Elk Rasberry

Drive-by Elking

Friday, I drove through a mountain pass, late at night, in dense fog, thinking, this must be what limbo is like. A low beam, peephole view of the chipped stripe and the monochrome guard rail framing a windy road where everything else had faded to a quiet white. Threading a needle in that dreamscape of fog, I wasn’t making good time. The road wound around, the scene looped again, definitely limbo.

No one else was on the road. What wasn’t black or grey was lit flat white. The first shimmer of color in what felt like forever came at mile marker 17. The sign reflected green, 17 glowed like pearl in the night. Then the road switched back, I climbed out of the fog and nearly died.

An elk was galloping beside my truck. It’s huge rack, and chestnut shag with white marks, rippled alongside me, and it was massive. I usually see elk at a distance in the mountains, and I forget how big they really are, and that the early settlers decorated their antlers, balanced carefully on their backs, and rode them into town like elf princes.

The bull elk brushed, my side mirror, it groaned, and I jinked into the oncoming lane as waves of elk washed over the road. I held my breath; made the smallest adjustments. I was surrounded. We were a herd. My heart raced. My eyes darted. Their hooves clattered on the blacktop, and their exhales chuffed. I was hemmed in. We raced in formation. It was surreal and frightening, and wonderful, but I didn’t know how to leave. Would my horn spook them? If I slowed down, would they? If I nudged over would an elk bigger then my Ridgeline yield, would his friends?

I was a stampede. Then two bucks in front of me clattered and veered off the road. I took the opening, a wall of elk filled the rearview, and I accelerated away. Then the road dipped, and I was back in the fog.

Snaking through quiet limbo, breathing hard, calming my heartbeat.

Seven mile-markers to go. Almost there.

Smile For The Camera!

Idaho Vet Shares Life Lessons from Saddam Hussein

Check out the July/August edition of Eagle Magazine!

Barb Law Shelley asked me tough questions and Rase Littlefield took great pictures, but I always feel a little sad about what I put photographers through. I’m truly grateful they want to take my picture, but I feel like I don’t give them enough to work with.

It’s like when my barber spends a half-hour making the couple dozen hairs I still have on my crown stand even and at attention for my usual hair cut. Over the years, too many follicle soldiers have fallen from my formation and retreated down my back, but my barber still gives it his all.

It’s the same for pictures. I’ve gotten better at smiling, but it wasn’t for any reason I expected. It was because my young teen son Sam had been pissed off at me for a while and when he finally told me why it took both of us some time to work through. Mostly because I didn’t realize I still did it.

Sam thought I enjoyed punishing him.

I don’t, and it stung to hear. Normally, I’d have set it aside as an in-the-moment barb, a teen’s reaction to a restriction, the more adult-child cry for lightning to strike me because he didn’t get his way. But something was different. When our argument reached its crescendo, it wasn’t the generic “I hate you” it was specific and chilling. “You always smile when you punish me like you like it.”

It took a few weeks to circle back to it. I haven’t talked much to my boys about my parents. All they knew was that my father passed away before they were born, and my stories about growing up focused on things I learned and a few funny stories. But I wrote a book about it and both my boys can read.

When Sam and I were ready to talk about hard things we did. For my part it started and ended with “I love you” and it went like this.

I’ll tell you a story that isn’t in my book. I smile when I hurt the most. I wish I didn’t, but it’s true. I think smiles should happen when we’re happy, but when I was a lot younger than you, my punishments were brutal and severe. I wasn’t allowed to show anger or fear, or cry.

If I did, my punishments were so much worse. It wasn’t a great way for a kid to grow up. But I learned that if I stayed calm and smiled, no matter what happened, the beatings quickly ended. Eventually, I was able to get away and get strong enough so that never ever happened again.

I try hard now to smile when things are good, and I’ve gotten better at it.

But when I’m hurting the worst, I still smile. I know how screwed up that is, but that calm, maybe even that smile has gotten me through some pretty terrible things. Sometimes I was even able to use that calm smile to think and not react and stop bad things from happening.

I wasn’t punishing you because I enjoy it. I’m your father, and enforcing the rules is part of my job. I know that you’ve seen me smile when things were the worst between us and that it hurt you. But not everything is what it seems.

We agreed to work together, and Sam seemed genuinely relieved. There are great things on the horizon for us, and I want to be able to smile right for them when we get there.

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