:

First, the city should appoint a scrappy trash czar. For the probationary period, the czar’s salary could be contingent on the amount of fines, staff metes out. City elders can waive the probationary period off early, when they see how well this new rubbish office flourishes.

For keeping politicians in line; whose signs trash roadsides, long after elections; the agency should require a down payment, refundable after the czar certifies that office-runners have done their best to retrieve outstanding signs. For election winners, the czar’s staff should seize these dull signs from the gutter as important evidence and forensically examine them for the amount of rosy promises broken to constituents, then levy fines against the value of each broken pledge.

Another ideal way to improve the streets would be to equip garbage trucks with an array of video cams, fed directly into City Hall. When the recorders detect trash blowing from overfilled cans, they can automatically add $1,000 fines to homeowners’ next bills. For trash blowing off the collecting trucks themselves, city engineers could develop an automated self-fining system.

To cut off the most poisonous trash, afflicting the city: The Litter-Czar’s office should engage in a partnership with Homeland Security; setting up safe ports of entry to Idaho Falls. Routine Geiger counter inspections at city entrances, to monitor nuclear lab workers transporting radiation into town, would be a productive way to perk up coffers, meanwhile, protecting the shining city from this disgustingly insidious menace.

2010-03-20T12:33:00.000-07:00

Another way to handle distressed furniture

Yesterday, while out on an intensive moving job, one of my colleagues called about another job for today. As he started to read off the number for the woman who needed help, my phone volume cut out, due to an unexplained disturbance. When we reconnected several minutes later, I asked for her number again, but he didn’t have it handy. However, he said that she would be calling me and left it at that.

Yesterday’s job went into overtime and I didn’t get home until dark. The woman never called until this morning, when she rang a little before eight. I detected some anguish in her voice, and although, it was short notice, I told her I could help. I sped things up and within a few minutes, headed over to her place. There, at a very nice log home, she showed me the items she was putting up for sale. Turns out that she is in dire financial straits and needs to sell off some furniture to stave off foreclosure.

The large items she needed help with were some computer monitors, an old desk and an expensive looking and fragile dresser. While assessing the items, I formulated a plan, and began carefully transporting the items into the truck. While doing so, I sensed an amount of melancholy in this home and noticed that the woman was making herself scarce. I imagined that she was having a hard time dealing with the fact that she needed to sell off these family heirlooms and thought she may have retreated to her room to weep.

It took an hour to secure the items, and then I headed north to the antique fair. On the way, I stopped at a convenience store to fuel up with some coffee and a snack. A few miles later, an enormous red-tailed hawk swooped in front of me and landed on the edge of the road. This bird-of-prey was oriented so close, that I felt it necessary to apply my brakes, even though I felt he could clearly see me. As I braked, he took off slowly, giving me a magnificent view of his underside only twenty feet in front of my windshield. The rising bird’s strange behavior made me wonder if he was trying to send me a message of some sort.

Ten miles north, I snagged a prime spot in front of the fair and proceeded to unload the distressed woman’s furniture. While doing so, she pulled up, grabbing an adjacent space. As she parked, I noticed she was grimacing and within a few seconds she approached to confront me about my stopping off to snack-up. This stunned me so much that I didn’t even say anything. I just carried on working, with a straight-laced David Carradine stoic face. Soon a familiar person approached, kindly asking the woman how much she wanted for the antique dresser. Even though this customer was clearly interested, the woman’s response was disharmonious and whenever somebody inquisitive approached her booth, she kept loudly adding things, like her house was for sale, and hopefully someone would buy that.

After unloading, I pulled my rig out from the red-zone. I parked near the bookstore and thought it would be healthy to enter and reflect there about how to deal with the distraught woman. After a short breather, it suddenly hit me that it was best to escape her quickly concocted trap, as I didn’t want to see the poor rich woman anymore and had no desire for her poisonous money.

I cleaned up for a few minutes at one of our warehouses and then headed back down south. While approaching Ohio Gulch, the hawk flew directly over again, reminding me of his impending message. When I first saw the hawk, it was probably the same time that the woman was concocting how she was going to confront me. And the strange disconnect is, that right then, I had been formulating how I was going to tactfully offer her a discount. On top of that I had stopped at the store, for food and drink, because it’s best to work with fresh protein in your body, especially when handling fragile customers and their fabulously expensive distressed furniture.

2010-03-15T21:33:00.000-07:00

Herding Wolverines Together

The first I ever heard of wolverines, was back in '93 from a sheepherder who had recently spotted one up Timber Gulch.

The first time ever I saw any wolverines, was four years ago, upon returning from an evening at the movies with a friend. It was late twilight, and we spotted two of them frolicking together at the large N. Buttercup Road parking lot, where the county sometimes stores gravel. As we stopped and watched them deftly dart around the gray rock pile for several minutes, playing a rambunctious game of tag with each other; it felt as though they were putting on a unique display, designed specifically for us, especially when they paused momentarily, to establish rock-solid eye contact with us.

As I recall, we reveled in their enchanting performance, much more than the lame action movie we had just watched. Mostly though, we felt sorry for the folks in the car behind us, who had hurriedly passed; as they had missed one of the greatest shows on earth.

Two weeks later, the new Sun Valley Guide came out; featuring what became an award-winning article about wolverines from now-editor Greg Foley:

http://www.svguide.com/w06/w06_wolverines.htm

Within that article, we were delighted to see, that the spot where we witnessed Wood River Wolverines frolicking together, was marked on one of Evelyn's maps:

http://www.svguide.com/w06/w06_wolverines_map.pdf

Soon after this; I ran into the man who delivers these magazines, and brought up the subject of wolverines. He was familiar with their wild ways and suggested that it would be wise to never cross one, or even think of ticking one off; because if you ever do, they will sniff you out, even by following the scent on your tire tracks, and repay you with ruthless acts of revenge. This was enough warning for me, having recently read in Mr. Foley’s article a legendary artic story about how a wolverine vanquished a polar bear, by barreling full speed, headfirst into its heart.

More recently, SFGate featured an interesting article about Wolverines called Lone, lovelorn wolverine baffles scientists. This is pertinent to Idaho, because hair and scat samples gathered there, indicate that this lovelorn wolverine hails from Idaho; most likely from the Sawtooths or Cascades.

An article that makes me feel that wolverines are as secretive as those seldom seen meter readers is Steve Stuebner’s enlightening High Country News article from fourteen years ago, titled, The Secret Life of Wolverines:

http://www.hcn.org/issues/52/1616

Quote from the HCN article:

"It never ceases to amaze me when I'm flying in the winter and I see a set of wolverine tracks crossing a 9,000- or 10,000-foot peak," he says. "I mean, what in the world is he doing up there?"

`Sometimes when several articles featuring the same sort of mystical creatures come into my life, I like herding them together by looking up their characteristics and seeing what I can identify with and what scraps of wisdom I might learn from. One of the the best animal totem sites, I've found is here: http://www.sayahda.com/cycle.htm

Regarding Wolverines, her site says:

The wolverine is known for its great ferocity and extraordinary strength. Indian mythology describes the wolverine as a trickster hero, a link between the material world and the spirit world. In ancient mythology the energy of a trickster is linked to the underworld where the secrets of creation live.

Baby wolverines are born blind and weigh less than one pound. This prompts all their other sensory organs to awaken quickly, their sense of smell, feeling and inner sight are heightened at an early age. Small yet insightful, the new born wolverine acknowledges and responds to all its intuitive senses from the moment of birth. They respond to life and the challenges it holds with clarity, focus and persistence giving them a deeper understanding of personal power. Those with this medicine should ask themselves if their personal power is serving them appropriately. Learning how to utilize personal power in a balanced way is one of the teachings the wolverine holds.

The wolverines crafty cunning nature coupled with their perseverance and focus keeps them aligned with the energies of creation. This alignment serves them in many ways. They know when to act, when to retreat, how to respond to any situation and how to become invisible. All of these abilities inherent in the wolverine are also inherent in those who hold this medicine. Wolverines are masters at shape shifting their reality to benefit them in some way and can teach us how to do the same. Shamanic studies is helpful for those who have this totem.

Wolverines are excellent scavengers although not the best hunters. They are very resourceful and know how to make do with whatever is available. They turn trash into treasure and teach us how to do the same. Alaskan natives consider the wolverine to by a symbol of the wilderness, a survivor of the elements. Its fur is commonly used for parka trim and hoods because of its durability. The guard hairs of the wolverine fur resist frost accumulation helping people survive in extreme cold weather.

Solitary creatures with tremendous physical endurance the wolverine can travel up to 40 miles a day in search of food. Because of their great strength and endurance wolverines have become the center of folklore, although its fierce reputation has been exaggerated. They rarely attack any predator larger than itself and only attack when food is needed. They show us how to go the distance and acquire that which we seek.

When this medicine is fully developed in humans the capability to survive in any situation is common. If underdeveloped challenges regarding survival are common. Because the wolverine is a shape shifter the art of survival doesn't just represent the physical realm. It also indicates the challenges associated with mental clarity, emotional balance and spiritual understanding.

The wolverine is a master teacher and embodies a variety of skills. When it appears in your life it is asking you to take a serious look at your self and your life, change anything that does not serve and utilize your personal power for the good of self and others.

2010-03-11T04:44:00.000-08:00

Spring predictions from the animal world

Plenty of Idaho criers have warned about wolves here being dangerous, but it's still more perilous to cross the human highway than it is to waltz out one of our yodeling canyons.

With this menace in mind, I consulted with my oracle: John Cougar Mellowcat, who kindly channeled for us, some other spring-fever animal predictions:

Besides the wolf this year, its predicted rattlers will be more docile. Good time to gather some snapping worms for dynamic fishing.

Badgers are lonelier and will need more human-applied scruffs behind their fuzzy ears.

Local cubby bears will rise with great desire for thick elderberry mead, so please baste your grease buckets and leave them warmly wafting under west Ketchum birdfeeders.

Albino deer appreciate late season snows and hope Baldy extends its opening through Memorial Day.

Increased numbers of agile cougars will descend from the Elkhorn hills to infiltrate nearly-innocents at the dew-daw room.

Butterflies will continue to flaunt their illegal ignoring of voter district lines.

While Mormon crickets continue their selfless mission of filling in Highway 20's potholes, positively chirping beetles will munch over Galena pass, making the area more avalanche-prone. This will lead to a receptive public outcry for Homeland Security to mount a warm safety-beacon cell tower on the hill.

Wise hoot owls will continue being mostly serious and make gains toward unraveling unsolved mysteries.

Local dogs will continue worming their way into local hearts, while an Idaho State University scientist will uncover compelling canine evidence that they sometimes laugh at us silly cats.