Jeremiah 6:16 "The Lord says, stand by the roads and look; and ask for the eternal paths, where the good, old way is, then walk in it, and you will find rest for your souls..."
When I was a very young girl, family summer trips began to Eastern Oregon to visit Uncle Lucky & Aunt Barbara at their ranch in Mitchell, Oregon. It was so different from the pacific coast breezes of Huntington Beach where we lived. It was then that I began to love eastern Oregon. It was usually mid to late summer when we visited. The strong smell of sun cooked sage and juniper trees filled the air and the dusty ground moved with tiny grasshoppers flitting here and there. The feel of the dry desert heat was intense in that time of the year and we spent many windy hot afternoons sitting under the large shade tree on the only patch of green grass to be seen out the back door of my Aunt & Uncle's little house sitting on a hill. And the view! I would stare at Black Butte in the distance in the wide open sky. How I loved watching the wispy colorful clouds and beauty of the sun beginning to set across the vastness of the desert sky turning orangy-pink and purple... while nearby watching the small sprinkler keep the little patch of lawn green and Aunt Barbara's clothesline blowing in the wind. Watching the men, with pitch forks in hand, turning potatoes inside the fenced in garden surrounded by birdhouses, clumps of petunias and marigolds. The only flowers that the deer wouldn't eat.
It was driving into Warm Springs a few days ago on our way to deer camp, returning after many years, that made me desire to write about it. To remember. Blogs are a good way to share with family and friends those meaningful things that you just want to share, remember and talk about...
As we drove over the Deschutes River, on the same road driven so many times throughout my life at this same time of year, memories filled my heart and mind. One of my first memories, was traveling in the top of our camper as a child. As the camper swayed as we descended the long hill, no one had to tell me we were in Indian territory. Just seeing the landscape said it all. I loved it! It was Knott's Berry Farm in real life! And we were on our way to Mitchell to see Uncle Lucky & Aunt Barbara! Two of the most wonderful people on the earth.
As my brother once said, "you can't say Aunt Barbara without saying Uncle Lucky and vice versa". They were a team of One. Together they showered people with a deep sense of God's love and care in their practical living. Consistently serving their family and their neighbors out of their lives. Their home was always warm and inviting. The wood stove going, the coffee on, a place at their table waiting for anyone to fill it who needed some TLC. Their pantry, one always entered with awe an amazement, was filled to the brim with hundred's of jars of home-canned garden goodness, pancake and waffle makings and cooling pies, cakes and treats, all ready for family and friends. We would sit at the table for hours and hours, laughing until we cried sometimes, and listening to Uncle Lucky's life filled stories of his growing up, some of his Navy days and mostly the talk of deer hunting, his favorite. All the while, Aunt Barbara served up her home cooked goodies in large helpings and talked baking and canning, while sharing all of her new favorite recipes from the church ladies. We would eat and eat. Talk, laugh and eat. Then we would pile into Uncle Lucky's old Datsun pickup truck and head "outback". It was everyone's favorite. His little truck climbed up and down the steep roads that he had carved out on his ranch. We would stop to open and close gates, check on or feed cattle, their water sources and the fresh water springs on the land, and look for deer.
As we drove over the Deschutes River, on the same road driven so many times throughout my life at this same time of year, memories filled my heart and mind. One of my first memories, was traveling in the top of our camper as a child. As the camper swayed as we descended the long hill, no one had to tell me we were in Indian territory. Just seeing the landscape said it all. I loved it! It was Knott's Berry Farm in real life! And we were on our way to Mitchell to see Uncle Lucky & Aunt Barbara! Two of the most wonderful people on the earth.
As my brother once said, "you can't say Aunt Barbara without saying Uncle Lucky and vice versa". They were a team of One. Together they showered people with a deep sense of God's love and care in their practical living. Consistently serving their family and their neighbors out of their lives. Their home was always warm and inviting. The wood stove going, the coffee on, a place at their table waiting for anyone to fill it who needed some TLC. Their pantry, one always entered with awe an amazement, was filled to the brim with hundred's of jars of home-canned garden goodness, pancake and waffle makings and cooling pies, cakes and treats, all ready for family and friends. We would sit at the table for hours and hours, laughing until we cried sometimes, and listening to Uncle Lucky's life filled stories of his growing up, some of his Navy days and mostly the talk of deer hunting, his favorite. All the while, Aunt Barbara served up her home cooked goodies in large helpings and talked baking and canning, while sharing all of her new favorite recipes from the church ladies. We would eat and eat. Talk, laugh and eat. Then we would pile into Uncle Lucky's old Datsun pickup truck and head "outback". It was everyone's favorite. His little truck climbed up and down the steep roads that he had carved out on his ranch. We would stop to open and close gates, check on or feed cattle, their water sources and the fresh water springs on the land, and look for deer.
Recently, as I have watched the excitement and delight in my daughters eyes as she has been preparing her life to be David's bride, I have been flooded with so many memories of being Darcy's new bride and of our early adventures together. Of my desire to cook and bake like my mother and Aunt Barbara and to make our home cozy and warm. To share with my husband the life in Oregon I saw my mother enjoy with my dad. The hunting, camping and fishing. Desiring an adventurous life with Darcy like she shared with my dad. I am so thankful for the things I learned from her. She was a city girl with a country girl heart. Our move to Oregon brought her to life. She loved Oregon living. The history, the farms, the canning. She picked and made blackberry jam every year, serving it with fresh biscuits or waffles at our table at home for family and friends and sometimes mailing her loved ones jars at Christmas time as gifts from her life in Oregon.
Yesterday as we fished at Miller Lake near Chemult, I tried to remember my very first deer hunt. I thought it was with Darcy after we were married. I always say that my life truly began when I met Darcy... But, as we talked I realized my very first experience on a deer hunt was just after my family moved to Oregon when I was a sophomore in high school and my Dad, Mom, brother, baby sister and I drove over to Mitchell from Oregon City to hunt with our Aunt and Uncle and cousins. Oh the thrill of it all! Getting up before dawn, the smell of fresh coffee brewing and warm cinnamon rolls from the oven. After eating a quick breakfast together around the table in their small kitchen filled with loud laughter and story telling, everyone enjoying one another, we loaded into pick ups, watching the sun peek up over the horizon... and the deer hunt began! That year was the first time I saw a deer as food. I had been tasting it at Aunt Barbara's table during our visits for years. It was one of our favorite meals. Back strap was a specialty. Pounded and breaded and fried in bacon fat. The drippings made the best gravy with whole milk and plenty of salt. Then, drenching the best mashed potatoes out of their garden a person could eat. That first year I saw in action what I had been reading about in books about Oregon and the Oregon Trail and I understood more clearly as I listened to the stories around me that my family members depended on that meat to get them through the winter. I also learned that there were pet deer and meat deer. Uncle Lucky worried over and tried to protect many deer through the years. One time, he wrapped bright orange tape all over Billy Jack's antlers (or whatever his name was) hoping that anyone who saw him would see he was tame. I don't remember the end of that story. What I do remember, however, is the caring and thoughtfulness in hunting my father, my uncle and cousins displayed throughout the years that has stayed with me. It has caused me to appreciate and to respect the deer that God provides for meat at our table from that time on.
Yesterday as we fished at Miller Lake near Chemult, I tried to remember my very first deer hunt. I thought it was with Darcy after we were married. I always say that my life truly began when I met Darcy... But, as we talked I realized my very first experience on a deer hunt was just after my family moved to Oregon when I was a sophomore in high school and my Dad, Mom, brother, baby sister and I drove over to Mitchell from Oregon City to hunt with our Aunt and Uncle and cousins. Oh the thrill of it all! Getting up before dawn, the smell of fresh coffee brewing and warm cinnamon rolls from the oven. After eating a quick breakfast together around the table in their small kitchen filled with loud laughter and story telling, everyone enjoying one another, we loaded into pick ups, watching the sun peek up over the horizon... and the deer hunt began! That year was the first time I saw a deer as food. I had been tasting it at Aunt Barbara's table during our visits for years. It was one of our favorite meals. Back strap was a specialty. Pounded and breaded and fried in bacon fat. The drippings made the best gravy with whole milk and plenty of salt. Then, drenching the best mashed potatoes out of their garden a person could eat. That first year I saw in action what I had been reading about in books about Oregon and the Oregon Trail and I understood more clearly as I listened to the stories around me that my family members depended on that meat to get them through the winter. I also learned that there were pet deer and meat deer. Uncle Lucky worried over and tried to protect many deer through the years. One time, he wrapped bright orange tape all over Billy Jack's antlers (or whatever his name was) hoping that anyone who saw him would see he was tame. I don't remember the end of that story. What I do remember, however, is the caring and thoughtfulness in hunting my father, my uncle and cousins displayed throughout the years that has stayed with me. It has caused me to appreciate and to respect the deer that God provides for meat at our table from that time on.
Darcy joined my family hunting after we married. He came with his own stories having been brought up in Molalla in a logging family of six children. Very early on I saw that I married a pioneer mountain man! And oh how I loved that and still do! And here we are, married 32 years, feeling like newlyweds, and hunting again around family and new friends. I am enjoying myself immensely! Yesterday's deer scouting adventure on the back of Darcy's ATV four wheeler was a thrill. As I cuddled up to him, as though riding on a Harley, we drove all over back roads filled with Sugar Pine trees and watched wildlife. I am so grateful for the things I have been taught through the lives of those who are now in heaven. Their lives touching mine and still living through me as now it's my turn to live out love and value people and the land the way did while they were here on earth. Last night I felt my mother's presence near as I brought a plate of cookies, just out of the oven, to family sitting warm around the fire, talking stories, the air filled with sweet wood smoke and loud laughter and the wind in the trees. Thanks Mom. Thank you Aunt Barbara and Uncle Lucky, for stirring up a desire to live out love. And to enjoy the outdoors, the nearness of God and all His goodness out here in the beautiful Oregon wilderness.
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