Doug had invited Karen and I to bring some fabric and we’d make quilts. I was anxious to try the Baby Lock Ellisimo machine that resided at Doug’s house. From his talk, that machine could make a quilt while we sat in the living room playing games. Karen gathered up some bits of fabric and ribbon in the hope that a patriotic wall-hanging might be crafted from the hodgepodge of pieces. I pulled from the depths of the closet a quilt top that I had tried to make ten years ago that I was never happy with. Karen’s project went first – what a delight to see the bag of scraps come together in a beautiful red, white, and blue quilt for the wall. So when it was my turn to tear apart the old top I had tried to make, I knew that something beautiful would come of it. We kept the two machines going full speed. I was amazed at the Ellisimo! That thing does everything and then some – embroiders, and runs so easy and smooth with an endless catalog of designs and stitches from cd’s and the internet. We’d pick out a design, attach the embroider hoop thingey and away it would go – makes my old machine feel like a Model T. It has a video camera by the needle and a big screen that shows close up every stitch the machine is making. Wish I’d have had one of those back when I was sewing everything for my family. (But then, if I’d have been able to afford that machine, I’d not have been sewing everything for my family . . .) Three days is all it took and we emerged from the sewing room with two quilts! I can’t wait til the next visit, I’ll know what to expect and go fully prepared to do some serious stitching! I have been making quilts since 1960, but I have never made an intricately pieced quilt; and you can see from the picture that the quick quilt I made was not intricately blocked – that skill is still to be learned.
I was more excited than I can tell you as we turned onto the lane that led to Doug’s house. 1100 miles is too far away to keep a child – even though that child is actually a man full grown. I felt tears starting as I gave him a big hug. I wanted to hug him forever – but I know he doesn’t go in for hugs all that much. So I let him go, and hoped my tears would not drip – they didn’t. What joy to see him – a treat I get only twice a year – if I’m lucky.
And the party started – visiting, cooking, eating, catching up on news, card games, cooking, eating, sewing, movies, cooking, eating . . .
I took the recipe for chocolate chip pancakes, which we planned to fix ONE time. But everybody enjoyed them so much, we ended up making chocolate chip pancakes almost every morning! Ummm - served with berry sauce, syrup, whipped cream – no wonder some of us weigh too much and have heart problems!
Here it is – the Chocolate Chip Pancake recipe. You need never go to Ihop again!
CHOCOLATE CHIP PANCAKES
2 cups biscuit mix
2 tbsp ins. Chocolate drink Mix (like Quick)
2 tsp baking powder
1 egg
1 cup milk
½ c sour cream
1/4 + cups mini semisweet chips (we used regular semisweet choc chips)
In bowl, combine biscuit mix, drink mix, baking powder. Combine egg, milk, sour cream; stir into dry ingredients just until moistened. Fold in chocolate chips. Spoon onto hot griddle - you know the drill.
Serve with syrup, berry sauce, Kool whip or whipped cream, even chocolate sauce.
Across the expanse of the Navajo Reservation, we could see the San Francisco Peaks jutting up from the flatland and we knew we were nearing Flagstaff. As we climbed up from the desert to the 7,000 foot altitude that accommodated Flagstaff we were once again surrounded by snow.
Flagstaff got it’s odd name when some of the first settlers there stripped the limbs from the tallest ponderosa pine that overlooked the area and hoisted a US flag to the top. The flag could be seen from miles around in every direction.In the 1970's we always approached Flagstaff with great trepidation. On all our leavings of Phoenix, we never seemed to have a good enough vehicle, good enough tires, good enough fan belts, good enough radiator, etc. etc. And we were always at our worst after the long, hot climb from Phoenix to Flagstaff. Many times we limped into Flagstaff on 3 tires and a steaming radiator. We could hear the sound of the Flagstaff auto repair people rubbing their palms together when we were within 25 miles of their town. They knew they had us and they charged accordingly.
In 1996 just Dale and I were traveling to Phoenix and we approached Flagstaff winding down out of the very heart of the San Francisco Peaks from the South Rim of the Grand Canyon on Highway 180. Traffic slowed to a crawl and we soon saw that the forest was ablaze in front of us. Police blockaded the road and traffic was at a standstill. Huge ponderosa’s were blazing and we could hear the crack of the fire and trees falling. Smoke billowed into the air. We watched the blaze work its way closer to the highway and there we were stuck. Finally as I was beginning to panic, traffic was diverted onto a small forest road and we were able to work ourselves into town and out onto the freeway where I stuck my camera out the window and snapped pictures of the gully we had been stuck in. Flagstaff was our Nemesis.
The Hopis, Havasupai, and Navajos considered the San Francisco Peaks as sacred – the home of the Gods. To the Hopis, these mountains are the home of the Kachina People – and these mountains were not to be trespassed upon. Only those People who were authorized to collect sacred medicines were given freedom to search the sacred slopes without fear of retribution.We were not of the People, and we were not collectors of sacred medicines. It seemed to us that we were always being singled out from the hordes trespassing on the sacred mountain for Gods’ vengeance and retribution. But this day, as we held our breath and connected onto I-17, the Gods seemed to be looking the other way, and we sped, without mishap, toward Phoenix.
We stopped next at the Lake Powell Visitor Center as we always did on our travels back and forth from Phoenix. The kids always liked this stop because it gave them leave to use the forbidden word: DAM (without the n, of course). “Can we go on the dam tour?” “Just park in the dam parking lot.” “Let’s go down the dam elevator.” “The dam restrooms are over there.” And they'd all giggle their heads off with each new use of “dam.” And, I have to admit that we, adults, reverted back to that mischief as we drove into the "dam" parking lot.
We used to look forward to the elevator ride down into the depths of the Glen Canyon Dam. In the 1970's tours were self-guided and we could venture down by ourselves to see the huge humming generators, then go out the door at the bottom of the dam and gaze up at the tons and tons of concrete towering above us. It was at the bottom of the dam that I caught my first siting of a Black Phoebe.
In 1965, my brother and sister-in-law, and Dale and I borrowed a boat and spent 3 glorious days on Lake Powell. At that time the lake was still filling and there were hundreds of serene sandstone hollows to explore. Each channel was calm and quiet as we stopped the engine and paddled up into the far reaches of the fingers of water. Each little red sand beach would invite us to stay and swim and dive from the red cliffs.
I had actually never been on a boat on the water before! It took some time for me to get used to the water swirling around, not sure that it would not just suck me right in and swallow me up. But I had not ever felt such freedom as I skimmed over the water with the wind blowing in my face, and I gloried in it. On the second night we were all sunburned so badly that we could hardly climb into our sleeping bags.
Everyone tried water-skiing and when it came my turn we were right at the buoys by the dam. I knew that the water was 600 feet deep -- from the dam overlook I had seen some of the humongous fish that swarmed there; and I just knew they were lurking right below me, waiting to eat me up. I never could get up on the skis. My head would go down and my feet would come up and the boat would drag me head down, feet up – trolling for fish. Everyone finally gave up on me and dragged me exhausted, shaking, and scared back into the boat.
We enjoyed that trip so much, that when we got home, we saved and got a small used boat ($600) which we enjoyed all through our Phoenix years, and finally upgraded when we returned to Utah. We were a boating family for 27 years - and in all that time I never again tried to ski!
FYI: Do you know that Page has a WalMart???!!!
In our travels back and forth between Phoenix and Utah in the 1970's, we always looked forward to Kanab where we would stop and get huge ice-cream cones, and then about six miles north of Kanab, starting into the canyon, we would stop at a beautiful pond at the side of Highway 89. The pond lay cupped at the very foot of an over-hanging red sandstone cliff. A few large trees grew at the edge of the water, and some fun-minded person had hung a sturdy swinging rope from the largest limb of the biggest tree providing instant recreation for a car full of restless traveling kids . At that time the pond, the tree, and the rope were non-restricted and welcomed all comers. It’s a wonder we never had to fish a kid out of the water. The only thing that ever had to be retrieved was Dale’s cowboy hat (See picture #1 for the retrieval process - he snagged it with his foot.)
It wasn’t until years later that we learned that this pond has a place in western folklore. The story goes: About 450 years ago, after Montezuma was killed, the Aztecs brought their gold and treasures and hid them in a “water trap” in this very pond. In 1989 treasure hunters found a handmade tunnel about 4 feet wide and 7 feet tall under the water. When the tunnel explorer got 30 feet into the tunnel he became completely disoriented, got caught in a heavy current and was afraid he was going to be swept into an underground river. After fighting his way out, he tied a tether line onto himself and went in again. This time, he felt the line go completely limp. A few months later, he had the courage to try again, and this time he brought 3 professional divers. The divers reported that the tunnel was about 100 feet long and ended in a huge 80 foot room. Their metal detectors showed heavy metal at the end of the tunnel. It was too late in the day for further exploration and they exited the tunnel and pond. That night one of the divers had a dream that as he swam back into the tunnel an Aztec warrior appeared and threw a spear at him. That diver was the first to enter the tunnel the next morning. He started screaming that someone was grabbing and choking him. When he was pulled from the water, he was white as a sheet. The next diver went down and had the same experience. Two weeks later when the divers tried again, they experienced the same choking feeling as they entered the tunnel and they both had to be pulled up. They did not return. The pond and is now surrounded by a high chain-link fence placed there by the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service to protect the only know habitat of the Kanab Amber Snail. Hmmmmm. . .
So on this February trip there was no temptation for stopping, or swinging; and when we reached Kanab, even the ice cream stop was gone – The true lost treasures of Kanab . . .
On Feb 11 we left for Phoenix and didn’t return to Boise until Feb 25. We took Kevin, went (down, longitude-wise – or up, elevation-wise) to Utah, picked up Karen, and wound our way south through Utah via Kanab and Page to Phoenix where we spent 10 great days at Doug’s house.
We lived in Phoenix from 1967 to 1979, so have traveled that route dozens of times, but always with a car filled with kids and dogs, and even cats and plants, and assorted relatives – and usually during the summer months. So traveling with adults during the winter was breathtakingly new to us.
Snow covered the farmland; herds of deer rooted in the snowy fields, and rafters of wild turkeys shared warm tree-protected alcoves of snowless ground with cattle.
Meandering creeks cut through the vastness of the white – the snow banks curving right down to touch the water, where, every now and then a mallard duck pair, bottoms up, searched for food.
Where the flat farmland ended, juniper trees dotted the snow, and then magnificent red sandstone cliffs rose straight up out of the white. God and his committee of earth-builders have to be proud of Southern Utah.
BIRDS
Golden Eagle
American Bald Eagle
Common Crow
Common Raven
Red-tailed Hawk
Ferruginous Hawk
American Kestrel
Yellow-billed Magpie
Mallard
Ring-billed gull
Meadowlark
Mourning Dove
Wild Turkey
Today is March 5 and I’m 68 years old! I am so excited about life and thankful for it. I have so many things to do - and so many things I want to redo - and so many things to learn . . . And time is so short! I remember in 1964 Dale was purchasing a life insurance plan and I just could not fathom such a far away life - at that time, in my thinking, everyone 45 years old was OLD! And here I am - still alive, happy, and looking forward to at least 10 more years.
