Does anyone happen to recall the terrible travesty of the canned American Style Hot Dogs which I’ve had occasion to mention in the past? In case anyone missed this previously, here is a little visual aid for you.

Yes. I know. No American that I know of would dream of eating one of those . . . and yet the producers of this horrifying food-stuff have placed the stars and stripes upon it and, it seems to me, are willfully misleading a trusting British public. I did my patriotic best to explain to people while we were there that these are NOT in fact “American Style” – and the end result was that some dear friends of ours gave us a can for Christmas. Our present to them, incidentally, was a small ceramic Starbucks cup to hang on the Christmas tree. Each, in fact, giving the other a little something to remember them by.

The result was that, as we traveled home last night, we had buried in the depths of our luggage this can of American hot dogs. We had loads of other things too – mallow tea cakes, and chocolatines, and mince pies, and mincemeat filling, and wine, and jam, some Bucatini, some goose fat, some suet, and even a loaf of Tiger Bread which was the specific request of our 6 year old. The customs people noticed that we had listed food on our declaration form, and we got pulled out of the line for an agricultural exam. They scanned our luggage, and then made us open up one suitcase for them to inspect. And guess what got pulled out for a lengthy exam? Yes. The Stars and Stripes can of hot dogs. They said, and I quote, “What IS this thing?” They passed it around and had a consultation about it. They looked over the ingredients. They checked on where it was made.

And then they confiscated it.

Yes indeed. Not allowed into the country. And I was very proud. America will not be sullied by such things. Our standards remain high, and our borders secure.

“Hey!” he yelled.
“Guess what!”
“What?” we asked.
“I’m not too hot . . . I’m not too cold . . . I’m not hungry . . . I’m not thirsty . . . I don’t have to go to the bathroom . . . I’m not dying . . . My nose isn’t running . . . I’m . . . JUST . . . FINE!!!!!” and he threw his arms up in the air in a very triumphant gesture.

I merely bring this up because it’s just possible that in this season devoted to thankfulness, a few people might be coming up short when they try to count their blessings. So to them I would merely ask, “Do you have to go to the bathroom? Is your nose running? Are you dying?” Well then. You’re . . . just . . . FINE!!!!!

I mean, really. How festive is this?! It’s finally out and about and ready to order.

Ben wrote this biography of King Alfred last year (while he was also working on his Oxford dissertation, rowing for Christ Church, being a dad to five kids, and having chronic car trouble.) Impressive, yes? Of course, this also means that the book was written right dead spang in the middle of Alfred’s old stompin’ grounds, and that lends the book an especial aura of authenticity. Oxford is only about 30 minutes from Wantage – the birthplace of King Alfred . . . and the White Horse is right next door. It was definitely one of our favorite Saturday afternoon destination spots while we were there. Since you clearly don’t believe me, I’m going to proceed to post some photos to prove it.

Here are the kids – nestled right into the huge chalk carving and looking out over the Berkshire Downs. However, if you read Ben’s book, you’ll find out that they’re sitting precisely where Alfred fought a bloody battle with the Vikings and won his first victory.

About two miles off into the fields is an old castle mound known as “Alfred’s Castle.” This is most likely where Alfred camped with his men before the battle, while the Vikings had the higher ground at the White Horse (previous picture where the kids are sitting). We tromped out to see Alfred’s Castle one cold, drizzly day . . . and we took a picnic. We had to pick our way through a muddy forest, and climb over an awful tangly heap of branches to get over the stile – and as we crested into the field we saw these incredibly picturesque horses in the distance. We sloshed through the mud and went up to the top of the mound, found a relatively dry spot to sit on the earth wall, and got out our lunch. Instantly those horses turned and charged. They were no longer scenic. They were mean spirited ruffians who hussled us and bullied us and cut me off from the rest of the family – and I was the one holding the food bag! They shoved at me with their heads in a very forward sort of way and tried to get their noses into the bag . . . I was balanced on top of the wall and couldn’t really go off either side – and there were two big horses blocking me off from the rest of my gang! I howled for Ben and was a complete baby about it – he, meanwhile was dashing the kids over to the fence (quite a ways off!) and chucking them over. Then he came back and rescued me from the hooligan horses and we made our getaway. After we were over the fence however, they became quite scenic again.

But you can’t tell me that those horses weren’t thugs. Check out their beards:

Incidentally, and purely as a matter of interest, Alfred’s Castle is located on the extensive grounds of Ashdown Manor. Ashdown was the name of the Viking battle by the by, and Alfred left his “Ashdown Estates” to his wife when he died. The house that is currently there was built in the 17th century and strangely enough, it ties in with Ben’s dissertation in a weird and roundabout way . . . which is strange since his dissertation is on Reformation Heidelberg and has nothing whatever to do with Alfred. The details are somewhat blurry for me – but I think it’s to do with the house having been built for the Winter Queen (widow of Frederick V) by someone who was smitten with her after she moved to England. Anyhow, Frederick V is how Heidelberg enters into it.

This is a picture of the house – and you can see that the horses kept nearer the house are quite a bit more well bred and wear blankets. However . . . any of you who watched the Amoretti video might recognize the house from the shot there at the end. In the video it’s the forest off to the right that you have to trek through to reach Alfred’s Castle.

Anyway, there it is. Photographic evidence that Ben was right in the thick of Alfred territory whilst he wrote the book – and that no doubt produced a far superior product wouldn’t you say? Feng Shui and all that. Plus, the book is dedicated to me in Anglo Saxon . . . and that’s just fun.

Several weeks ago we made the drive down to Boise. For those of you not familiar with our dear old state, the road from Moscow to Boise is 300 miles long, and it’s the only north / south highway that there is. In the course of that 300 miles, you go through two actual towns and a handful of seriously small little units. If we had a classification system like England this might be simpler. In England you are a village unless and until you have a cattle market . . . at which point you obtain to the official status of town. And you’re stuck indefinitely as a town until you get yourself a cathedral. Quite basic, and easy to keep a hang of really. Everyone knows if they live in a village or a town – and cities are easy enough to spot since they get their own bishop. Anyway, going by that unit of measurement there would be no cities whatsoever on Highway 95 from Moscow to Boise,  and there would really be only two (maybe three) towns. The villages would rack up to about five I think.

Anyway – that is neither here nor there. I merely bring it up as a means of illustrating the fact that when you drive to Boise, you’re zooming along through the wilderness. There’s no cell phone coverage to speak of for the entire way, saving the brief moments in those two towns.

Here is a picture of a spot along the road. It looks much like every other spot along the road, but I bring it to your attention here for a particular reason.

Are you with me here? Pasture . . . barbed wire fence . . . mountains. Pretty much par for the course on this road. This shot is looking directly out of the east side of the car. And directly out of the west window, we see this amazing sight:

Yes. The Buffalo Gal. So far that would seem to be relatively un-astonishing. A buffalo gal truck stop near one of the villages is just what one would take right in stride. The thing that jumped out at me about it this time was first of all the question of whether or not the Buffalo Gal knew how to spell “Diner” or whether she actually meant dinner. “Dinner” of course would be an appropriate thing to put on the sign – it would save people the hassle of stopping for lunch, only to find out that the restaurant was closed. Maybe she meant Dinner in the truest sense of the word. But I can’t help wondering if perhaps she was endeavoring to communicate that this was in fact a Diner. But either way, this dinner-serving-diner offers not only World Cuisine, but also Sushi. What more could you ask? A lovely view . . . and some sushi . . . with World Cuisine thrown in! Served up by a Buffalo Gal.

One of these times we’ll have to stop in and find out what it’s like in there. I’m awfully curious. And there’s another one on the edge of the Hoo-Doo mountains which is called (applicably) “The Hoo Doo Cafe” and I’ve always wanted to check that one out as well. And of course there’s “Eddie’s Chinese” in Colfax. Now that I think about it, there’s a whole host of restaurants in our vicinity that are just begging to be tried!

So – here I am, blogging away like there’s no tomorrow after a hiatus of what seems like at least 6 months. Somewhere along the line I fell off the blogging truck (although my blogging truck was never going very fast in the first place!) Last you heard from me I was probably in Oxford . . . and no doubt having some crisis or other and fussing about English groceries. But now I’m back in good old Idaho for the whole summer, and have nothing to complain about in the grocery department. We’re wallowing in the American sized packages, and the fact that we don’t have to ration the peanut butter.

But although we are in the land of limitless peanut butter, as it turns out, Idaho has somewhat less in the way of historical interest than England has. As I’m sure you all know, you can drive for days and never once hit a spot where anything of historical import has ever happened. The “Historic Site Ahead” signs on the highway keep you motivated for miles as they hint of great things to come – but when you pull off the road into the mini parking lot to see what all the fuss is about, it inevitably turns out to be a billboard that explains in painful detail the fact that Lewis and Clark caught fish for dinner in this very creek and wrote that shocking fact down in their diary. (I’m not making that up. We’ve been snookered by that one more than once.) But somehow, even though you KNOW that nothing interesting has EVER happened along Highway 95, you can’t help but be curious about some of those signs. And after you’ve driven past a sign enough times, you finally weaken and eventually you just have to give in and pull off the road and find out just what it is that we’re all supposed to be so impressed with.

This little scenario unfolded a few days ago while Ben and I were driving back from Grangeville – and strangely it was just the two of us that day without all our little roadies in the car. We drove past the little green sign that pointed to the “Weis Rock Shelter” and Ben snapped. He had to find out once and for all what the Weis Rock Shelter was, and so we turned around went back to follow the signs and see what we could see.

The small road took us winding through wheat fields and then eventually turned down into a crazy gorge. This was looking promising. At the very least it was a gorgeous drive. We went down and down and down and 6 miles later we saw the sign that informed us of a “Historical Site Ahead.” Since we were now very far down in the canyon with ridiculously big cliffs on both sides of the road, a rock shelter seemed like it might be kind of neat. So we pulled over, hopped out of the car, and went over to read the sign. I truly wish I could quote that sign word for word . . . it was too utterly priceless. But let me sum up as best I can from memory:

The Weis Rock Shelter was a cave dwelling for the Nez Perce Indians and was continuously inhabited for 8,000 years.

So far so good – cave dwellings are interesting. And making necessary adjustments for chronology and so forth this still seemed like it was actually a pretty neat thing. I mean, come on! That’s got to be at least in the same category as Uffington Castle! I was starting to get excited and take back all the rude things I’ve ever said about Idaho history. But the sign continued.

Excavations have revealed numerous artifacts that were all very interesting. Cooking implements and weapons and what not.

(Paraphrasing perhaps a touch.)

This was an important shelter because of the water source, loads of game, fish from the Salmon River, and a few other things which I’ve forgotten. This is a very sacred place for the Nez Perce people and they can truly say that they have ALWAYS lived here.

At this point it was starting to sound like we were running out of things to say but were determined to at least get a paragraph out of it, so there was some guff about being rooted to the land or something. But then we got to the punchline. The zippy end that really just made my day.

The cave has been backfilled in order to protect it.

I ask you! Backfilled in order to preserve it! And sure enough, we walked over to the cliff face, pushed our way through the blackberry bushes, and there was a large pile of dirt jammed into the hole where there had once been an ancient Nez Perce cave dwelling! And whatever cock eyed reason they had for backfilling the thing (in order to protect it don’t forget) they then went to the bother and expense of signposting it from the highway which was a good 10 miles away at least! Intentionally luring people away from their busy driving and waiting until they’re all the way down in the canyon before springing them the news that they’ve actually backfilled the important and sacred site of historical interest!

I was just intensely pleased by that little experience. Just made my day. I love Idaho.

Some of you may be wondering what ever happened to my daughter Bekah (of skirty fame). The truth is she is living right here under my roof with Ben and the five children, and she comes up once in a while for a cup of coffee. She has busied herself with figuring out how to market a line of dresses for her little business Amoretti, as well as keeping the kids occupied. This has all been quite tame, and I don’t know why you haven’t heard a peep out of her since she got back to the US of A.

This past week they made a trip to Boise to visit family, and while there Bekah learned that her mother-in-law needed a little decorating help with her kindergarten room. Anita has taught kindergarten since Ben (who is now 36) started at age five. So, needless to say, she knows her stuff. Anyhow, this year she has a new temporary room that has walls covered with Pooh Bear. And though we all love Pooh, it just doesn’t fit in with Anita’s bird theme. She is not allowed to paint over the beloved Pooh, because this building is a rental, so she shoved as many bookshelves as possible over some of the drawings. Still, honey bees and things kept peering out.

But, in the nick of time, Bekah got an inspirational flash which has resulted in a power-crafting event. She bought two large drop cloths, designed charts and what not on her computer to cover them, painted edges, and ironed on birds of all flavors, and presto! (well, not exactly presto!) her mother-in-law has wall coverings that can be hung over walls, putting Winnie the Pooh under wraps.

The first one is finished and the second one needs to be done early in the a.m. as Anita leaves for Boise and has to be at school Monday a.m. So the pressure is on, much as it is in the Olympics. Bekah is sure the second one will go much faster. I’m thinking by one a.m. But I wanted you to get a glimpse of this enormous wall display. It is just cool as can be. She’s got the number chart, the poet’s corner, birds, birds, birds, and it is a very fun wall hanging. We did our best to get a decent picture.