Daniels County Fair 2011

We had a great time at our first fair here in Scobey.

Small town fairs are the best!

On Monday morning the kids in 4-H (Emma, Hugh, Wick, and Max) showed their pigs, and later in the morning they learned how to show steers as part of 4-H livestock training. Everyone did great with their pigs (and the steers!)--Emma's pig, Dandy, got Grand Champion for market, and Max's pig, Polo, was reserve champion. Hugh and his pig, Iver, were the champions in Showmanship, and Wick and his pig, Marco, were the reserve champions in showmanship. They all got big ribbons! Emma also got reserve champion in the Senior Class.

Monday night, we all went to the Rodeo. One of the favorite events here in Scobey is Mutton Bustin', where small kids up to a certain weight do some "sheep riding." Max was eager to give it a try. He ended up being the first rider out, having never even seen the event, let alone been on the back of a sheep before. Jess, who was with all the riders, sheep, and parents at the gate, had advised him against going first, and did not see in time that Max had been given bum instructions by an over-eager psycho-parent (not a fair official) who told Max to grab hold of the sheep's middle with all of his might and not let go. Before Jess could stop what was happening, they had announced Max Cole as the first rider out and opened the gate. That sheep tore out into the arena so fast, that Max, who must have been terrified, held on for dear life and wasn't about to let go.

The proper way to mutton bust, just as in bull riding, is to sit up straight on the animal's back, like you're riding a horse, and hold onto the rope tied around its middle. Max would have been bucked off pretty quick and been relatively unharmed. But he was lying down on the sheep's back, with his arms tight around the sheep's middle. In this position, he stayed on much longer than any mutton buster ever does. I remember thinking, "How is Max ever going to get off that sheep?" and that one of the rodeo clowns should just go lift him off.

And THEN, another person who didn't know what he was doing, opened up the exit gate prematurely. People told us later that the gate is never supposed to be opened until the rider is off of the animal. Well, Max was still holding on tight, and the sheep ran right for the open gate, and Max's head went right into the edge of the gate or the fence, or something. I was sitting in the stands watching in terror. All I saw was Max finally letting go and disappearing into the dusty dirt and the sheep streaking off, possibly having trampled Max. A bunch of people hurried over to where he landed, but I couldn't see a thing. And I didn't see Max get up. Hugh and I ran around the outside of the arena and eventually found Jess and Max headed for the ambulance they have on stand-by. Max's head was bleeding, but he was up and about, which was a great relief to me. He was pretty shook up and claimed he'd never try mutton busting again. Jess, along with the lady medics in the ambulance, determined that Max'd need stitches, all right, but we could take him to the ER ourselves. Jess sent me back to watch the rodeo with Wick and Ivy in the stands, and he and Max headed to the ER.

They were back at the rodeo within and hour, Max with a big bandage around his head and doing just fine. Emma was working at the fry bread booth and missed the whole thing. Shortly after I had rejoined Wick and Ivy in the stands, all the mutton busting was over and they announced Max Cole as the winner. On their way to our car and the ER, a cowgirl who'd been doing barrel racing ran after Max and gave him a $10 bill. Someone had called the ER to let Max know he'd been announced as the winner.

All the rest of the night and the following days of the fair, people asked how Max was doing, and told us how things should have been, and said how sorry they were that things weren't done properly. Max wasn't slowed down much at all, though. We didn't let him ride on any rides, much to his disappointment, but he had fun spending his money on other things and didn't suffer too much. Besides his stitched up cut, a bit of his scalp was taken off. Hopefully his hair will grow back in that spot. If not, whenever he gets a haircut, he'll have an interesting story to tell of how he was once scalped at the rodeo.

But, boy, amen to the song, "Mama's Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys." This was my first ever rodeo and it was a wild night. A bull rider got hurt after Max did, and then, the last event--the Wild Horse Race--was absolutely crazy. Four teams of 3 cowboys came out on foot, along with 4 massive and very wild horses. Each team had to catch a horse, saddle it, and within three minutes, one team member had to ride it all around the edge of the arena, then they had to unsaddle it and race back with the saddle to some designated spot. Before they started the whole thing, they auctioned off each team and Jess bid on a team and won. One of the cowboys on his team took a horse's ear by his TEETH as they tried to saddle it. I didn't notice it, but Jess did. These horses were running all over and going wild, and cowboys were flying all over, too. Just as he was making his complete ride around the arena, after have been bucked off several times, the cowboy on Jess's team reached down to undo his saddle and got knocked of the horse and lay unconcious in the dirt at the very end, which was a worrisome way to end the most eventful night. The ambulance came to his rescue and they loaded him up on a stretcher and took him off with a concussion.

Oh, and the bull riding. One's back and neck and whole BODY takes such a whipping. Where is the enjoyment in THAT?? The barrel racing and calf roping were fun, though.

Birthdays, Aging, and What to Learn When You Are Young

December is full of birthdays in my family, and in January, we've got one more. This year it's a whopper--my Dad is 80 years old today! Wish we could be with him, celebrating in southern California. Hope he's enjoying some warm sunshine and that the air smells like flowers. That would be heaven. Here in Montana, it smells like ice.
I have one of the December birthdays myself, and even though the physical signs of aging are all here, I'm pretty grateful for my 45 years of experience. Just think what Dad has experienced in the last 80 years. My sister Laurie, who has another of our December birthdays, hit an impressive mile stone herself. She just turned 50. You all know that 80 is the new 60, 50 is the new 30, and 45 is . . . time to get bifocals.

My immediate family of 8 went skiing for Christmas, making it the second Big Family Ski Trip in the history of the Jess Cole Family. We hope to have such trips more often, but it's pretty flat out here in SE Montana, and quite a journey to get to some mountains. This year we took a 14-hour train trip to Sandpoint, ID. Traveling by train is a bit more relaxing than traveling by car. You can sleep if you want, and get up and move around a bit. But trains do get behind schedule and aren't always invincible in bad weather. Just keep that in mind. Our trip went smoothly, for the most part, and we were grateful. Just one thing, though. If you ever need a taxi in Sandpoint, ID, the service is lacking, especially at 4 a.m. Sandpoint was MUCH warmer than NE Montana, thank heavens, and THAT was a blessing.
I'm quite impressed with all my kids on skis. We've come a long way since our first family ski trip. Now, everyone can take care of their own boots, skis, poles, etc. And they all excitedly swoosh off with great confidence. Even Ivy, who's almost 3, willingly made it down the bunny hill a few times each day, with a very patient Jess in tow. Every time she fell, she scooped up handfuls of snow and ate them right up, quickly forgetting the real task at hand. Jess had to keep her on track--she was on skis and facing down hill, after all.

I was pretty happy on the bunny slope, myself, and had a helpful one-hour ski lesson. But Jess thought it was time for me to move on and up, up, up the mountain. I shouldn't have gone with him--it was misery. At one point I sat gloomily on a bench with half the mountain still below me, terrified, and exhausted. Memories came back of the day Jess proposed to me. On that day I had thought he was a maniac on a snow machine. I had sat on a bench out in the snow with dried blood all over my face, having just been given a ride by a police officer, and had vowed never to go out with Jess again. And here we were, 20 years later, Jess determined that I should see the view from the highest peek, even though the easiest slope on the mountain still made me nervous. This time, I sat on the bench in the snow and vowed NEVER to humor Jess on a snowy mountain again. We could be at K2 in northern Pakistan 20 years from now, knowing Jess. But I won't do it. I won't do it.

Advice from a wisened 45 year old who's on the cautious side--if you'd like to ski when you are older, learn to do it when you are young!

Merry Christmas to All!

Scobey, as small as it is, has it's own radio station. During the holiday season you can hear all kinds of Christmas greetings from the local businesses, including Scobey Dental! Many have Christ-centered messages--which is most refreshing. And they play all kinds of holiday music. In fact, they're playing a Christmas "Music and the Spoken Word with the Mormon Tabernacle Choir" as I write.

Santa has been making his appearances--Ivy's caught him a few times--he makes her nervous, but doesn't hesitate to tell him she'd like a fairy for Christmas. Don't know where that came from, but she's insistent.

Yesterday, it snowed several inches, and JereLee Gunderson, our neighbor a few doors down, called to say it was a good day for making soup and would we like to come to dinner? She and her husband Milt, who still writes for the Daniels County Leader, our weekly newspaper, though he's retired, moved into town a few years ago, after having lived out in the country for years and years. We had a lovely dinner with the Gundersons--they treated us royally with a beautiful Christmas table with lit candles, delicious soup and bread, tasty Christmas goodies for desert, and pleasant company. With grandparents and family so far away, this was a special treat for us all and felt very much like an over the river and through the woods trip to Grandmother's house, though all it took was a short walk in the snow!

We're Thankful for Much!

Our paper turkeys with the colored "thankful feathers" are up on the wall again, just as they've been every year since 1995. I'd say we've come a long way. In 1995, Quincey and Emma were our only kids and the feathers say "food" and "toys." One feather says "Pinochle," so that was definitely the year the Browns came over from Redlands to spend the holiday with us in Chandler, AZ. Each year the feathers become more and more crowded with writing as our family grows and matures. And all the turkeys displayed together show quite a family history. This year, everyone wrote really small. A few kids even requested more than one feather--which made our turkey quite bushy.

We've just had a year of unexpected changes and long separations. But by Thanksgiving we were all together again at last, and settled snug and warm in our new old house in Scobey, Monatana. (Jess left Moscow for Scobey in mid-August, and Quincey left Moscow for BYU-Provo a few weeks later.) Quincey was NOT going to be with us for Thanksgiving, but she and Jess and Hugh surprised us all, and it was a blessing to have her here for our first Scobey Thanksgiving. (I'll tell that story later.)

So our bushy turkey of 2010 is crowded with feathers filled with long lists in tiny script. The lists include the warm reception we've received from the people of Scobey; the busy little dental practice that Jess bought (it's in a LOG CABIN--he feels RIGHT AT HOME); and all those friends and neighbors and visiting family members who helped us back in Moscow with everything it takes to move a big family with loads of stuff. And that's just a START.

Ivy, I must mention, really has gotten into the spirit of things. Her list grows daily. "I am thankful for pie," she'll say. "Will you write that on my feather?"

Love that Lutefisk! (Well, we willingly tried it, anyway)

On Halloween day at 3 o'clock, we walked 46 steps to the Lutheran church for the annual Lutefisk dinner. Lutefisk is "lyefish" in Norwegian, and it is loved, despised, or simply tolerated by all on the vast northwestern prairie, depending on who you talk to. Back in ancient times, lye was used to preserve codfish, which is "one of Norway's oldest trading commodities. It's been a lasting Norwegian tradition in this part of the country, despite the lack of seashore and codfish!

In a great hall similar to an LDS cultural hall minus the basketball hoops, several tables were set up, and at each place at the tables was a paper place mat and napkin, each declaring: "Love that Lutefisk!" The place mats also included a brief history of Lutefisk, along with simple recipes you could try at home, provided you have some Lutefisk handy. Don't have any? Just call the Lutefisk Hot-line at 1-800-882-0212. (Now 882 is a Moscow prefix. Wouldn't it be funny is someone in Moscow ID was taking Lutefisk orders and giving lutefisk tips to all of the great Midwest?!)

The place mat history also said "Today we feel that a new meaning has been given to the word Lutefisk--one that means family, fellowship, and good times." Scobey's Lutefisk dinner is served in the Lutheran Church every year on the 4th Sunday in October.

Anyway, lucky for everyone present, Lutefisk is always served with a turkey or ham dinner. To put it simply, Lutefisk is fish jello. But we had a lovely Thanksgiving meal to go with it--even ended things nicely with a slice of pumpkin pie. The service was super--grandfatherly men in red Lutefisk aprons kept our cups full of water, and our table well stocked with potatoes and gravy, stuffing, turkey, and cranberry sauce. They were like Lutheran High Priests.

I must not forget to mention the LEFSE. Lefse looks JUST like flour tortillas, but it tastes quite different. It's main ingredient is potatoes. You spread the lefse with butter and sprinkle it with sugar, top it with Lutefisk (or not), roll it up, and eat it. So lefse is always served with Lutefisk, and it sounds like it is a staple throughout the year( lefse, not Lutefisk, unless I guess you're a hard core Norwegian).

Jesse's dental assistant spends one day a year making lefse and sends some to relatives and freezes the rest for her family to enjoy throughout the next year. Yesterday was her big lefse day, and I got to join in on the rolling and grilling. She'd been preparing the potatoes since Wednesday with her husband, peeling, boiling, and mashing 60 pounds worth. On Saturday she added the flour (butter and cream went into them when they were mashed) and with a few friends and her brother (the two had grown up making it with their mother) and me, rolled it all out and grilled/baked them on big round griddles and flipped them over with long flat sticks. We did loads and loads. And boy are they good right off the griddle. Love that LEFSE!