Too Long in the Wind

February 2010

Birds of a flighty feather

A flock of birds swirls southwest of Pawnee Rock in early February. Jim Dye made this photo.

[February 9]   Jim Dye has captured one of my favorite parts of central Kansas -- blackbirds swirling en masse above the chilled fields and leafless trees.

What says Kansas better than birds in the big sky?

I wouldn't want to be standing under the flock as it dives and climbs, but I've been near enough to hear the beat of thousands of wings, the air being pushed out of the way so that a flock can follow the whim of the lead birdbrain. Or maybe there's no lead bird; maybe it's a group decision to go hither and then yon.

In the presence of such an active flock, it's tempting to draw parallels between the birds and crowds of people who mindlessly follow -- parrot, in bird terms -- those who claim to be leaders. But let's not romanticize those folks. The birds are birds.

Really, it's enough to simply stand there and be amazed and intimidated by nature once in a while.

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Home security

[February 8]   Pawnee Rockers were cordially invited to a scary movie -- what's more dramatic than finding out how your property and loved ones can be destroyed by fire?

Fortunately, disaster wasn't preordained, if only the good residents of Pawnee Rock would heed the advice of a company that sold sprinkers, extinguishers, and alarm systems.

Here's the text from a typewriter-sheet flyer handed out in Pawnee Rock in autumn 1982:

To the People of Pawnee Rock

FREE MOVIE on household fire protection and home security alarm systems. Businesses are welcome too.

There will be REFRESHMENTS and DOOR PRIZE.
(Must be 16 years old or Older to Win)

NO OBLIGATION  NO SALESMAN will call on you unless desired.

Time -- 7:300 p.m.
Date -- 20th October, 1982
Place -- Pawnee Rock Depot

Demonstration will be presented by
Ron Winsor of CENTRAL PLAINS PROTECTION

This is brought to you as a public service by the
PAWNEE ROCK VOLUNTEER FIRE DEPARTMENT
and
PAWNEE SERVICE now with its new Mini-Mart.
Don invites you to stop in and see what is new to Pawnee Rock.

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From the Foster family

[February 5]   Kathleen Foster e-mailed this note, which made my day. But beyond that, she helps tie together some of the strands of important families in Pawnee Rock.

Here's her note:

Thank you for this wonderful site! Having just discovered it in the last weeks, I am still exploring all the information available.

My connection to Pawnee Rock is many. My father is Doyle C. Foster, son of Ella and Mel Foster. Velda Foster Pfister is my aunt. Kay Steed posted a picture of Velda. Kay's father is Jimmy Peters. My brother's name is Bob Robert Foster. I have lost my father, brother, aunt, among too many friends and relatives in the last few years.

My cousins are June and Margaret Ann. My cousin Verdal has passed on. They all attended Pawnee Rock schools.

My mother and father have ties to the Cooper/Foster families of Pawnee Rock's history. My mother is Earl and Effie Brannan's third of fourth children.

Pawnee Rock is a significant part of my family's history. This site is a fantastic way to reconnect.

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The north face

The north face of Pawnee Rock State Park, photographed in the summer, shows the exciting stretch where we sledded in the winter.

[February 4]   Jim Dye's end-of-January photo of a snowy Pawnee Rock State Park brought to mind cold fast days on a sled.

Half the fun was pulling the sled -- ours were already second- or third-hand by the time my sister and I got them -- from town up the long slope to the top of the Rock. We could slide down the park's road, but although that was fast it also carried a lot of risk. Instead we headed for the north face, where the slow lasted a little longer in the shade.

There at the edge of the dirt road by the pavilion, we pushed the sled down into the snow so it wouldn't head downhill without us. We adjusted our hats and gloves. We approached the sled from behind, if it was the Flexible Flyer, and lay down on it, the rope draped across the boards under our chests. If we were on the blocky sled with the big green curved-pipe runners, we sat on it and lifted our plastic-booted feet straight out ahead for balance and brakes.

Then there was a moment of weak-kneed nervousness before the suicidal first run down among the trees.

Some trips ended when we sidewiped the rough bark of an elm or cedar. If we had a good run, the sled would carry us all the way to the ditch, and a ride like that could carry memories of sledding a long way into the future.

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Academics and business

[February 3]   There were some smart Pawnee Rock kids, back in the day.

The Larned paper of November 5, 1982, mentioned that Amy Deckert, daughter of Adam and Helen Deckert of Pawnee Rock, was one of 10 Larned-area students to receive a scholarship from the University of Kansas for the 1982-83 school year.

Also, the Pawnee Rock Junior High School announced the honor roll for the first nine weeks of the school year:

Honor roll, 3.5-4.0 grade average -- Carrie Jost, 8th grade; Jodie Allen, 7th grade; and Greg Epperson, 6th grade.

Honorable Mention, 3.0-3.49 grade average -- James Maxwell and Kevin Welch, 8th grade; Johnnie Anthony, Amanda Maher, Chris Strobel, Gary Unruh, and Jennifer Wyman, 7th grade; and Kent Welch, 6th grade.

Need a doctor? The Tiller's business directory of medical doctors might ring a few bells for those of you who went to Larned for checkups and physicals and deliveries. Actually, you could ring their bells. Five of the Larned doctors listed their home phones along with the clinic's number.

• Dr. V.R. Cade, osteopathic physician and surgeon. 818 Broadway.

• W.R. Brenner, T.D. Ewing, and J.D. Smith, all medical doctors working at their clinic at 804 Carroll.

• O.R. Cram, medical doctor, in his office at 722 Mann.

• Mian Shah and Nasreen Shah, medical doctors, working at the Shah Clinic at 313 W. 14th.

And, of course, there was the veterinary clinic:

• A.D. Apley and Dennis Huck, vets in general practice 1/2 mile west on Highway 156 and 1/2 mile north.

The only dentist listed was:

• G.L. Rutherford, in his office at 110 1/2 E. 6th.

The guy who measured your vision and sent you off with new glasses was:

• J.R. Harrell, in his office at 422 Broadway.

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View from the missile base

[February 2]   Anyone who grew up before the Soviet Union fell apart is familiar with a certain kind of nightmare.

That would be the nightmare in which you're in a car passing the missile fields south of Wichita and one of the concrete lids cranks back and the ground shakes as a rocket lifts off.

It would be the nightmare of knowing that the commies were going to blow us up. We saw the military films of mushroom clouds and superheated winds blowing away frame houses like the ones we lived in.

It would be the civil defense drills that sent us to the school basement, down there among the olive-green barrels of water. And the manuals that showed our families how to dig their own backyard bomb shelters, not that gamma rays would pay any attention to that.

And that was smack-dab in the middle of North America. We would have had a few minutes' warning before being vaporized by a warhead arriving via the North Pole. Imagine what it was like to be a kid living closer to Siberia, maybe in North Dakota or Saskatchewan.

I once thought I had outgrown that, but then came the two 1983 movies The Day After and Testament, which I saw in a theater. A few years ago my wife bought me a copy of Testament, but I can't watch it. Nor can I erase the post-detonation screech of President Henry Fonda's phone in Fail-Safe.

So with that baggage, I had a certain amount of unease when I took our sons to pick blueberries a couple of autumns ago in the mountains near our home in Eagle River. Atop Mount Gordon Lyon is an old Nike missile installation with big bay doors that opened toward the north.

I led the boys on a tour of a bunker where spare anti-missile missiles were stored, as if there would be time to reload after the first wave of Soviet missiles arrived. We went to the mountaintop, where big radar dishes have been shuttered for good behind big metal doors.

The view from the mountaintop is expansive. To the north is Mount McKinley, and out of sight beyond that is more of Alaska and eventually the Arctic Ocean and finally Russia. The Nikes were to knock down enemy missiles and planes before they could destroy the local military installations and Anchorage, where other bunkers once held some of our own nuclear bombs. Now there are better radars and other missile sites elsewhere, and this one isn't needed anymore.

Between our home and Anchorage is Fort Richardson, and adjacent to that is Elmendorf Air Force Base, where the F-15s that used to rip into the sky have been replaced by F-22s. There's always some reminder that the United States is ready to project its power against Russia, China, or North Korea.

A parent's job is to give the kids a sense of history, to put things in perspective. If they don't know what we and our parents were up to, they'll never be able to do better.

On this particular day I wore a fleece jacket, so the boys didn't see my goose bumps as I talked about the bad old days. I know that sometimes my voice choked and I felt tears well up with anger and frustration. How do you tell young boys about the real world and its fascination with mass death? How do you explain the bunkers amid the beauty?

Missile contrails and radar stations make up my dreamtime landscape, and I'm sure they'll be with me always. The boys have their own future muddled by crazy people on airplanes -- and maybe they're better off. They know the Nike outpost as a quiet place where blueberries grow.

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Have a prairie dog over for supper

Prairie dogs in a field south of Pawnee Rock.

[February 1]   It hardly seemed like a year has passed since we last celebrated Prairie Dog Day, but here it is again. February 1, the day we honor our burrow-dwelling friends.

In the past year it has come to my attention that some folks have developed a taste for the flesh of our town's rescuer. Indeed, there are recipes for prairie dogs . . . and a drink with which to wash down their flesh.

Newcomers to our site may not be familiar with the legend of the prairie dog. Briefly put, here's the tale: In the winter of 1875, Pawnee Rock was a starving community. Were it not for the unexpected generosity of prairie dogs, Pawnee Rock could have been a ghost town with tumbleweeds rolling up against the unpainted storefronts of Centre Street.

But now we've moved on. Pawnee Rock doesn't celebrate the holiday much anymore, except in the privacy of some homes. Most of the town's spiritual account will be spent, unthinkingly, instead on a secular television cliche in Pennsylvania. It'll be all over the morning TV shows tomorrow.

But back to today's discussion, with a reminder to watch out for plague-carrying fleas:

Tukya (Hopi banked prairie dog)

1 fresh-killed prairie dog per person
pepper
salt
seasonings

Kill prairie dogs; immediately singe the fur completely to get rid of fleas. Scrape the carcass to remove any fur or ash, and wash it well with clear water. Dress as you would a rabbit and leave whole. Stuff body cavity with salt, pepper, and seasonings. Bake in a 350 degree oven for three hours, or until tender.

(Thanks to Native American Recipes)

Here's another recipe and a whole pile of them.

And should you be bent toward a drink, here's the reputed recipe for the Prairie Dog:

1 ounce vodka
3 dashes Tabasco

Now the guys who go out with their .243s and shoot prairie dogs "because the farmers hate them" have no excuse for not eating what they kill.

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Sell it

Advertise here to an audience that's already interested in Pawnee Rock:

Or tell someone happy birthday.