Open Writing

As I sit here at the computer, I am accompanied by two dogs, one cat, and a sandwich made of the last slices of what is undoubtedly the best meatloaf ever concocted by Avonelle Selby, an outstanding cook who has been preparing meatloaves of one kind or another regularly, if not frequently, for more than fifty years.

All four of us are meatloaf connoisseurs, and carry some weight in such matters. In fact we carry some weight in any circumstance.

The truly sad thing is, Avie seldom uses a recipe or measures ingredients, so she can’t share with you, or even repeat her stellar culinary feat in the privacy of her own home.

As many good cooks as there are in Boone County, I’m sure such culinary triumphs happen all the time, and seldom or never are widely discussed. And many, like Avie’s Outstanding Meatloaf, cannot be repeated.

Back in simpler times

I’ve been thumbing through some of the old Boone Magazines that Barbara Gray gave me. My eye is often caught by something unusual. In an article describing the scene when Thorntown’s town lots were auctioned off back in 1830. A detail mentions that a rattlesnake bit someone’s horse, which had been tied out. It wasn’t much of a horse, but still a pioneer could hardly afford to lose him. The man who is telling the story was a teenager at the time, traveled to the sale with Peter Cornstalk, chief of the remnant Miami band that lived at Cornstalk’s Village, near Ladoga.

According to the writer, Mr. Cornstalk asked permission to doctor the horse with the juice the roots of a weed growing along Sugar Creek. The owner gave permission, Chief Cornstalk did his thing, and the horse was soon good as new. He claims the Chief later showed him the weed and the process and he used it successfully several times in later years.

What I was looking for, and haven’t found as yet, is mention of the effects of tornadoes, windstorms, or ice storms on the uncut forests which had existed for perhaps thousands of years. I’ve read about events like the Battle of Fallen Timbers in northwestern Ohio, fought in an area where a tornado had left a jumble of down timber for several miles. And there was a famous place known as Cross Timbers down in what is now Arkansas, which effectively separated forest Indians and plains Indians for generations. And I’ve seen the results on a small scale of a tornado, and also of a severe ice storm, on a place which is only lightly forested.

As many such weather events as we have around here, the accumulations of many storms over many years must have made many parts of the woods nearly impassible in any season. How did a few guys with no tools except axes and ox teams cope?

Viewing with alarm

Nobody had to teach Mollie. It’s what she does, without any training or thought. Guardian of our home. Her voice is loud and penetrating. She has a considerable range and repertoire. Her eyes are still fairly good; her hearing and sense of smell are far better than any human possesses.

She is an experienced professional alarm dog. Not an attack dog, mind you. She is basically friendly to man and beast. Not that she wouldn’t come to the rescue if one of her pack was in trouble.

But raising alarms is her thing. Some days there are many things to report. Like the mail carrier, and Big Green, the Trash Stealing truck. She identifies them by sound, long before they come into view. Mr. Peetz, Who brings our Reporter. He’s an old friend, and she knows his car well. But she plays no favorites. She does her job. Bark first, wag later.

Bicycles are definitely on her list. On account of they are so quiet. They must be up to something. At the other end of the scale are trucks that slow down or change gears near her place. And farm equipment, slow and sometimes noisy, is high on her suspect list. Big Yellow School Busses are always to be reported.

The alarm dog business can get boring out here. But this week she has had an ample supply of barking opportunities. IPL, our electric power supplier, is replacing several poles up and down our road. Every day there are two boom trucks, usually moving quite slowly, back and forth across her view from the big picture window. And of course she can hear machine noise and talking, much farther than she can see clearly.

“Bark! Bark! Bark. Woof, woof, woof, woof-woof. Here they are again. How’s come you aren’t out there doing something to end this menace?” At least I think that’s what she said. I am a continuing embarrassment and source of exasperation to her. More often than not, I ignore her best efforts.

Sometimes I even command, “No Speak!” She doesn’t always obey, but at least I’m on record as dissenting from her opinion.

It’s a dog’s life, is what it is.

“Bark! Bark! Bark! Here they come again.”