I have a bow and arrow set that I use for hunting because I just finished second grade and I’m still not allowed to have a gun yet. I’d never killed anything with it but I practice shooting targets all the time. I had a dozen arrows to start with and I’ve lost a few, broken a few more and have four remaining.

I wish I’d hidden my arrows when my cousin Mack and his family came to visit us about a month ago. He loves to shoot the arrows straight up in the air to see who “chickens out,” and runs away before the arrows fall from above, right down on their skull, killing them instantly. I wonder if he really wants to die because the arrows land at his feet and he never moves an inch.  

I’d rather not die to show the world I’m not afraid of arrows falling from the sky. If I have to die, I’d rather die doing something heroic or in my sleep. Either is fine with me if the rapture doesn’t come and swoop me up into heaven, relieving me of having to die at all.

Money falling from the sky is thrilling! I wonder if this was what it was like for the Israelites back in the days of Moses, with God dropping manna from the sky so that they could eat. Maybe the kids would chase the falling manna and catch it in their mouths and have manna eating contests till they barfed like modern day people do with pies.

When the sun went down, a family of Sasquatches grabbed giant boulders and pulverized the cabin, killing everyone inside. I remember thinking to myself, “I hope I never accidently stumble onto Bigfoot’s land because he’ll heave boulders the size of cars at me, crushing me in seconds unless I have the quickness to dodge them.”

My animal avoidance skill level is at an all-time high, managing to stay a foot or two ahead of Super Rooster, who wanted nothing more than to peck my head off and spur me to death. I consider this for a few minutes and believe that I have a fighting chance of surviving Bigfoot and his heaved boulders.

I wonder if there is any reasoning with the Bigfoot clan or did they despise you on sight the way our rooster did? It’s hard to say with tall, strong apes that walk upright like people.

Mom says in a very serious tone, “I rebuke Bigfoot in the name of the Lord! Shalukkahaadeia! Thank you, Jesus!”

Everyone but Dad is looking out the windows of our car, staring up at the dark mountaintops for Bigfoot as we continue driving. A rock falls and rolls down the side of the mountain, stopping near the road ahead of us. It scares my sisters who both scream and I dig my fingertips into the back of the driver’s seat involuntarily. 

Dad says, “It’s just a falling boulder. Nobody threw it.”
I add, “Yeah, they're boulders. They fall. That’s what boulders do.”
Mom says, “I’m surprised they’d show a horror movie like that to kids.”

Dad’s an expert on most things and says, “You have to understand that these are mountain people and it’s perfectly normal for them, honey.”

I just hope that Bigfoot and family won’t mistake us for gold seekers. I mean, I’d like gold but I’m not willing to fight Bigfoot for it. We are just a family trying to survive. If it isn’t hobos, it’s Bigfoot.
​
Fortunately, we made it home with nary a boulder thrown. We are safe for now in our Indian Museum home. We go to bed and pull the curtains on our windows to prevent Bigfoot from looking in on us as we sleep.

I’ve never lived in an Indian museum before. I’m practically jumping out of the car door before it comes to a stop as we approach our new home with the elk bones in the yard.

Angie comes running to Mom who is standing by Nina. “Look, I found berries growing on a bush behind the house!”

Nina says, “This is going to be just great! Angie can collect the berries, Dana can collect the skulls…”

Little Erik chimes in, “I want to collect the skulls too!”

Dad tells Erik that there are enough skulls for everyone as he walks over to look at a small wooden house that looks like it’s made for small people like me and my sisters and brother.

Dad says that the flooring in the front half of the house will have to be removed and replaced. He continues talking and says that he and Mom and I can chop the floor boards over the next couple of days. I’m excited about this because it means I get to use a hatchet and Dad knows I’m finally big enough to help and won’t kill myself with a sharp object

I’m caught up in the excitement of this new adventure. As we continue to drive with only the occasional stop for gas, I daydream, and try to imagine what Idaho is like. Mom said that Minnesota is the land of 10,000 lakes and Idaho is famous for potatoes. I wonder if kids in Idaho don’t have to take baths and are allowed to grow potatoes behind their ears. I think that would be pretty groovy.    

I daydream about the mountains, wild animals and wild potatoes as well as Indians and cowboys that don’t shoot at each other and are friends. I’m excited about everything except the potatoes. Even if they were wild, how much fun is a spud? Although, on second thought, when a potato sits around for weeks, they get bored and grow all sorts of eyes all over their potato bodies so that’s pretty cool.

Soon it’s quiet again and we’re all wondering if we’re almost there because we’ve been driving forever. When we started the trip, I heard Dad tell Mom that it’s about fourteen hundred miles from Minnesota to Idaho. I don’t know exactly what fourteen hundred means but it sounds like a lot.

Dad can’t afford to buy drinks for each of us, every time we’re thirsty so we often share. When we share, nobody wants to drink after Erik, who, unknowingly leaves a remnant of whatever he’s been eating in the lip of the pop can, guaranteeing that he’ll now take sole ownership of the drink. He’s only two-years old so he can’t help himself. Sometimes our throats get so dry we can’t take it.

“I'm thirsty. Is there any more pop,” Nina asks.
Mom looks at Nina and replies in a happy, almost excited tone, “Kids, we're gonna have to do what the pioneers did.”
Nina asks, “What’s that?”
“Suck your thumb!”

I wonder if she’s joking or if she’s serious and ask, “Suck your thumb? Like a baby?”
Mom knows everything and she replies, “It's scientifically proven that when you put things in your mouth, saliva rushes in.”
​
I’m interested but slightly confused. Usually you hear grownups telling kids to stop sucking their thumbs and this is the first time I ever heard a grown up encouraging kids to suck their thumbs.

I ask, “Saliva? Saliva is spit right?”
“Well…yes.”
“We can just drink the spit in our mouths?”
“It always worked for the pioneers. Look at little Erik. You don't hear him asking for drinks.”
“Nope, only for bathrooms. It must be all the spit he’s drinking.”
Angie looks at Erik and asks Mom, “Does Erik still suck his thumb?”
“Not much but when he’s really thirsty he might.”

We all look over at little Erik to see if he’s sucking his thumb or not because we hadn’t noticed him doing it in some time. He’s looking back at us and smiling like he’s an expert in thirst avoidance and has all the answers. Maybe he is the expert. How could a little kid like Erik know so much?

After an hour Nina seems disappointed and starts looking around. She spots a can of Squirt in the back. Excitedly, she holds the can, wiggles it, and sees that there is liquid inside. She takes a big drink. After a second, she starts spitting and choking like crazy.

“Awk! What is this? Yuck! Awwwww. Gross!  Eewwwuuuu! I think I just drank pee! I did! I just drank pee!!!”

The scene reminds me of the time that Snoopy kissed Lucy in “Merry Christmas Charlie Brown.” She is really upset and angry although it isn’t Erik’s fault. He did the only thing he could do.  Erik laughs, but is clearly embarrassed.

Nina’s begins dramatically wiping her mouth with a blanket that was lying on the floor of the van. “I drank Erik's Pee. Awww!!! Yucky! Gross Er!!!!!!”
Erik defensively exclaims, “Dad told me to!”

Mom immediately begins praying. “Dear Lord, please kill the germs. By your stripes, we are healed Lord God. In Jesus name, Amen!” Mom reopens her eyes and looks at Nina as she talks to her. She smiles reassuringly and says, “You’ll be fine Nina. Don’t worry sweetie. God is good!”

Mom points out the signs of The Lewis and Clark Trail and historical landmarks. “Look, he was here 168 years ago and now we’re at the exact, same spot. The trail is still fresh!”
We’re now driving on the side of steep cliffs as we pass from Montana to Idaho through Lolo Pass. Mom is nervous and tells us that even Lewis and Clark complained about this “wretched mountain pass” in their travel journals that they submitted to President Jefferson.

Mom is doing her best not to show her grave concern for our safety but has to stop looking out the window to do so. Dad doesn’t appear nervous at all. I want to be brave like him but I’m feeling apprehensive. My eyes are drawn to the bottom of the mountains, searching the crevices for wildlife. I can’t help but wonder if we went over the edge right now, if anyone would survive. I look for signs of vehicles down there and I see the occasional tire, hubcap and a crumpled pick-up truck. This keeps our eyes busy and our collective mouths from asking the age-old question as to whether or not we were almost there yet.

Rudy has tan skin that is badly wrinkled from the sun and elements. He has the skin color of a Native American Indian, who are common in the area. I know they’re common because a few years ago I noticed people with tan skin as I walked around town with my mom. Every time I saw someone I thought was an Indian, I excitedly asked my mom, “Hey mom, is that an Indian? Is that a real Indian?” She didn’t like to answer when the person was close to us and she tried to shush me but I needed to know so I’d ask louder and louder. “Mom! Hey Mom! Is that an Indian? That guy right there with the tan skin! Is he an Indian? Is he Mom?”

Her face turns all sorts of pretty colors and I wonder how she does that. Later, at home she said that they were Indians and that I didn’t need to ask her anymore. I was apparently an expert at identifying Indians and I liked seeing them. I wished I was an Indian but I also liked being a cowboy so either one was fine with me.

Rudy, my Mom and Dad love to fish together. We row the small boat into the lake in hopes that this will be the best place to catch something good. On her first cast Mom catches something unexpected; Rudy’s ear. Rudy immediately howls with pain, trying to remove the hook from his freshly pierced earlobe.

When Mom does something uncomfortably embarrassing, she breaks out into a fit of nervous laughter. Even though she feels bad, she can’t stop laughing. She must really feel terrible when she hooks Rudy’s ear because I haven’t seen her laugh this hard in a long time.  Not being able to help myself, I join in the laughter with Mom. Rudy doesn’t laugh. He’s howling and make strange faces as he continues to try and remove the hook from his ear.

I can’t help but notice his expressions of pain so I stop laughing until I hear my mom laughing even harder and decide it’s better to laugh than just sit and stare at a man with a painful hook stuck in his ear.

Even though Rudy only looks like an Indian but isn’t one, he seems to know their ways like their ancient secret of shocking worms from the ground. Rudy does this by sawing a baseball bat in half, sticking a steel rod into the middle of it and pushing the rod into the ground. He then attaches an electric cord to the shocker and plugs it in. Worms can't squirm to the surface fast enough and we have more than we'll ever use for fishing including several huge night crawlers. 

For my fourth birthday Grandma gave me leather cowboy chaps and a leather vest that she made. I couldn’t believe my nose or my eyes! The leather smelled so good and my eyes never saw a cowboy outfit just my size before. I excitedly tore off my clothes and tried on my new outfit. I then searched for and found my cowboy hat and my cowboy boots.

I stare at my reflection in the television set that is turned off. I see Cowboy Dana on TV looking back at me. I run into the kitchen where Grandma is washing dishes.  Looking for a second opinion, I excitedly ask, “I’m real, aren’t I Grandma?”

She laughs and says with a big smile, “Oh boy! You sure are real!”

Grandma knows real cowboys because she’s married to one. Now I know for sure that I’m a real cowboy like my Grandpa, not just a boy wearing a costume. I walk back to the TV again with confidence, to stare at Cowboy Dana again. I like the way I look. I see a real cowboy on the TV and it’s me!

Grandpa is a master storyteller. His has stories that keep visitors entertained through the day and into the wee hours of the night. The stories evoke tremendous laughter from all in earshot. As he tells a story, the sparkle in his eyes seems more pronounced and that’s when you know he’s truly enjoying himself.
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I wish I had a sparkle like that. I run to the bathroom to check the mirror, hoping that perhaps I have a sparkle in my eyes that I hadn’t noticed but I see no hint of one anywhere. I concentrate, flutter my eyes, roll my eyes, and stare in the mirror without blinking but nothing works. I hope that perhaps when I’m older and have stories of my own, a sparkle will settle down and make itself at home in at least one of my eyes. With no sparkle to be found anywhere, I turn my attention to my fantastic earlobes and smile. Well, at least I still got these babies!