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Show ZElie Page A6 Timgg-Jnbcpcnb- Thursday, August 12, 2004 ntt Idle Thoughts from Mt. Waas The way Sam Remembers it by Sam Taylor A MOTHER DIES Skinny Sam on his Farmall Cub was a common sight around town. Russ Carter, who lived in a home near where Wendys now stands, remembers waving to me morning and evening on my way to and from The Field, as we called it. even stopped once and plowed his garden spot there. That was mighty tough sod, but we got the job done. It was easy to drive, if you didnt care about speed. Once when checking the peaches with my niece, Leslie, I found some of them more than ready to ship. sent Leslie back to the house after a few dozen bushel baskets, while started to pick. When she returned, she was driving, but was accompanied by my Dad and her father, Art. Needless to say, they werent enthused about the errand sent Leslie on, since she was only 6 years old at the time. couldnt see what all the fuss was about. She did just fine behind the wheel. Now, Im back in the tractor business, and have my own Ford 8N, just like the big boys. Its a late 1940s vintage, but still works like new, especially after an engine rebuild by Keith Holyoak. But miss my old Cub. It was a great friend. Someone told me once that my old Cub was out at Max Irishs place in Spanish Valley. went out and looked it over. It may or may not have been the right tractor. It didnt seem to have enough to have been the weld spots on the front it there But and was a arent many one. Cub, right it. arouhd like had a horse for a time when was a teen, but didn't ride it very much. But sure put a lot of miles and a lot of hours in on the Farmall Cub. Great memories. sjt There aren't many around who remember my "rememberings" with any great accuracy, so I can generally get away with a lot. This week, however, Jimmie Walker came in to tell me was wrong last week in my column about my first look at Chesler Park in the early 1 950s. thought for a minute might be in trouble, but still remember the hike vividly. "That parking meter in Squaw Flat wasn't from Salt Lake City, it was from Cortez," he said. He and Ray Tibbetts had seen and photographed it on a prospecting trip. Jimmie said he had looked, but couldn't find the photo, so that is the way he remembered it. I'll take your word for it, Jimmie. Remembering is a lot of fun. I'm glad some folks are still around who still remember as well as do. It is a lot of fun to remember teenagers can't wait until that 1 6th birthday when they can get their first set of wheels." didnt have to wait that long, and suppose my first motorized transport with me behind the wheel may have been illegal, but it was acceptable at least in Moab during the 1 940s. They werent real hot rod wheels, but they were transMost young I I I portation. When was thirteen years old, my Dad and partnered up in an orchard venture. Ill buy the tractor and pay the bills, you do all the work and we will split the profits in half," he said. I reminded him that didnt have a drivers lfor a few years, but he have and wouldnt icense assured me that if every youngster in Moab was arrested for driving tractors around, there wouldn't be teenagers left to bum around. That is how got my first set of wheels. We bought a used red Farmall Cub tractor from J. Reed Larsen of La Sal for $600. He demonstrated it on a lot near where the new library is going to be built. It looked darned good to me, and it sounded like a real tractor. For those who know International Farmall tractors, you know that the Cub was the baby bottom of the line. It didnt have any hydraulics, and moving implements was done with brute strength, assisted by a couple of big springs. But it had plenty of power. spent hundreds of hours plowing, cultivating and mowing with the Cub, and it doubled by getting me from our home in town to the farm, which was an even mile away. used it for milking chores transportation, for changing the water and for other errands. even drove it to the hospital on one occasion to see Doc Allen when suspected might have a problem with my Cub sat under an elm tree in the hospital back yard until was discharged a week later after surgery. In the winter, would take a boiling teakettle of water out in the mornings and pour it on the carburetor. It always started up just fine. My gas stop was the Moab Garage, where Gay Brown filled me up. Dutch and Andy in the back room did a little welding on it on more than one occasion. Sure, envied the town farmers with Ford 8N tractors, but that was out of our financial reach, so we made do. While we were actively working the orchard, it was a beautiful venture. The little Farmall Cub could get right up next to a tree pulling the disc. We raised great peaches, which we p delivered to the packing shed along Mill home-mad- e on flatbed trailer pulled by a Creek, I I I I I I I I I I I tie-ro- I I I I I I I I by Ollie Harris j I I I I I I Barbaras mother passed away in her home last night. Sitting around her bed, waiting for her to die, were Barbara, three of her sisters and an elderly aunt. The bedroom was lit only by the lights from the adjacent bathroom. An air conditioner and a big fan struggled against the heat until a window was opened to the Colorado, night air. I was lying on the bathroom floor, a Teva sandal for a pillow and a stocking folded across my eyes against the glare of the bathroom lights. I was dozing. The whirring of the large fan in the bathroom was almost loud enough to cover Mother Lees ragged breathing. I thought I heard it stop once and raised up to carefully see if her chest was still moving. It was. A few minutes later I heard Barbara say that they needed to get her brother arid his wife who were sleeping out in our trailer, the trailer I had parked next to the house just so people would have a place to go and rest. I sat up, looked and listened intently, There was no more ragged breathing. No movement. It was finished. There were tears, sobs and hugs. Telephones appeared. Calls went out to family near and far. Someone called the hospice nurse who came out and made an official pronouncement of death. She called the mortuary in Durango, then removed the catheter and morphine tube. A little past midnight the, mortuary people came. Forms were filled out. They gathered Mother Lees body, carried it out to their vehicle and cool-at-la- st, fifth-whe- el left. Barbara and her sisters were spent, their faces ravaged with fatigue and sorrow, eyes swollen from exhaustion and tears. We gathered one more time in the living room. Barbaras brother led in another family prayer, an articulate, heart-fel- t prayer of gratitude for Mother Lee and for each other, and for the family who couldnt be there. We went out to the its windows fifth-whee- l, open to the cool night air, and slept until 9:00 the next morning. The next time I looked into Barbaras face the fatigue and stress were mostly gone. Her smile and that twinkle were back. Mother Lee no longer suffered. Mother Lee insisted that her upcoming funeral service last no more than one-hahour. That isnt much time to honor such a woman. She also requested that I speak and that my youngest son, Orrin, sing at the service. He will sing with his twin sisters, Stefani and Alicia. There will be just two speakers and three musical numbers. There wont be much time for me to speak, maybe five minutes. What can I say in five minutes? Td like to mention the time we were returning from getting Barbara and me married. With all four of our parents in the car, we were six. Their goal was to separate us which they finally did. I was in the front seat with my parents. My new bride was in the back with hers. They thought it was a glorious joke on the newlylf weds. I let my arm hang down over the seat back and began to trace little patterns with my fingers on Barbaras bare knee. It wasnt until my new mother-in-laasked my new bride if she couldnt control her husband that I realized I was knee. Of course, playing with my mother-in-law- s I was profoundly embarrassed as any young groom would be. But, there has always been a closeness between my mother-in-laand me. There are deep emotions attached to losing a mother. Mothers are the hearts and souls of families. I have feelings of reverence toward even my own daughters because of their motherhood. Just the other evening one of my granddaughters and I were the ones in only my house. We were printing some of her photos. She needed to let her parents know where she was so she called them and, even though Barbara wasnt there, said, Im at Gammys. Thats the place mothers fill in all our hearts. w w I I co-o- I the Cub. High Country News Writers on the Range The last best-pai- d place in the West by Louise Wagenknecht Every winter my brother Tom goes to a muzzleloader shoot in central Oregon, where he camps out in a large ;tent, dons his feathered hat and buckskin leggings and fringed jacket, and shoots his black powder rifle at targets tucked away in the junipers and sagebrush. Brick Bats and Bouquets He usually calls me in Idaho after he Accolades and Admonishment with regard to issues in our community a large section of the alley behind Bouquets to Lemas Trading Co. for d store. That their private alley is one of the busiest streets in town and one of the roughest. Other alley owners should take a look at the job Tony, Tony, Joe and Caroline have done. Its great. newly-enlarge- Brickbats to the jogger who ran full speed into the intersection of Main and Center against a red light last week, and then looked put out when someone honked at him. Come on folks, we arent very big and dont have many traffic signals, but they work fine for us. Please obey them. L ISSN 1538-183- 8 (UPS) 6309-200Entered as Second class Matter at the Post Office at Moab, Utah under the Act of March 3, 1 897. Second class postage paid at Moab, Utah 84532. Official City and County Newspaper. Published each Thursday at: 35 East Center Street, Moab, Grand County, Utah 84532 0) re- turns to tell me the news. This year, he said, he senses there will be a shift in the Western political winds, because of what happened to our friend Pete. Tom describes Petes politics as my guns and your womb. A National Rifle Association n member long before he became a Christian, Pete sat sipping Irish coffee with Tom beside a campfire during the weekend. He had, Tom said, the most serious look Ive ever seen on his face. I ask him whats going on, and he says, they stole my money. It turned out that the thieves were Oregons State Legislature, which last year changed Oregons retirement system law so that Pete, who had counted on being able to retire at age 55, now cannot gain a pension until he is 58. In the meantime, money contributed to the system by his employer is being diverted to the equivalent of a 401(k) account, while his old account is frozen and his future retirement benefits reduced. For workers hired after 1996, the system becomes still less attractive, and for the most recent hires, it essentially ceases to exist. Petes 25 years with a county road department, of which he has been proud, have turned to ashes in his mouth. He sees his retirement benefits dissolving before his eyes, because the system is broken, the state of Oregon is broke and a national government with a $500 billion deficit is in no mood to help. I took some ribbing from my high school buddies when I went to work for the county, Pete says. Logging and working at the lumber mills were paying a lot more to start back then. But I told myself that health insurance and a good retirement plan would make up for that, and a year ago, there I was making $20 an hour and going to retire in five years, and feeling good about it. But now I know Im the last of a breed. born-agai- The local contractors are hiring heavy equipment operators for $10-- $ 12 an hour. Theyre not paying any more than that, because they know they, dont have to. Its only a matter of time before the county decides its cheaper to contract out my work. What happens to you then? Tom asked. Oh, Ill still have a job, somewhere, with the county. But there wont be any young kids coming up after me wholl be making $20 an hour someday. Thats over. There was a onetime good deal for working people in this country. It started about 1945, and now its running out. Pete continued. I started voting Republican because I thought that was how I could keep my guns. So now Im thinking, how long before they take our guns anyway? My brother said he told him, Oh, until a bunch of angry guys take those guns and try to use to them change things. The first time they s, march on the government with their saying no, youre not going to send those jobs overseas, and youre not going to take away our Social Security. Well, after that nobodyll have any more. Lanterns glowed inside other tents now, and around them more campfires threw light up on the dark junipers. Pete waved his arm, taking it all in: the camp, the weekend mountain men. And what do you think theyd call guys like us, if we all decided that things had to be different? Theyd call us terrorists, and thatd be the end of us, said my brother. So how do you think Petell vote this year? I asked Tom, after a pause, to take in the idea of my brother as a rebel and Petes disillusionment. Hard to say, my brother said. But the amazing thing is, all these years Pete was perfectly willing to vote on just guns and abortion, and now everythings changed. $10-an-ho- .30-.30- .30-.3- 0s . Because? Because they stole his money. Now its different. Louise Wagenknecht is a contributor to Writers on the Range, a service of High Country News in Paonia, Colorado (hcn.org). She writes essays and books in Leadore, Idaho. address: editormoabtimes.com Postmaster: Send changes of address to: The 435-259-75- P.O. Box Times-lndepende- or FAX 129, Moab, UT 84532 435-259-77- Letters to the editor policy NATIONAL NEWSPAPER ASSOCIATION Member ft and Zane Taylor Lisa Church Jeff Richards Marjorie Miller Lisa Taylor Jeannine Wait Circulation Manager, T--l Maps Press, Production Manager Contributing Writer Contributing Writer Contributing Writer Contributing Writer Conributing Writer Michelle Wiley Dorothy Anderson Jed Taylor, Jose Santana Ron Drake Ron Georg Oliver Harris A.J. 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