The Idaho Potato
Surely, you knew this was coming. How could I write about Idaho and not mention the great Idaho russet potato? Being a loyal New Englander, I've always bought Maine potatoes. But in 1992 we were all suddenly reminded of the economic and political significance of these tubers to Idaho. Then vice president Dan Quayle attended a spelling bee at a Trenton, New Jersey, elementary school. A child was asked to spell potato and this he did, p-o-t-a-t-o. VP Quayle immediately corrected the student informing him that he'd forgotten the 'e' at the end. Later that same year, at the Democratic National Convention, a delegate introduced himself with these words, "-- from the great state of Idaho, where everyone knows how to spell 'potato.'"
And everyone there, particularly in Boise, surely does because the Russet Burbank potato built a great deal of the city and is responsible for a huge chunk of the state's income. J. R. Simplot, who left school in the middle of eighth grade, became the largest shipper of these potatoes in the U.S. By 1967 he was supplying McDonald's with their first frozen fries (previously they had been hand-cut on location). The Russet Burbank is, usually, completely blemish free. The few nicks you see in the specimen above were incurred traveling home to Massachusetts in my camera bag. They keep well, are tasty, and make those long fries that get shoveled into red cardboard containers. What can I say? Supersize me!
There is a point of geographical fairness to be made here: the Russet Burbank potato is not, in fact, indigenous to Idaho. It was developed, I am proud to say, by a Massachusetts man in the early 1870s. Famous scientist and gardener Luther Burbank lived and worked in Lunenburg, just a couple of towns west of where I live.
Sweet, Idaho
We had a date, a very important date, to visit and soak in a hot spring in the former mining town of Sweet. At the time of the 1900 Thunder Mountain gold strike, it was a happening place with three saloons and three hotels as well. Miners made use of hotels that offered beds and outdoor metal tubs filled with hot spring water to wash off the daily grime. Before that Sweet had been a happening place for the Paiute, who fished for salmon and used the hot waters to survive winter blasts. But, as in many locations and states, those with gold fever pushed out the salmon fishers.
But gold has a habit of running out, and that's what happened in Sweet. Miners left, businesses declined, and fires eventually destroyed most of the downtown. On our way to the hot spring, we drove through the town center, now just a post office, restaurant, and gas station.
We had an hour or so before we were due at the spring so Sam took us to an area just outside of Sweet known for its birds. Actually, we didn't see many. But it was starkly gorgeous.
We had a lovely soak at Roystone Spa, owned and run by a pleasant Mormon family and all their grown children. Sam and I hung out where the water was warmest while Jim floated about on a raft enveloped by a cloud of steam.
Beware The Caipirinha!
That evening we had fejoada made by Sam's husband Sill--pictured above--a native of Brazil. It's the national dish and made mostly, but certainly not limited to, black beans and rice. Our host also served the national cocktail--caipirinhas--a delicious combination of Brazilian cane brandy, lime, and just enough sugar to convince your palate that you won't come to any harm. But Sam had already warned us about the drink's potency and Sill, Brazilian by birth and temperament, who believes he had a sacred duty to leave no glass unfilled. Jim and I drank slowly.
The Owyhees, Dedication, and Celebration!
Until they hit the feedlots, these range cattle have it pretty nice, all the food they could want, fresh water, fresh air, and, Sam assured me, usually lots of sunshine. The herd pretty much withdrew and scattered when I approached, all except this curious and perhaps territorial lady.
It seems the closer the cattle come to humans, the more their conditions decline. This fellow and his inmates stood fetlock deep in manure mud:
Sweet-faced Number Twelve was apparently in need of a good head scratch but the Jersey barriers prevented me from obliging him.
So, where are the horses, Ainslie? After all, this is supposed to be a "horse blog." We were thinking about riding at the ranch of one of Sam's friends, but the weather prevented it. Most of the open land we saw was dedicated principally to cattle and potatoes, but I certainly did see some equines:
And take a look here:
I'd never seen a horse property quite like this one. It was for sale, and that day there was an open house, though there wasn't a car or, for that matter, a human in sight. It's heartening to know that outrageous taste knows no state boundaries. If only we had time I would have liked a tour. I'd never been inside a genuine American castle. But then again, it was definitely lacking some key features: there was no indoor riding arena and not even a moat.
And, while you might think it must be pretty inexpensive in Idaho, it seems it's all relative. We passed one ranch whose huge, over-the-driveway sign identified itself as "Rancho Cost-A- Plenty!"
En route, to Celebration Park, we stopped at Dedication Point, which overlooks the Snake River. The view was stunning and the scale huge. You get an idea of this by checking out the cars and green tent--tiny specks--in the lower left:
And then on to Celebration Park, Idaho's only archeological park:
The mountains you see in the distance--and in a number of other photos in the Idaho blog entries--are the Owyhee's. That's a nice sounding Native American name. But it isn't: in the early 19th century Hawaii's ruler contracted to supply workers for the fur trade in the northwest. In 1819 a party of men--three of whom were natives of Hawaii--set off to explore uncharted territory. They never returned. From that point on trappers referred to these mountains as the "Owyhee's," which is closer to the original Polynesian pronunciation of the word "Hawaii" than the way we usually say it today.
The Paiutes, who inhabited this area, like other Native American tribes, as well as Buddhists and Shintoists, believe that the soul is not limited to humans but is found in all elements of nature--the rocks, sky, water, coyotes, eagles, wolves, horses--pretty much everything that is not man-made. These spiritual forces were for the Paiutes their link to the spirit world. Somewhere between the age of twelve and fifteen, a girl or boy would embark on a vision quest, hiking to a particular place--a cave, promontory, or mountain peak--and, carrying no weapons, would fast, drink little water, and not build a fire. Reaching a trance-like state, the young man or woman would experience a vision in the form of an animal or force of nature: lighting, thunder, or wind would come. If the boy or girl was worthy and had prepared honorably for the quest, the manifested form would share its noble attributes and serve as guide and comforter to that person for life. A buffalo or grizzly signified a gift of great strength, a wolf mean hunting skills, a coyote imparted cunning, a deer gave fleetness an--my personal favorite--the prairie chicken bestowed the gift of being able to hide from danger.
Celebration Park is known for its Native American petroglyphs, which date back as far as twelve thousand but as recently as two hundred and fifty years ago. We were fortunate to be guided by an interpretive specialist, Mr. Peckham. In the above photo he is pointing to a hole made by the Paiutes to aid in their vision quests.
It is believed that, in preparation for the vision, a seeker would keep a finger in the hole to stay connected to earth and all her forces.
Here is a petroglyph of a bird.
Here is what is thought to be a compass, with various points indicating where the sun would rise or set at the equinox or solstice:
This is of a man:
A dragonfly:
Scorpions abounded and still abound among these great lava boulders:
It is thought this might be a horse:
No one seems to know what this represents:
? Ainslie Sheridan copyright 2012
As I said earlier, these date from as far back as 12,000 years. But the following was etched onto rock little more than two hundred and fifty years ago. And I find it sad:
Sheep Ainslie Sheridan copyright 2012
It is almost certainly a sheep. About this time sheep herders began to parcel out much of the land in this area for themselves. Mr. Peckham knew the direction from which the herders and their sheep came and also the position the Paiute would have taken behind this rock in order to create the etching. It seems that a Paiute who saw these fantastical woolly creatures come over the rocks and down to the river to drink, stood behind a lava rock, and etched their image. He could not have known what the arrival of these fluffy creatures would portend for his people.
Tasha
Before I close I once again leave you with a YouTube of Tasha, an exceptionally clever shepherd mix who desperately needs a home. She is loving but lacking someone to love her. Please pass this on:
See you soon, and thank you for reading The Windflower Weekly--
Ainslie
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