Saturday, February 12, 2022
VIEWPOINTS
East Oregonian
A5
A hound’s memory
J.D.
SMITH
FROM THE HEADWATERS
OF DRY CREEK
N
ot long ago, a friend asked if I had
a picture of my great-grandfather.
I had to confess that I did not know
who my great-grandfathers were.
I know that my maternal great-grand-
mother had one leg, and that both of my
grandfathers came from the Ozarks of
Missouri, one fleeing home because his
brothers were hanging around with Jesse
James and he homesteaded in a sod house in
the Sandhills of Nebraska. The other proved
up on a chunk of dry land in northeastern
Colorado where he survived the 1930s by
becoming a traveling pickle salesman.
So, the Missouri connection is what,
long ago, led my folks and me to drive from
Alliance, Nebraska, to Rutledge, Missouri,
to visit my mom’s cousin Bobbie, who had
her single wide moved closer to the road so
she could better hear the trucks climbing
the grade south of her place. That is about as
hillbilly as one can get.
While we were there we attended the
National Coon Dog Auction. There were
maybe 200 hounds of all types tethered in
an acre of open land that one-by-one were
led up a set of stairs to a platform erected
outside the hay loft of a big red weather
wrinkled barn.
Then the owners would brag about
the dogs and a super mumbling auction-
eer would sell them to bidders below, on
trial, meaning that the buyer would have
the option to hunt with the dogs that night,
then return the mutt if not satisfied with its
performance. Apparently there were enough
raccoons to go around in that part of the
woods.
Of course, no one said what a no-ac-
count mangy cur they were trying to sell.
The emphasis of the sales pitch usually was
on the dog’s voice, how one could tell by the
frequency of the yips and yaps and baying
whether the pack of dogs were running a
coon or whether something had been treed.
Apparently the technique of successful
raccoon hunting is to loose the hounds then
sit on a stump drinking beer until you can
tell by the noise that the dogs have found
some critter and ran it up a tree. Then you
go retrieve the hounds. I don’t think any
raccoons were murdered during the process.
It was mid-afternoon when an older
gentleman led an older female redbone
hound up the stairs. Both had gray whiskers.
I can still hear the Ozark twang in his voice
as he told the following story…
“This here’s Nellie. She is getting a little
long in the tooth and a little short in the get
up and go, but she’s been a real good dog,
raised many a litter of good hunters and
never bit nobody. She’s a blood relative
to a good quarter of the dogs chained out
yonder.”
“Now a feller might wonder what a seri-
ous coon hunter would want with a grand-
mother dog like Nellie. She ain’t gonna be
out in front of the pack, that’s for sure, but
she sure has a great memory, and that comes
in useful sometimes. Here, let me give you
an example.”
“A week or so back a feller came out to
my farm and said he wanted to buy the best
hound I had. I directed him toward Nellie
and when he asked what made her so special,
I told him it was her memory, to come in for
supper and then we would take her into the
woods and demonstrate her skills.
“By the time we had our bellies full it
was dark. I called Nellie, pointed off towards
the trees and told her to go find us a critter.
She ran straight across the pasture, jumped
maybe six feet straight up in the air, then ran
into the woods. Five minutes later she was
telling us that she had something treed, so
we took a big flashlight and found her star-
ing up an oak tree and talking.
“We couldn’t see the shine from any crit-
ter’s eyes up in the branches, but she insisted
that she had treed something, so I climbed
up into the branches. Way up near the top, in
the crook of a branch, I found a raccoon skel-
eton. I brought it down and showed to the
feller, reminding him that I had mentioned
that Nellie had a pretty stout memory.
“He allowed as he was pretty impressed,
but that he figured that there was a good
chance that she might be losing her mind,
because why else would she have jumped up
into the air back there at the beginning?
“That is when I reminded him that I used
to have a fence across that piece of pasture.”
———
J.D. Smith is an accomplished writer and
jack-of-all-trades. He lives in Athena.
We want to see the straight stretches
LINDSAY
MURDOCK
FROM SUNUP TO SUNDOWN
t’s quiet. I’ve found myself in an office
in the early hours of the day, waiting and
watching.
My heart beats slow and steady as I
settle into the not-so-comfortable chair I
have found myself in more Fridays than
I can count. There is a hum of air coming
through the vent in the ceiling above me.
I hear the clicking of keys on a computer
keyboard through the frosted glass across the
room. The receptionist I had just spoken to
moments before, has her work cut out for her
it seems. Papers shuffle, and a phone rings. I
catch the sound of laughter, but dismiss it as
fast as it arrives.
I wonder what there could possibly be
to laugh about right now. I breathe deep,
reminding myself that while I wait, it’s best
for my mental state to count the gifts, look
for the good, and acknowledge that this space
and this time has already been mapped out
for me, just as it has been for her. See the
good, Lindsay, see the good, I whisper to
myself, and hear it too.
The door opens to my left, and a young
mother and her young child walk in. They
stand at the same frosted glass, ring the same
bell, and wait as patiently as my own son and
I had moments before. My mind flashes back
to the very first time my boys and I walked
into this office. They weren’t much older than
the boy standing in front of me now, and I
wasn’t much older than the woman. I wonder,
as I watch, if she knows that as hard as it may
be to come here, it’s worth every amount of
effort it takes. I wonder if she knows that she
doesn’t need to worry.
The glass moves and the familiar voice
and words I know by heart echo through the
room, not for me this time, but for the young
mother I find myself relating to, but really not
knowing at all. The glass closes and she takes
a seat near me while watching her son play
with a toy car she had handed him moments
earlier. Her son smiles at her, and she smiles
back, as she sits like me, waiting.
I hear the phone ring again, and I glance
at the clock, wondering about my own son
who has outgrown playing with cars in this
office, but hasn’t outgrown his need for this
place. Does he know that the time spent here
each Friday is meant to help, not hinder? I
don’t really know. Does he feel the love I
have for him here and now as I wait for his
session to end? I don’t know that either. He’s
down a short hallway, talking about the paper
he was supposed to have memorized, only
I know that he doesn’t have it memorized at
all. The paper he was supposed to have prac-
ticed reading with me hasn’t been touched all
week.
In fact, he crumpled the paper the minute
he left the office the week before, frustrated
and disappointed, more at himself than the
I
paper. Deep in my heart, I know this part of
his story. This address we have visited each
week more times than I can count, is where
he needs to be, but oh how it tears my heart
apart knowing that he sees it as a hindrance,
not as an advantage.
I hear laughter again, and am brought
back to the present. I shift in my chair, watch-
ing the young mother and her son make their
way through the doorway toward their sched-
uled appointment. I smile at them, cheering
them on silently, knowing that the journey
they’re on isn’t for the faint at heart. A few
minutes later, my son walks through the
same doorway with a smile on his face, step-
ping toward me with a sparkle in his eyes.
“Today was my last day mom,” he says.
His speech therapist grins as they take turns
explaining what had happened during the
appointment. His goals had been met. He
did what was asked. The waiting was over.
Tears filled my eyes and a lump in my throat
formed. I knew as I listened that there would
still be work to do and setbacks could possi-
bly occur, but the time we had spent putting
one foot in front of the other across a parking
lot and into an office each week had taken
us on a beautiful journey. One that was now
over.
We often find ourselves in situations
where we wish for lives that are completely
mapped out. We want to see the straight
stretches, and like to know when to expect
sharp turns or roadblocks — lives that are
easy to navigate, without many challenges or
obstacles to hurdle. That kind of life doesn’t
exist. The thing that I learned, especially in
that specific waiting room, is that those chal-
lenges and obstacles that we may not know
about until they are upon us, are often exactly
what we need them to be.
In the waiting, in the worry, and in the
anxiousness of sitting in that office space
each week, I learned two very specific things.
One, giving my attention to the good that is
happening in the places and spaces around
me, rather than getting worked up about what
may or may not happen tomorrow, was, and
still is, crucial for navigating any part of life
I’m in successfully. And, two, it’s absolutely
OK to be honest and vulnerable in admitting
when we’re stuck, and maybe even sick and
tired of the journey.
The professional we saw each week
was like a compass, pointing us in the right
direction and giving us tools to get where
we needed to go. Holding a map or a list
of addresses of places we need to visit is
comforting, but trusting in an unseen and
unknown future, with a hope in something or
even someone that is bigger than that map, is
where I believe we find out what we’re really
made of.
So if you find yourself waiting somewhere
any time soon, like in the pharmacy line, at
the post office, in a doctor’s office, or even
waiting for a ride somewhere, look and see
what’s good around you. It’s a part of your
story and worth every second of the wait.
———
Lindsay Murdock lives and teaches in Echo.
Legislature returns with
‘wacky’ reputation
DICK
HUGHES
OTHER VIEWS
T
he Oregon Legislature came
back to Salem the first week of
February and quickly fulfilled
its increasingly wacky reputation.
On the opening day of the 2022
session, the state House was testy, the
Senate more collegial.
The contentious issue of farm-
worker overtime, which I discussed
in last week’s column, illustrates how
the political mood differs in the Senate
and House. Sponsored by urban
Democrats, House Bill 4002 resides
in the House Business and Labor
Committee, chaired by state Rep. Paul
Holvey, D-Eugene.
But let’s start in the Senate, where
lawmakers got down to business right
away while folks in the House were
milling around.
Sen. Bill Hansell, R-Athena, said
if overtime is to be mandated for
agricultural employees, it must be
done right. He gave a remonstrance
— a brief floor speech — in which
he thanked Senate President Peter
Courtney, D-Salem, for meeting with
agricultural producers from Hansell’s
Senate district to discuss the issue.
Hansell pledged to work collabora-
tively toward “victory” and quoted
Courtney:
“It really resonated with me and
the (producers) that you said, ‘When
it comes to legislation, you can have a
win or you can have a victory. A win
is when one party crams something
down and it’s not bipartisan when
we end up with a vote. A victory is
when we work on good policy to bring
(people) together and we have a bill
that will be supported on both sides of
the aisle and also in both chambers.’”
Advocates are using the courts, the
Legislature and the Oregon Bureau of
Labor and Industries to push for agri-
cultural overtime. In the House, rural
Republicans pushed back in their
remonstrances.
Rep. Daniel Bonham, R-The
Dalles, said the latest work group
on the topic fell apart because the
advocates were not motivated to find
a legislative solution. Rep. Shelly
Boshart Davis, R-Albany, read an
editorial from the Capital Press
and echoed a colleague’s call for an
honest, intellectual conversation.
In a lengthy, heartfelt remonstrance
that covered several topics, Rep.
Janelle Bynum, D-Happy Valley, said
farmworkers deserve better treatment
and vowed that the Legislature would
provide it.
Here are more tidbits from the first
week’s wonders and wackiness:
The Oregon Capitol finally was
open to the public for a legislative
session. Sort of.
For the first time, metal detectors
greeted anyone entering the Capitol,
although Bonham reportedly came
through a different door and acciden-
tally evaded them.
Masks are required in the Capi-
tol due to the public health protocols,
which led to disagreements between
anti-mask protesters and Oregon
State Police. Officials disputed media
reports that individuals who claimed
religious exemptions were allowed in
without masks.
An email to the “Capitol Commu-
nity” from Legislative Administration
and the state police said: “There is
no religious exemption to the mask-
ing requirement, and no one claiming
solely such an exemption was permit-
ted to enter the Capitol.”
A small number of people,
however, requested accommodation
under the Americans with Disabilities
Act.
House Republicans questioned the
mask mandate, especially that they
had to wear one even while speak-
ing. The Oregon Capital Chronicle
reported that Rep. E. Werner Reschke,
R-Klamath Falls, “stood off the House
floor without a mask and popped
his head in to vote. But he avoided
the kind of showdown that ended
a December special session, when
Courtney had a Senate Republican
escorted from the chamber by (Senate
staff) for not wearing a mask.”
That senator, Dallas Heard, of
Roseburg, was not in the Senate on
opening day.
The public could watch the opening
session from the House gallery. In the
Senate, due to COVID-19 concerns,
Courtney reversed course and closed
the chamber to the public.
For the same reason, legislative
committees are operating remotely
via video conference and phone. The
legislative IT system remained intact,
but the Capitol Wi-Fi network used by
the public crashed early in the week.
Rep. Dan Rayfield, D-Corvallis,
was elected House speaker with only
one vote to spare. Democrats and
Republicans alike then gave him three
standing ovations, including one after
his poignant speech that detailed his
rough growing up.
Courtney has been giving exten-
sive media interviews about this being
his final session as Senate president
before retiring. Yet the usually voluble
politician abstained from an opening
day speech.
One sign of the changing of the
guard emerged later in the week when
Courtney removed himself from one
of his longtime passions, the Oregon
State Hospital. He appointed Sen.
Kate Lieber, D-Beaverton, to replace
him on the mental hospital’s advisory
board.
The Legislature has so many new
members that two newly appointed
senators lead committees. Sen. Rachel
Armitage, D-Warren, is co-chair of
the Joint Committee on Information
Management and Technology. Sen.
Janeen Sollman, D-Hillsboro, who
served in the House, is co-chair of the
General Government budget panel.
COVID-19 concerns hung over the
Capitol throughout the week. Court-
ney canceled the Senate’s second floor
session. Two senators came anyway
— Kathleen Taylor, D-Portland, and
Fred Girod, R-Lyons — since the
Oregon Constitution required Court-
ney to go through the motions of start-
ing and adjourning the floor session.
Gov. Kate Brown delivered her
final State of the State speech live on
YouTube instead of the traditional
appearance before a House chamber
packed with representatives, senators,
judges, past governors, other lumi-
naries, the public and journalists. She
also did not hold a press conference
afterward, either online or in person,
to take questions.
Brown took the high road in her
half-hour speech, never referring to
her critics. But they tuned in, filling
the accompanying YouTube chat with
often-snarky comments about her
mask mandates and other perceived
missteps.
Finally, for a humorous and effec-
tive explanation of this year’s “short”
legislative session, check out “Chef
Grayber.” Rep. Dacia Grayber, D-Ti-
gard, created a faux cooking video on
Twitter that explains: “For the long
session, we prefer to slow-cook our
bills at a steady temperature. For the
short session, however, we’ll be using
a pressure cooker.”
She demonstrates a recipe that
starts with great ideas and includes
a bit of negotiation, some healthy
collaboration, a bit of legal vetting, a
dose of debate and a dash of compro-
mise.
———
Dick Hughes has been covering the
Oregon political scene since 1976.