Easter Traditions

Originally posted March 21, 2008.  With Easter upon us I decided to repost.

When I was young, one of our observances for Easter was to plan a hike for the Saturday before.  We would pack a lunch and head out on foot to hike to a little cave on Little Mountain (NE of town), or if we were really lucky a parent would take us a little closer to the mountain via car.

We would hike up to the top of Little Mountain and across the ridge until we were right above the cave, then down to the cave for our lunch break.  While there it was common to crawl back into the cave to the end, because we had the notion that it was the Easter Bunny's cave.

About the only thing we ever found was evidence that coyotes had been in the cave, nothing resembling the evidence of rabbits was found by me or others I was with.

After lunch and exploring the cave was done, a parent would show up at the appointed time and take us back to town.

I remember one specific year where a friend and myself were planning the traditional hike to the Easter Bunny cave.  We decided to invite a friend from school who was from another town and had never had the experience before.

In this particular case, I think we were dropped off close to the base of the hill and arranged to meet our ride back at Newton Dam at the appointed time.

We had a great time.  Up the hill, along the ridge, down to the cave, eat lunch, explore the cave then head back to our meeting spot.

This day the meeting spot required us to hike back up to the top, then down the West side of the hill to the reservoir.

All was going splendidly until we started down the West side (much steeper back then, if you ask me) and I implemented the improvised toboggan slide-roll maneuver down the hill.

I have performed that maneuver many times in my life, but probably never with as much grace as I did that particular time.  The problem I faced was that towards the bottom of the hill was a barbed wire fence.

I am glad to report that I did not maintain my speedy descent all the way to the fence, and was able to avoid injury.

All's well that ends well, I guess.  I walked out the pain and we caught our ride back home to relax the rest of our weekend.

Another successful Easter weekend hike was under our belts, even though we never met up with the Easter Bunny.

Raising Pigeons

My dad grew up with chickens. Raising laying hens and processing the eggs was a major part of the economy of his family. For a short time he continued that heritage on a smaller scale with his children. I remember having a coop full of chickens – nowhere near the number my dad attended to when he was growing up, but plenty of them. Caring for the chickens, collecting and processing the eggs and periodically harvesting the hens for the pot are some of my childhood experiences.

In addition to a few years of keeping chickens, we always had horses, a dog, often times a calf to care for, and even rabbits. At least one year my older siblings raised turkeys as a 4-H project, but that is another story. Just as many in our community do, in the summer we grew a garden and stored its produce for the winter months. There was plenty to be done on our little “farm” in the rural community we called home. Then there were the pigeons.

Speaking to my older brothers, they aren’t exactly sure of the reason why they had decided to keep pigeons, but the pigeon project started when they were young, and continued into my teenage years. A conveniently available piano box became the first pen. Nesting areas were built, and with access doors and chicken wire in place, it was time to add the birds. Living where we do there was - and is - a surplus of farm buildings teeming with wild pigeons willing to help themselves to the grain meant for livestock. Some of these were the pigeons that began our backyard flock.

Years later, even though we had a well established group of pigeons, from time to time my dad would arrange with a neighbor and we would go out in the evening to locate one or two more of these wild birds to add to our loft. It was a treat to go on one of these after dark pigeon hunts. A large fishing net was placed on a long pole and we would quietly enter the barn to locate our quarry. If everything went well we would have avoided meeting any skunks along the way, and added another bird to our pen. If we were really successful, we would have a brown colored bird to introduce to the others.

The first birds that were brought by my dad and brothers to our pen were kept inside until they had hatched a nest of young. These offspring would know no other home, and their homing instinct would allow us to open the pen often and let them stretch their wings, or whatever else they chose to do, and then close the pen when they were all in for the night. Times are different now in the age of electronics, but as a young boy I remember how fun it was to watch them take flight on their circular route around the backyard.

As our flock grew we added another pen, and several generations of pigeons were raised over the years. Taking care of any animal is an exercise in fate, and it was the same with these pigeons. The occasional run in with their sworn enemy the cat, or worse, a skunk would find a way to get into the pen and reduce the numbers. Near the end of the pigeon raising years, my brother remembers that dad set up a live trap hoping to catch a particularly pesky cat, but netted a skunk instead. These kinds of dangers (to man and pigeon alike) as well as the diverse interests brought on by age as my brothers and I grew up, signaled that it was time to relocate our little flock.

For years afterwards, the pens stood empty, and then they were removed as the space was needed for a new garden plot and for hay storage to feed the bulls or heifers that my brother sends over each winter. I have searched through old albums a bit for a photo that documents this part of my youth, and so far have located only one picture and my older brother found one as well. But even better than a photo, I have these memories of raising pigeons, and am grateful for the moments of reflection that spark such remembrances of my childhood.

This photo courtesy my brother Kent.

Outside of Myself

I am socially backwards.  Really, I am.  I do not always do well in spontaneous situations where I come in contact with people and need to interact.  Even with people I already know well I sometimes struggle. It could be spontaneous communication over a distance, as in a telephone conversation, but usually it’s the face to face situations where in my phobia lies. Do I present my thoughts and ideas well in the flow of the conversation, in the short time available to think about what I want to say?  It’s a feeling of inadequacy that I haven’t yet found a way to overcome.

Avoiding situations where I will be in the spotlight is a tool I have used to try to muddle through life.  It works most of the time, but not always.  There are some face to face situations I can’t avoid.  I am the Training Chief for my home town fire department, and I team teach a youth class in the Sunday school of my home ward.  Both of these responsibilities require that I present information in person. At first it was stressful, but now I am familiar enough with those tasks that I am often at ease. 

I have found, however, that blogging and other forms of social media are an escape from my fear of spur of the moment, in-person interactions that plague me.  These mediums have allowed me to express myself without the anxiety that I feel in face to face conversations.  Yes, I may still struggle to put my thoughts together intelligently during a rapid fire messaging session, but I also enjoy the freedom from fright, as it were.  I can take a little bit longer to think about what I want to say than I could in a face to face situation, and my thoughts usually flow easier.  Well, most of the time.

One of these behind the scenes communication opportunities I have taken advantage of is the citizen journalism section of my local newspaper, the Herald Journal. I have had 6 pieces published in the paper since the citizen journalism section opened up several years ago.  The latest piece was in print just yesterday.  You can read the post on my photo blog or on the portal that the local paper has set up to receive articles from the public.

I wonder about the irony of an introvert intentionally writing something that will be viewed by so many people.  I know that many of the people who read the paper don’t know me and I will never hear what they thought about what I wrote, but a few people that I do know will comment about it when I see them next.  Believe me when I say that I am already wondering how at ease I will be when those conversations happen!

Outside Looking In

I have tried, honestly, to come up with something I want to write about.  I have failed.  Unless you count the comments about a photo that I recently posted on my photography blog.

Anyway, I have looked at many a blog in the past few days and I feel like I am outside looking in, when I really want to be in, writing things.  Things I am thinking about and things I am feeling.

Round Ball

Basketball is a big part of life for my Father in Law. He played as a youth and into his adult years in the golden era of church ball.  He has coached youth in that organization.  He is an alumnus of USU and enjoyed watching the legends of USU while he attended school.

He follows the Jazz - used to buy into a season ticket package with his brothers, now he watches on TV.  He still follows his high school team and rarely misses their home games. Given a choice of what to view on the television, it would be basketball – in season, of course.

I played on bantam and church teams as a youth.  I played on P-Day at various times on my mission to California. I never picked it up as a pastime after I returned from my mission – except for an occasional visit to the town park for a short shoot around.  Basically, I entered the ranks of spectator. 

My Father-in-Law has obtained USU Basketball season tickets every year for several years now.  I am the lucky recipient of a standing invitation to attend every game that does not conflict with the lives of the non-basketball oriented members of my family.  The ritual always includes supper after the game at one of the late night eateries of Logan.

Saturday night is the last home game of this season.  We comment often that each year the winter months fly by quickly as we meet to drive to Logan to attend that night’s game. This year has been no exception. I can’t imagine where the last 4 months have gone, it seems impossible that we are about to finish another year of the best sports entertainment in Cache Valley.

It has been a great year.  There were some losses that sting, but for the most part the Aggies triumphed in every outing. The last road games loom, followed by the conference tournament and beyond.  With a great win over St Mary’s in the Bracket Buster, the near future looks great.

We have watched the current seniors develop into a well-oiled offensive machine.  We have marveled as they became a defensive juggernaut that many teams can’t adjust to. This year’s senior night is going to be a special event, indeed.

I couldn’t post about Aggie Basketball without a shout out to Wild Bill. What a great addition to the experience of the Spectrum!  Wondering what the next costume will be is another fun part of each game.  Who doesn’t enjoy watching the opposing players struggle with the distraction of Bill and the fans behind the basket and then revisit those moments on You Tube or other media sources?

Thanks, senior class, for a great season and a great 4 year run.  It has been memorable, and we are excited for the next few weeks of basketball, where we will take a seat next to the radio or the TV, when available.

Go Aggies!

Time Passes us By

No matter what we do.

May 19, 2010 was the date of my previous post on this blog.  I have other blogs that I post to, but my sounding board has been silent.

I have had lots to say, but just not here.  I am having one of those moments of reflection and here I am.  That is all for now.

More posts will be coming, soon.  In the mean time ….