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Illinois Valley News, Cave Junction, OR Wednesday, July 21, 2004
It was a dirty trick. But not especially surprising
from one model railroad fan to another. A fiend, er …
friend … so to speak, is responsible.
Recently met this guy, who knows of my infatua-
tion with railroadianity, not to mention scale-model
“toys.” Yeah, right. Toys that cost more than a new
car in some cases. Not really; just seems that way.
But hey, they’ve got model train locomotives now
that come with authentic engine or boiler sounds, air
brake noises, huffing and puffing, and idling. Not to
mention whistles, horns and bells. Why, they’ve even
got voices from the locomotives asking about water
volume and stuff like that.
I mean, you’d think you were right there alongside
the right-of-way, watching the Super Chief, Sunset
Limited or other such high-balling rail motel roaring
across the countryside. Of course, you’ve got to have
the “right” mind-set for such shenanigans. Like me.
Or “my friend.”
This guy lured me to his house by describing his
model railroad equipment and his layout. He knew
that even though I switched from model railroading to
drooling over the catalogues, that I was still coupled.
And he is right.
Although I have no memory of such, I have a holy
card marking the occasion of my first train trip, from
San Diego to El Paso, Texas. I was 9 months old at
the time, and it’s likely that the clickety-clack, the
chuffing and puffing, the rattling and the swaying im-
printed themselves in my brain. On my soul maybe.
My mom (who died a year ago at 92) and I used to
go every summer from San Diego to El Paso for part
of the summer to visit her mom, sisters, friends and
various relatives. Those were memorable trips for me.
Eating in a rolling diner; watching the endless scenery
pass by; hearing the crossing signals clang as we
zipped through. There is nothing like riding a train; a
self-encapsulated community of sojourners.
Because I could not afford my own full-size train,
I became a model railroader. My first train was by
Marx (the toy company, not the political philosopher).
My dad and Uncle Ed set it up for me; then kept me
from running it because they were having too much
fun. I was about 5. Eventually they got tired or had to
go to work or the bathroom or something, and I was
able to take control.
Years later my dad gave my an S-gauge American
Flyer diesel loco hauling some freight cars. That was
a cool train, quite powerful. I foolishly traded it for
some HO equipment. Wish I hadn’t done that.
Later, my wife gave me an N-gauge set complete
with scenery. It was a great gift, but when we moved
from Bonita, Calif. to Poway, I sold it. Wish I hadn’t.
Later, I moved into G-gauge equipment by LGB.
It’s large-scale stuff, but goes with my wife’s saying,
“The bigger the kid, the bigger the toys need to be.”
Something like that. And now, my model railroad
“friend” has refired my boiler.
Guess I need to get on the right track.
Illinois Valley News
An Independent Weekly Newspaper Co-owned and
published by Robert R. (Bob) and Jan Rodriguez
Bob Rodriguez, Editor El Jefe
Entered as second class matter June 11, 1937 at Post
Office as Official Newspaper for Josephine County and
Josephine County Three Rivers School District, published
at 321 S. Redwood Hwy., Cave Junction, OR 97523
Periodicals postage paid at Cave Junction, OR 97523
Post Office Box 1370 USPS 258-820
Telephone (541) 592-2541, FAX (541) 592-4330
Volume 66, No. 18
Staff: Cindy Newton, Chris Robertson,
Michelle Binker, Becky Loudon,
Shane Welsh & Kacy Clement
Member: Oregon Newspaper Publishers Association
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‘Environmental Police’
From William Reid
Cave Junction
Let’s see if I have this
right.
The Siskiyou Project
has advised Rough &
Ready Lumber Co. about
“education” that could oc-
cur because of its potential
involvement in Biscuit Fire
timber salvage. Who do
these folks think they are?
Who appointed them as the
Illinois Valley Environ-
mental Police?
This
type
of
“education” reminds me of
Bernhard Rust, the minis-
ter of education for Nazi
Germany. His aim was to
educate some folks to ex-
tinction. I guess the
“education” goal of Siski-
you Project is the extinc-
tion of mills, loggers, min-
ers and anybody that does
not agree with their phi-
losophy.
These are the same
folks that in February 2003
sued the Siskiyou National
Forest over recreational
miners using small
dredges. These folks think
that anything larger than a
pan should not be used for
gold mining.
These are the folks
currently suing the U.S.
Forest Service for its selec-
tion of Alternative 7 of the
Biscuit Fire Recovery Pro-
ject. How many trees have
been cut to supply the pa-
per these folks use in their
court filings?
If Siskiyou Project
would stop being Luddites
and work with, not against
the local community, per-
haps we all could move
forward. This is the 21st
century, and this country is
an industrialized nation.
Like it or not, timber and
mining play a vital role in
our economy.
We cannot go back
200 years to a “pristine”
Oregon. What we can do is
manage what we have in a
sensible manner. The 1994
Northwest Forest Plan
lowered the annual sale in
the Siskiyou Forest from
166 mbf (million board
feet) to 24 mbf.
That was a drastic re-
duction, but apparently not
enough for some who
would like to see that cut
at zero. Let the Siskiyou
Project put their money
where their mouth is and
bid on the timber sale
rather than try to steal it
away through litigation.
Missing loved one
From Brian Alec Thom
Cave Junction
It’s so nice when a
“missing loved one story”
has a happy ending.
On Thursday, July 8,
my 14-year-old Collie/
Samoyed mix wandered
away in search of a drink.
He ended up in the water-
way, that trench, behind
Giant Burger - wet, and
unable to climb out.
He was discovered
Friday morning by pedes-
trians. Oddly, the call went
out for, “...the dog in the
ditch…” It must have been
a long, struggle-filled
night.
I appreciate everyone
involved for making the
extra effort to save my lost
dog, “Trophy.”
Josephine County Ani-
mal Control Officer Bill
Powell was on duty and
ready to perform the hard
task of lifting “Trophy” to
safety. I am so grateful that
we have him employed in
our valley; I am moved to
donate money toward his
department’s cause to
honor his work.
Dr. Dan Fiske and his
staff at Crossroads Animal
Hospital were so kind to
work my little crisis into
their busy morning, by
providing short-term shel-
ter and a most-welcome
phone call from Darlene.
The pastor and choir at
Immanuel United Method-
ist Church reassured me
and looked around for a
lame dog in the bushes - I
appreciate them for staying
late (and I still ask myself,
“How could we have
missed looking in that di-
rection?”). By the end of
the evening, I was certain
he had walked away to die
in privacy with his dignity.
Then there were the
“dear-hearts,” those grace-
ful ladies who take their
morning stroll each day,
and attended to this par-
ticular morning’s chal-
lenge by keeping “Trophy”
alert and present - they
have restored my hope and
begun again a spiritual
awareness within me.
Of course, I acknowl-
edge my friends (they
know who they are) who
advised me and said the
right words and made me
do the right things - well -
how can you measure
love?
If I have overlooked
someone else, whose
hands assisted in the res-
cue, I apologize for not
knowing them and being
able to note them directly.
There has been so
much bad news lately. The
Illinois River Valley is full
of healing, life-giving and
fertile energy. I have only
lived here for two years
(although I am a native
Oregonian) and already my
dog and I have found the
highest quality of life pos-
sible. For that, I am very
thankful.
Lakeshore violators
From Dusty Bouchard
Selma
Sunday before last, my
husband and I were on our
way to church around 8:30
a.m. We live on McMullen
Creek Road and go by the
lake when we go any-
where.
The speed limit posted
all the way around the lake
is 20 miles per hour; not,
as some seem to believe,
20 miles per minute. There
are small children, dogs,
cats, and lots of geese
around the lake.
That morning, some-
one, some uncaring and
inconsiderate jerk, hit one
of the baby geese and then
left it to die a lingering
death. All the other geese
were standing around it as
it flopped and cried and
tried to get up.
This was what we saw
as we drove past. We
stopped, but had nothing in
which to wrap the baby to
try to get it to a veterinar-
ian. Fortunately, someone
else did have, and the baby
was gone when we came
home at noon.
I am constantly being
tailgated, having lights
flashed at me, and passed
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