Sheriff Without a Gun

This is a touching story from Doug.  I think we can all appreciate his sentiments.

“Sheriff Without a Gun”

              In “The Andy Griffith” show Sheriff Andy Taylor refuses to carry a gun. Many find this so odd and so outrageous that a Sheriff would not carry a gun that they; print newspaper articles about it, make TV shows about it and a movie about it. Andy Taylor is a man you can trust. He is a friend to everybody. And he will always do the right thing and never let you down. Andy Taylor does not need a gun, he is respected.

              Having been raised on a Dairy I was taught that when you die there are four Kingdoms of Glory. I would imagine that most are familiar with these but for those who weren't aware of the fourth let me just say that it is a special place prepared for the Dairymen. Where God having realized the hardships associated with dairy cows allows a few more things to slide. Most common among these is swearing. Now it is just impossible to work with an animal as stubborn as a milk cow and not cuss just a little bit, or so Dairy Lore would have you believe. Even more incredible to me than a "Sheriff without a gun" is a dairyman who will not swear. Earlier on it came to my attention that Uncle Ross did not swear. I had my doubts as to whether or not that was even possible for a dairyman so I began to pay close attention.  Ross has never let me down. As I saw his example I thought to myself, if he can do it then I can do it. Turns out as colorful as a milk parlor can be some nights, construction job sites can be much worse. And when I am in those situations, still, I think of Ross.

              This may seem like a very small and insignificant thing to some of you, but for me it is huge it has allowed me to have a much greater degree of self-respect and to think that at least in one thing no matter the situation you can count on me to do the right thing.

               I have often thought, “Wouldn't it be nice to raise my kids in Mayberry.” As I have pondered on this I have realized that I can. I just have to surround my kids with people like Uncle Ross who, like Andy Taylor, is a man you can trust. A friend to everyone. And who no matter what will always do the right thing and never let you down.

“The Dairyman Who won’t Swear”

Thank You Uncle Ross

Mini-motorist

So just a quick post of random things I remember about learning to drive Juniper style…

My very first memory of “driving” is sitting on my dad’s lap steering the tractor, I might have been 3 or 4… Dad?

Secondly I remember being in kindergarten and “driving” Old Blue while Dad loaded the back… that must have been the longest it ever took to load a truck… Dad would jump down and give it some gas (I couldn't reach the pedals) then he would hop on back as I steered down the center of two rows, and then he would hop off and give it some gas… and on it went.  Looking back, we must have been picking up a few leftover bales or something, it seems ridiculous to try and do a legit load in this manner.

Finally, in 4^th grade, when it was time to learn to drive for real, Dad taught me to drive in the Chevy Luv (what a great ride) we would drive in the field and around the farm.  Haha… I remember once heading to the barn from the house, apparently I gave it a little more gas than Dad thought necessary (yup, started right at the beginning!) so he yanked the E-brake part-way down the hill and saved the day. 

Later that summer, we were in the field near Henrie’s and Dad found himself without a needed tool.  So I got sent on my first solo trip.  I don’t know that Mom was nearly as impressed as I was.  So that was it… I was a driver.  And like every 4^th grader, I was now ready to show off my new skills to passengers.  So, Kristen in tow, we set off on an adventure…

However.

I got confused regarding the gearing… I was thinking I needed to be in 4^th gear to go up the hill.

Oops.

So again, down by Henrie’s, I only made it part way up the hill before it died… frightening.  But with my superb skills we backed straight down the road.

No we didn't. 

We ended up in the sagebrush.  We were upright though, with no noticeable damage to the Luv.  Of course we had an audience… TJ, Tyler, I’m sure some of the Campbell boys, and I don’t know who else came by just in time to add to my embarrassment.  Don’t you worry though, I got the gearing all figured out and I was a pro by the time it came time for Drivers Ed the summer between 8^th and 9^th grade.

Side note: that summer I was also in 4-H… sewing was not my favorite thing.  I just wanted to be done, Dad came in as mom was trying to convince me to take my time and do a good job on my shorts (what???).  He told me that if I drove the sewing machine like that he would think that that’s how I drove his pick-up and he would have to take away my driving privileges.  Boo. :(

Mike and I took private lessons in Burley so we could get the lessons over quick and would be available to help on the farm (I think that’s why they put us in private lessons).  Anyway… the difference between the two of us and the “city folk” was striking to say the least.  I remember Mike and I looking at each other like “Is this guy for real?”  When we pulled into the gas station and the teacher wanted to know if we knew how to gas up the car.  We also heard horror stories about the other students.  Like when two separate students ran off the road into the same person’s front lawn… oopsie! 

One more driving story comes to mind, the city cousins came to visit, one who was a little older than me (I was 15) had never driven.  I thought “I’ll let you drive!”  Bad idea… I thought we were going over the hill by Crippen’s.

I didn't let her drive home.

Dad wasn't happy that I let her drive at all.

What are your best “learning to drive in Juniper stories?”  Or for you parents your best “watching kids learn to drive in Juniper stories?”

The Juniper Shelter

From Jerica:

At the Cassia County fair,  Juel told me it was my turn to write in the blog. I know it was a couple weeks ago but life has been...well, life. 

At my family reunion a few weeks ago, we were talking about how my older 4 siblings got to do a lot and the younger 4 got the shaft of "life". We never went on vacation, had swimming lessons, and many more. My dad kept saying stuff like "how horrible of parents" they were. It got me thinking about everything they did do for us. Sure we did the majority of stuff on the dairy or down at the flat but i learned a lot that other kids didn't learn. After living in a city since 18 yrs old i was able to see how different "city-folk" are. 

I recently got a job in Twin Falls and I am now outside of the Mormon bubble. I didn't know how much of a culture shock just moving to Twin is. I hear the stories and life styles my coworkers have chosen and I can't help but be happy for the examples my parents have shown. I have made some mistakes in my life but not as serious as those of my coworkers and I know I couldn't have the life I do now without the hard work and example of my parents. I have chosen what I did in my life for myself. Growing up in Juniper has built a huge shelter over my head but I wouldn't be who I am without my childhood/teenage years taking place in Juniper or without the parents I have. 

I keep thinking about those general conference Sundays when the kids would go outside and play soccer with two of us in tutus or playing softball by the grain shed or even those hot summer days filling up the "swimming pool" and freezing because the water was so cold but we swam anyway because we have tough skin. 

Being head butted, kicked, stepped on, etc has molded us to who we are. I don't know about you or anyone else but I take pride in who I am, who my parents are,  and where I grew up. 

Building Haystacks

Sorry it has been a while since the last story... you know how Summers go.  Here are some great memories from Crystal.  I can relate on all counts.  Especially the part about Uncle Ross... he was some kind of mind wizard with those bales... it was rare, but I remember getting him good once with Dad... I can still hear the  "hohhh... boy" as he attempted to lift the greenest of green bales... followed by laughter all around, including from Ross himself.  I also echo her thanks.  

Good times!

From Crystal:

I got to buck bales this week at work!  Okay, so the bales were something like 20"x10"x10" and covered in plastic wrap, but still.  We got about 50 of these little straw bales in this week in preparation for fall, they came with an assortment of scarecrows.  As I was throwing these bales off our conveyer belt as fast as I could ...stacking them with proper farm technique mind you, I couldn't help but be taken back to all those days on top of the stack having bales sent up the elevator at us as fast as the people below could send them.  The girls down stairs kept trying to turn off the belt cause they thought I had more than I could handle, but that farm pride had kicked in and I let them know that those things could come up as fast as they could send them.
 
It made me stop and think about everything I do.  I think everything I do I'm still just building haystacks.  I work with the same competitive speed I learned from competing with Douglas and trying to live up to Jami's reputation.  I maintain the same pride I had in trying to make sure my part of the stack was not the one weaving and lopsided.  I know I didn't always succeed in this, but I also learned in the act of building haystacks how to maintain a positive expression no matter how hot and tired I was.  I learned to enjoy my work and how to have fun when I worked.  Ross had an incredible ability to make light bales look heavy and heavy ones look much lighter.  This was horrible on the back, but good for the spirit.  I couldn't help but laugh every time I about threw a hay bale over my head or didn't even manage to move it in my first attempt because I had unconsciously judged it's weight based on the way Ross had given it to me.  I leaned that to sit down is the kiss of death, it is much harder to get going again after you have rested.   

I maintain pride in knowing I can do hard things and receive the same satisfaction when I look over my work.  There is no better feeling in the world then looking over a well completed haystack and knowing all the work you put into it.
 
Thanks to all who taught me how to build haystacks.

Forts

I love, Love, LOVE this one from Crystal.  Forts were a big part of growing up Juniper style.  Where else would kids be allowed to exercise such creativity?

From Crystal:

I think we should give mention to the many clubs and clubhouses/forts that accounted for so many of our days.  I particularly remember being a small child and being excluded from the “big” kid’s club house.  Where if I remember right Jami was queen and Aaron was king ….dang they were cool. 

But I do believe that when we became the “big” kids (Doug, Brad, Laura, Jerica, Myself and occasionally the younger boys Jason, Forest and Levi) is when the real fort building took place.  The “old house” or old church farm grain bin was really a carpentry experience training facility.  We were not shy about stealing old slabs of wood and less old buckets of nails and hammers to turn our “old house” into a three story mansion.  

Of course accomplishing this feat did not come without some painful learning experiences.  For example: If you slip while standing on the bar which stretches across the rooms (the only way to reach the third floor area with your hammer) you should make sure to gracefully fall in front of or behind said bar and not take it up the center.  

When building a swing use enough twine.  

When building a floor use enough support boards and nails.

The best feature of our fort was the trampoline swing.  We found the frame of an old one man jumper; you know the kind the little trampolines that are about two feet wide and 8 in off the ground.  The frame had only two legs remaining.  Simply by hanging the legs on the bar that ran through the center of the house we had the best swing man has ever built (we just had to remember not to swing to high or the entire thing would jump of the bars….which happened many a time).  

Second best feature was probably the toilet in the corner …don’t know what that was ….Doug?

Does anyone have a picture of the “old house?”  Remember the lean on that thing?  …haha, and yet we had no qualms about standing on the roof.

The “old house” was not our only fort, just the most popular.  We also had “the valley,” and old pig pen …the one where we lost the hammers and made Dad and Ross not too happy, we had forts in the mountains and forts in the straw stacks (remember picking buckets of carrots, who knew that 10 gallons of carrots was not a feasible lunch for 5 kids).   

P.S.  If any of you do have a pic of said house send it my way and we will get it attached to this post.  jami_c_hurst@hotmail.com

Fireworks

From Jerica:

Laura and I were reminiscing on the good 'ol days in Juniper when we remembered the story of Brock and the firework.  I'm not sure what it was but I think it was one of those bloom flower ones. Anyway, we were standing at the end of the sidewalk where the two bushes were, lighting these fireworks when one burned a hole in Brad's shorts and went up my shirt and making its own exit. It was my favorite Scooby-Doo t-shirt too. My mom just found out about that story last night and the look on her face let us know she wasn't too thrilled about it happening, but just laughed it off anyway.

Thanks Jerica.  I remember lighting one of Kristen's night shirts on fire with one of those party poppers.  And, if I know Brock and the rest of the Juniper boys, there are plenty more "fireworks" stories to be shared. ;)

Dancing in the Rain

Hey all!  I know a story is long over due, but I don't have any extras filed, and I have been kind of lazy when it comes to writing.  I was looking for pic the other day and found these pics of a 2011 rain storm in Juniper. It didn't amount to a flash flood, but it was an impressive water show nonetheless.  I LOVE a good rain storm, my inner child wants to splash in the puddles and spin circles while looking to the sky as rain drops fall on my face.  If it comes with thunder and lightning, that is an added bonus.  Perks of a Juniper rainstorm include the view from the front porch, and the smell of sagebrush.  

I would love to see and share some of your favorite Juniper pics, and as always, would appreciate a story or two... long/short, doesn't matter.  Enjoy!

"Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass.  It's about learning to dance in the rain." --Vivian Greene

Blessed to be his Daughter

From Jerica:

About two winters ago, I decided I would help out on the dairy by learning how to milk the cows and help with the morning milking. At first I thought it was a great idea, because I would be helping my dad and thought he might have wanted the help. I got a week into it and I was starting to regret it but I stuck with it. When spring came around I would have to get up and chase the cows down the hill behind the house to get them into the barn. I will admit, I was probably the worst cow milker that dairy has ever seen, but it helped me appreciate what my dad (and every other dairyman) did for my family. I knew he sacrificed a lot for us, but by having the experience of milking the cows opened my eyes to what a strong, hard working man he is. I do love my dad for all that he has done for me and my family. His hard work did not go unnoticed. I have been truly blessed to be his daughter.

Forget the Glass Slippers... This Princess Wears Irrigating Boots!

One summer afternoon (the summer where I ripped the seat out of every pair of pants I owned), we had finished hauling hay fairly early in the day, there was a leak in the main line down at the flat that needed repaired.  For any of you who have not had the privilege of a seek-and-find the leak in the line mission, you have a generalized mud hole and somewhere beneath all this mud is one (hopefully) hole that has to be identified and repaired.  This clearly involves a lot of digging, and a lot of mud.  Dad and I dug down around a riser to what we hoped was the problem area, my left leg was down in our hole and my right leg was up out of the hole.  Did I mention the part about a lot of mud?  Yeah, so my right leg was gradually sinking into the mud as we worked in the hole.  We finished up in that spot (I honestly don’t know if we had found the source of the leak at this point) and as I went to walk away, I discovered my right leg was firmly planted in that thick mud.  As hard as I pulled, the only thing moving was my femur out of the hip joint.  I started to take my foot out of the boot thinking this would be my only escape.  Dad saw my solution and was like “No!  The mud will cave in around the boot and you won’t be able to get your foot back in or the boot out of the ground.”  After several more tries it was apparent that leaving the boot behind was the only option, besides, it already had a hole in it.  We finished our job and I walked back to the pick-up with one boot and waited for the courier to bring me a new pair of boots and pants (yup, ripped those ones out too… while hauling hay earlier in the day) and didn’t think much more about the lost boot.

Fast-forward a few years, I am now married, it is Christmas Eve and we have just finished singing carols around the tree and Dad tells us he wants to give us all a gift. 

Wait… WHAT?!?! 

We begged EVERY SINGLE Christmas Eve for the last 20 years to open a present on Christmas Eve and the answer was always “No.”  Who is this guy?  

It was a different kind of gift.

The one you never wear out.

The one you never outgrow.

The one that never goes out of style.

The one you never forget.

He went around the room and told each individual how much he loved us, and why he was proud of us.  When it was my turn, he mentioned how he appreciated my hard work and how much he had enjoyed and now missed working with me on the farm.  And how every time he walked by my boot sticking out of the ground as he worked, he got a little tear in his eye.

I had a lot more than a little tear in my eye at this point.

Fast forward a few more years.  The farm had decided to abandon one form of child abuse and upgrade from hand-lines to pivots.  As they dug out the risers one by one, they came to “our riser”, yup, the one with six inches of rubber boot sticking out of the ground next to it.  Dad told the guys he wanted that riser, they told him there was one already dug out he could have.  “Nope,” he needed “that riser.” 

Not sure how much later, a few weeks or a month-or-so later, I went to Juniper for a visit.  As I walked up the sidewalk, there in the flower bed was a riser, and my boot, buried, six inches showing above the ground.

I smiled.  I'm still my Dad's Princess.

“Did you see it?”  Mom asked as I got to the front door?

Apparently now that I had seen it, she believed that she would be able to take this “lawn ornament” out. 

Nope, this, like the memory of the day it was lost, was to be a permanent fixture.

I love you Dad!  Thank you does not begin to cover my debt to you.  You are my hero in every sense of the word.  Happy Father’s Day to you and all the other Juniper dads that taught me to work, that allowed me to make mistakes and taught me how to fix them.

Mom figured out how to make it work!

Side note about hand lines:

A few weeks ago I was taking care of a kid in the ED who told us he wanted to be a farmer when he grew up “Best job there is” he said.  The patient, his dad, the doctor and myself talked a little about farm life and the doc asked how they watered, “wheel lines or pivots”… wait… what about hand lines?  So they said how pivots were the only way to go and the doctor (who was apparently paid in milk shakes for his farm work as a child) asked “Do you know what you call hand lines?”  Everyone just looked at him waiting for the answer… “Motivation for higher education!”  Haha.  Looking back I always think of moving hand lines as a good memory, admittedly though, there was often a great deal of repentance required on my part before I could go to sleep those nights!

A Little Gas

Isn't it funny how when we do something embarrassing the first thing we do is check to see who saw rather than attend to our injuries?  Here is just such a story.  Thanks for sharing Jerica!

From Jerica:

Two winters ago Forrest, Brad, and I were out riding the snow machines in Rushton's field. This is the first time I had driven one so I was a little scared. After a while, we rode over to the end of the field closest to the garbage bins. There were three rows of drifts that had been plowed to help keep snow off the road. I was feeling brave so I decided to slowly go over two of the drifts. I turned around and waited for Brad to jump off it to go back onto the field. Then it was Forrest turn to jump then I would ride over (not jump). I went too close behind Forrest when he went and as I was going, the rooster tail of his jump caught me in the face which caused me to hit the gas a little ( by a little I mean a lot) and I ended up going over it at an angle instead of straight on. By doing that it had bucked me off. I was sure I was going to get run over but the left side of my body just, very hard, hit the side of the machine and I missed the tracks. I popped my head up and look over at the garbage bins and see Christine waiting for the school bus to pick up her kids. I bust up laughing because if I was in her position, I would be laughing hysterically. Forrest and Brad must have saw it happen cuz they came riding back over laughing their heads off.

Real Life Tonka Trucks

From Jerica:

Forrest, Doug, Brad, and I were riding our bikes down the road toward Rushton's farm. It was right after Forrest got his bike and it still had the training wheels on it. We were going around the corner by the tree just down the road from the dairy and when we got about half way between the corner and Rushton's farm a huge mine crawler thing came around Rushton's corner. It was taking up the whole road. Doug, Brad, and I all saw the thing coming but Forrest was nonchalantly riding his bike down the middle of the road. After much yelling, he saw it coming, hopped off his bike and ran him and his bike to the borrow pit. I never did know why he didn't just ride it to the side of the road. Not a very good story, but it's one I came up with.

----------------------------------------------------------

Thanks Jer!

Those things are massive!  I remember Dad telling me the only thing you go off the road for in a loaded hay truck is an airplane.  However, when we came across a semi hauling one of these giants, we managed to get our loaded truck off the road rather quickly!  I also remember Ross asking the crew in said truck if we could use their monster Tonka truck to haul the rest of our hay.  The fellows said they would be happy to haul our hay if we could load the truck... needless to say, we spent the rest of the summer hauling hay the usual way!  

Boys...

Life on the farm is certainly different than city life.  A prerequisite for being a farm kid is a healthy imagination--which leads to activities that may or may not be so healthy... or safe as Joe explains.

From Joe:

There is no logic reason, or limit to what boys can do when they get together. We can’t explain why it is so amusing to build a Catapult with a 2X4, a rock fulcrum, a stray farm cat, and a bail of hay being tossed off the top of the ten wheeler overshot. I can’t tell you why we are curious how much weight a cow eyeball can hold before it explodes, after it is extracted using precision surgical tools like old timer pocket knives and pliers.

We had a common thread of unity because these things made normally boring farm life exciting and new, and we were only limited by our creativity and the school of hard knocks, like not to pee on an oil fire, or blow up toilets with M80s. Yet there are some things which normal people out of respect for the dead would give any creature a proper burial, but to these boys, I won’t name them (Sam, Joe, Steve, Aaron.) When an animal dies not much is sacred, especially when it comes to mean old roosters which would peck your eyes out if given the opportunity.

On one joyous occasion one of the roosters deceased, (I swear it was an accident.) but no one buried this old miserable bird. Instead we suddenly found joy in using the rotting poultry as a genius tool of pranks as long as it was staying together. I think it went hidden in a bucket of grain once, and tied to a entry way to the grain shed, and I may have waited for Sam for some time to plant the rotting bird in his chest, I can’t quite remember the details, but Sam might. I forgot about what I did, and life went on.

Life went on and the chicken got even more rotten. Over the smell of manure and cows I could always smell it when I went to feed my cows. I would smell it, then I would find it. Work that summer was hard for young boys who had ADD, and an imagination, but the cows had to be fed. The stacks were always close to the mangers and Ross would not let us toss the bails off the side of the stack into the manager, we had to peel them off the front and carry them back between the manger and the stack.

To save time I would usually carry two bails back at a time, one bouncing off the front of my right leg, and another bouncing off of my back left leg, then I would shimmy between the stack and the manger to get to feed the cows.

One day I was doing my shimmy on the 3^rd manger and I got all the way to the cow trough and suddenly I could smell something. I had smelled it before. Like something had died and had set out in the sun for several days. The chicken. No sooner had I identified the smell, the mass of feathers, claws beak, and worm infested flesh came crashing down on my head. Sam had made a direct hit from on top of the hay stack. Mission accomplished.

I decided from that point to call a truce because I knew Sam was not scared to see my dead chicken and raise me one dead cow falling from the sky. I think I got over pretty fast considering it felt like that thing hit me at terminal velocity.

As I think back on those days there was nothing in my life I have experienced that has been as pure and as fun or as hard as those days growing up on the farm. People from there never forget where they come from. They work hard, pray hard, and play hard. Brothers, sisters and friends. We all go our different directions in life, yet when we come together after years we just sort of pick up where we left off, and that is priceless.   

Little Things with a Great Impact

                                                   

Jami and Dad

From Juel:

Sorry if this one is preachy, but it needs recorded somewhere, so I guess this is a good a place as any. 

Kammy was sick and needed some medicine from Tremonton one morning.  So, before daylight Jami and I headed out in the van.  We made it as far as the rest area and the van started giving us troubles.  Let’s see, Jami was only _?_ years old at the time.  We did manage to get the van to the other side of the freeway (headed home side) before it died completely.  Upon discussing our options (If I remember right it was cold outside), we decided this would be a good time to pray, we needed help!  Well, we prayed.  I knew the next car by would stop.  Not faith.  Knowledge.  Just knew it.  I think I told Jami, but not 100% for certain that the next car by would stop. Anyway, we prayed and as we were praying a truck went whizzing by about 55 mph rocking the van, my heart just dropped.  As we ended our prayer and I looked up, there was a Cadillac backing up towards us. When it passed, I have no idea, but it was a female trucker on her day off, smoking a stogie, who was open to revelation from our Father in Heaven.  And she gave us the much needed lift back home.  The Lord truly does watch after his sparrows.

Jami’s Recollections:

I don’t remember it being cold, but I do remember it was overcast (not sure if it was rainy or cold or just stinking early!).  It was a Monday morning, and we were headed to Tremonton for some much needed de-lice-ing supplies… so yes, Kammy was sick, sick of kids passing lice back and forth, sick of combing through 3 wiggly little girls’ long hair with a tiny comb, sick of endless (more than usual) piles of laundry, sick of bagging up belongings… you get the idea. 

I remember the van breaking down (seems like that was not too unusual at this time).  But we needed help for sure!  I did not want to hoof it back home!  Dad did not tell me he knew the next car would stop until after the ordeal was over.  The gal was very nice and offered to take us all the way home, but weather was such that we just had her stop on the interstate and drop us off next to the dirt road that led to the barn, we hopped out, climbed the fence and walked back to the house… don’t remember what we did, but somehow we got the supplies we needed and eventually got rid of the crazy lice.  And I did learn much about the power of prayer through this experience and also how good people are.  There are good people of every race and religion and the Lord is able to work miracles through these good people.  And I must have been about 11 or 12 Dad.

A funny little side story (at least I think so) from Jami:

                      Kristen and Jami

Haha... I remember during this whole lice ordeal mom asking if she could cut my hair.  What was she crazy?!?  No she couldn't cut my hair.  So being the amazing mom she is, she patiently combed through my thick long hair with that insanely fine toothed comb day after day.  Several weeks later Kristen and I were rolling bales in what felt like 200 degree weather, during the day we decided we would need to cut our hair if we were to continue our Summer employment.  My mom was gone, so we called Diana to see if she would cut our hair for us.  She agreed and the hair that went to my mid-back was cut to just below the chin. When I got home my mom was so upset with me.  It's my hair!!!  I always thought she was upset that I cut off my beautiful long hair, it wasn't until years later we were discussing it that I realized she was upset because she spent all that time saving my hair from the lice and then I showed my thanks by chopping it off.  Oops!  Sorry mom!  

Pepe Le Pew Part Two

From Kammy:

Sorry, but keeping a journal has never been one of my strengths, much to my regret when I try to come up with names, dates and details.  Anyway, one morning when Levi was a Junior or Senior, the dog was making a fuss by the cars when he headed out to do chores before school.  When Levi jumped in his car later to head to tech, it smelt like skunk and we figured the dog had been warning one off the property.   We just hoped the dog didn’t get sprayed in the process.

Surprisingly, the aroma still lingered when I got in our car to head into town later that morning.  I thought maybe a tire or something had caught part of the skunk’s retaliation.  The smell got worse as I headed down the hill.  I tried opening the window and ventilating, but it didn’t help.  Something wasn’t right.  Stopping at the barn, I jumped out and lifted the hood to check for a dead skunk.

Nope, not dead, two paws and then the little critter’s head popped out from behind the engine block.  "Whoa boy!  Stay!"  I can assure you it didn’t take me long to close the hood and head into the barn for Juel’s help.  Yes, I think I was half in shock, I know I was pretty shaky and not very coherent when I tried to explain the situation to Juel.   Tony, pulled up in his truck just as we came out of the barn ("oops, sorry I’m in the way guy, but I am NOT getting back into that car to move it!")  Juel lifted the hood, sure enough, it wasn’t just my imagination.  The little beast stared back at us, his beady little eyes were issuing a challenge.    Juel used a broken shovel handle and nudged the guy, trying to get him to leave on his own steam.   No luck, he was sticking to his make-shift fox hole.   Ross had shown up by this time and joined Juel and Tony in trying to come up with the best removal solution for our adversary .  Tony volunteered the pistol stashed in his cab; but since bullets and engines don’t mix, the idea was put on the back burner.   Juel kept mentioning he had heard skunks couldn’t spray if you picked them up by the tail and kept their hind legs off the ground.  I think he was seeking reassurance from his fellowmen, but none came.  Finally, they decided to go ahead and test the theory.   Juel would pick the skunk up by the tail (still can’t decide if he was brave or just stupid! But, hey, he was coming to my rescue so ya got to give him points either way) then throw him towards the ditch; then Tony, who had retrieved said pistol, would “take him out.”  It was a shoot-out at high noon!  (Hopefully,with the humans being the only ones shooting!)

Juel took a step forward and the rest of us took a step back.  We all held our breath as he reached in and grabbed PePe’ le Pew’s tail and pulled his resisting body from the trenches.  Mission accomplished!  Well, at least he was out of the car, but now he was dangling from Juel’s outstretched arm and he wasn't pleased; but, thankfully, he was still “keeping it together!”   Juel walked over and tossed the skunk into the weeds.    I think he was a little dazed after his ordeal; because he just kind of scrunched himself together and stood there.  (The skunk, not Juel. . .well, come to think of it Juel was a little dazed, too.) 

Anyway, now it was “dead eye dick’s (aka Tony’s) turn; he raised his pistol, took careful aim, squeezed the trigger and. . .missed!   You’d think that would have had the little varmint running for his life;  but no,  he cowered in place as our gunslinger lined up his sights again, shot  and . . .missed again!   Just goes to show that ten paces doesn’t necessarily mean you’re  gonna get your. . .skunk.   Wish I could say the third time was the charm.   (And you always thought those shooting galleries at the carnival were rigged.)   I honestly can’t remember if the skunk was shot or the poor little guy finally came to his senses and slunk into the ditch (the skunk, not Tony,) but Juel tells me Tony finally prevailed.  With the excitement over and Tony suitably embarrassed, I climbed into my car and headed to Burley with a smile on my face. . .and the windows down!!!

*Tony  was hauling some of our hay.

Happy Mother's Day Juniper!

They say it takes a village to raise a child, I am so glad my village was Juniper.  A village where people care about people, and people help people.  Juniper has played a vital role in my upbringing.  Today I want to pay special tribute to the Juniper moms. 

You have cooked for me.  You have let me stay in your homes.  You have sent sandwiches to the field.  You have cheered me on.  You have fought for me.  You have been my 4-H leaders.  You have coordinated community get-togethers.  You have been my primary teachers.  You have cut my hair.  You have shared hand-me-downs.  You have taught me the piano.  You have shared from your fruit trees and gardens.  You have shared goodies.  You have opened your home to me on occasions when snow would not permit me to get to my own.  You have lent baking supplies.  You have taught me various crafts.  You have taught me to work.  You have come without question when I called with a concern when my mom was away from home.  You have showed me how to serve, and allowed me to serve by your side.  You have shared stories and experiences with me.    You have shared your talents.  You have shared your kids.  You have rallied around my family on multiple occasions when we needed a helping hand. 

For this and many other services I am forever in your debt.  Thank you and Happy Mother’s Day Juniper!

Did Anyone Bring Hotdogs?!?

After posting the last tale about being scared of what might be lurking in the dark, I had a few conversations with the siblings about what exactly we were afraid of in Juniper.  I was afraid of things jumping out at me, Crystal and Jason were scared of kidnappers, and I know Utahna and I were both afraid of robbers.  Looking back, the most frightening thing should have been a rock or hole in our path in the dark or maybe an unwanted visit from a creature.  Utahna and I held hands to comfort each other, apparently Crystal sang loud and bad to ward off potential kidnappers, Jason reports carrying a stick whenever forced to go out in the dark.  However, if there is one thing Juniper-ites should have a healthy fear of, it is fire, specifically fire in the summer… one spark ignites and it spreads like… well, you know.  Here is just such a story.  Enjoy!

             Black Pine ablaze in 2000

From Juel:

I remember trying to burn some goat grass down on the sandy corner of the Butler field one day, (actually it was a very pleasant cool morning, about the 1^st of June), close to the freeway fence.  A passerby stopped, was lost and asking for directions; so, instead of being rude, telling him “I am too busy right now”, I tried to help him out.  Well, while my back was turned a bit of my fire got into the fence and the freeway borrow pit and started heading north through the June grass.  I was all alone, no cell phone—actually, in those days we called them blankets for smoke signals.  I had ½ the smoke just not the blanket to dial the right number.  Anyway, back to my story.  I was praying, literally, and working feverously to stop that fire and I would almost get it with my shovel and a little gust of wind would come up and push it past me again.  Over and over this would happen.  Finally, I gave up on that idea, drove fast as I could back to the dairy, got the Massey with the loader, headed back towards the fire down the freeway and was able to use the tractor bucket to put the fire out.  About that time, Craig Rushton showed up with his sprayer and put the manure out which was smoldering on my tractor.  Thank you Craig.  And shortly thereafter a BLM official pulled up and told me he would not bill me for the fire since I put it out, really nice guy, had a good chat.  It was a very exciting day for me, one I hope never to have to relive.  Don’t like working that hard with the heart bruising the inside of my chest!

Sissies

From Utahna:

The earliest thing I remember (besides running from deadly roosters--do you guys remember those?!?) was when  Jami and I were in charge of feeding the pigs.  It was not uncommon for dad to come in after dark and ask if we had fed the pigs.  A few,  OK, lots of times we had to answer  "no".  So, we would have to go feed the pigs in the dark.  No, it couldn't wait 'til morning because that was our responsibility to feed them every day.  We got to eat today and the pigs needed food too.  So Jami and I would walk hand in hand shaking from fear of the dark (at least mine was) to feed the pigs.  That was a long walk too I assure you. But you better believe we didn't forget to feed our pigs again... for a while... you know at least a day or two :) No, I really am grateful for this simple lesson taught at a young age of being dependable.  The other lesson learned is sisters are always there for you!

----------------------------------------------------------

I only remember being sent out to feed the pigs after dark once, it was quite frightening.  It was dark and there was just enough of a breeze to make the extension piece wired to the auger make an eerie squeaking noise... you know the noise that interrupts the silence right before the bad guy jumps out in a horror flick?!?  I remember holding hands as well (let's not figure out how old we might have been).  And the shaking... a mix of fear and anger. I'm sure Dad took some undeserved verbal hits that night.  But I too am grateful for the lesson I was taught this night (and apparently on other occasions this is just the one that stuck in my mind) to be dependable and do the job you agreed to do.  And I am SOOOO grateful for Utahna.  Once we decided we didn't want to kill each other I had the best, most loyal friend for life a girl could ever ask for.  Love you sis!

And yes, yes, I remember running from deadly roosters!  It was the only way to get to Kristen and Catie's!

Did You Hear the Joke About the Skunk?

Never mind, it stinks...

                           Ross


From Kammy:

One night the kids and I returned home after dark from a trip to town.  Levi was in charge of the chickens and I pulled into the lower lot so my car lights would shine towards the coop; giving him enough light to feed them and gather the eggs.   He opened the door and entered; when he exited a few seconds later he had a stunned look on his face.   I guess three skunks in a 5’ by 5’ coop rattles you just a little bit.  Well, as most of you probably know chickens and skunks do not cohabitate in a friendly manner.   This would usually be where Juel stepped up to the plate, but he was in Malta taking care of some church responsibilities.   With no husband and no gun, I turned to Ross, he graciously grabbed his 22 and came to our aid.

Ross headed to the coop to check things out, Levi as his assistant.  I bravely held the gun at the far end of the coop.  Ross popped back out to get the gun, confirming Levi’s report of three skunks.  Levi stayed at his post, albeit with lots of disgusting noises.   Returning, Ross took position and shot the first intruder.  Levi was carrying on rather loudly about the situation and the skunk.   From my well- ventilated corner,  I was trying to talk him down and said something to the effect of, “Levi, calm down, it’s not that bad!”  Ross came walking out and looked at me with tears running down his face and said, “OH, YES IT IS!”  

I can’t remember how the rest of the culprits where dealt with, seems like maybe Ross took out one more and the third dirty little cheese ball escaped,  but the images and sounds of that moment are branded on my memory.   Taking into account the situation, I managed not to laugh that night, but every time I relate the incident and my memory pulls up the image of Ross’s face and the pitch of his wretched rejoinder, the laughter can’t be contained.     

 Anyway, with the skunks gone the surviving chickens (No, not me, the feathered ones) and the mighty hunters could call it and night and go to bed. . .well, maybe after a shower!

 P.S.  Thanks Ross for coming to our rescue on this and other occasions, and for supporting Juel in his callings.

_________________________________________________________

Surely a good skunk story brings a memory to your mind... send it my way!  jami_c_hurst@hotmail.com

Character

Sanford (photo courtesy the Campbell family) 

From Juel:

I remember plowing one spring when a few snowdrifts remained in the fields, and also a few wet spots. As I was plowing, I unfortunately ended up in the middle of a wet spot and buried both the plow and the D-5.   Well, with a little effort and the D-6 we were able to retrieve them both.   Sanford could tell I was feeling a bit bad about what had happened, so he related to me the following story (Anyone who knows this story feel free to correct me.)

When the petroleum pipeline was being laid in 1950 or 60 something, Sanford was plowing snow for them down where the underpass is now,  by Jose and Christine’s house.   The workers had gotten a truck stuck, so Sanford backed up to them with the D-6 and they hooked a chain to the back axle of the truck.  Sanford got the chain taut and then pulling forward proceeded in their efforts to extract the truck.  Well, Sanford felt something give so he poured on the coal, when he turned around he noticed the men all wore long faces. . .looking down to the end of his chain he saw the rear-end axle and wheels. Have you got a mental picture? When Sanford turned around he could see the “BIG BOSS” of the project coming down the road.  He hurriedly backed up, got the chain unhooked, climbed back into his rig and commenced plowing snow.  He told me he kept his nose pointed forward and didn't look to the right or the left as he passed the “Big Boss.”  Upon returning to the scene of the crime later that day,  the workers told him he did well to leave quickly;  because when the boss saw  what had happened,  he was not just upset. . . he was furious and chewed his men up one side and down the other.  However, they said about a half hour later the “Big Boss” returned and apologized to his men.  Thanking them for their efforts, he told them the only ones who do not make mistakes are those who don’t try.  He complimented them on the great job they were doing and encouraged them to keep it up. 

Preachy I know,  but contrast that to another story he told me about when they were drilling the exploratory oil well up Glen Canyon.  It seems like the well depth was down to about 600 to 700 feet when a worker accidentally dropped a hammer down the hole.   It took them two days to fish out that hammer before they could continue to drill.  When they finally got it out, the “Boss” handed the hammer to the worker who had dropped it and promptly said, “You’re fired!”  The worker took the hammer and this time deliberately dropped it down the hole.

Stories like these are important; they can help shape our character.  What kind of boss or leader do you want to be remembered as?   How have you allowed Juniper to shape and define your character?