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About Illinois Valley news. (Cave City, Oregon) 1937-current | View Entire Issue (Aug. 2, 2017)
Page A-14 Illinois Valley News, Cave Junction, Ore. Wednesday, August 2, 2017 Junior ranger earns her 285th badge at Oregon Caves Weather Watch Cave Junction Thursday, Aug 3 Sunny High --104 Low -- 70 Friday, Aug 4 Sunny High -- 97 Low -- 69 Saturday, Aug 5 Sunny High -- 97 Low -- 67 Sunday, Aug 6 Sunny High -- 97 Low -- 67 Monday, Aug 7 Sunny High -- 96 Low -- 66 Tuesday, Aug 8 Sunny High -- 95 Low -- 65 Wednesday, Aug 9 Sunny High -- 94 Low -- 65 Following are the high & low temperatures, and rainfall recorded at The End of the Road in O’Brien by Cheryl Johnson: July 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 High 92.2 93.1 93.9 96.0 99.6 96.7 96.1 Low 47.3 53.2 65.3 66.1 64.3 64.3 54.8 July Rain: 0.00” YTD Rain: 116.54” T ry r osie ’ s PIZZA B Y -T HE -S LICE Today 415-0517 OPEN: M & TH 11-6 FRIDAY 11-7 aT C hevron in CJ SATURDAY 9-1 aT G ranTs P ass G rowers ’ markeT FIND US ON FACEBOOK! (Courtesy photo for the Illinois Valley News) Aida Frey (left) is sworn in by Cave Junction resident Darian Clark, Thursday, July 27. Frey only has 132 left of 417 parks to earn Junior Ranger status. According a release from George D. Herring, Chief of Interpretation for the Oregon Caves National Monument & Preserve, July 27, distinguished junior ranger Aida Frey made her way to Oregon Caves National Monument and Preserve to earn her 285th junior ranger badge. After completing her junior ranger booklet, she heard her ranger say those magical words “Raise your right hand and repeat after me.” Although Frey has gone through this process hundreds of times, she never grows weary of making the junior ranger pledge. Since she was 9 years old, it has been her mission for her and her family to visit all 417 National Parks in the United States. The release added that Frey’s love and commitment to the Junior Ranger Program embodies the National Park Service’s mission to protect and preserve natural, cultural, and historical treasures. “We love the national parks and I’m very happy to earn my 285th badge at the Oregon Caves,” said Frey. Park ranger Darian Clark, a Cave Junction resident, swore Aida in as an Oregon Caves Junior Ranger. AL ... Continued from A-11 impression of an overweight young matron with three or four runny-nosed younkers snuffling around underfoot. One of my nieces, another sweet little miss of about the same age, who attained a permanently unchanging place in my mental records, always makes her bow in my memory picture with the wee shin-kicker, only this is a separate scene of unforgettable tragic-comedy. Little Margie was happily engaged at working on a king-size jawbreaker, one of those big black sucking candies that look like a miniature billiard ball–and are fully as hard. Her little mouth was just big enough to accommodate the J.B., with room to turn it round and round with her tongue to make it dissolve faster. Our big German shepherd stood watching her hungrily, drooling uncontrollably on the clean floor. Finally his patience was rewarded – or his dog-prayer answered: the big slippery jawbreaker suddenly popped out of the little maid’s mouth and onto the floor, and before it hardly had time to bounce, the dog had it. Time seems to have expunged from the record the eventual fate of the jawbreaker, but the picture of the weeping little mite, frantically beseeching the dog to “pit it out, pit it out!” as she beat on the unheeding monster with her tiny fists, still remains as a masterpiece of memography. Even if the scientific eggheads were capable of solving my hypothetical problem, they will probably never get around to working on it. So I guess we’ll just have to go on enjoying the young, while they’re little, stoically enduring the no longer cute animals, and remembering with a weary sigh that the near-grownup kids will soon be married and (theoretically) on their own–and preparing to do what they can to compensate us for having committed the crime of growing up and thus robbing us of the loveable little creatures that used to be. Before I had hardly finished speaking my piece, and with a fierce scowl of her own, she walked up to within a foot of me, gave me a vicious kick on the shin and, turning away with the air of having performed a necessary task, proclaimed in her ruffled baby voice:“I got mad myself!” The ‘self’ came out “sewf.” Ignominiously I beat a hasty retreat – I had to keep from spoiling the whole show by laughing at the little firebrand’s assault. The memory of that little midget’s indignation at my rude interference, and her prompt punitive retaliation, is one I have always treasured–the only time I ever got kicked in the shins and liked it. And right there is where the biological stop-clock should have gone into operation; for the picture is slightly tarnished by a years-later
