Bad Moon on the Rise

Last night was the Salmon River District’s recognition dinner. The town of Salmon is about a three-hour drive from Idaho Falls. Through the high desert, over the Gilmore Summit, along the Lemhi River Valley, to the beautiful old mining town of Salmon. With the Bitterroot Range to the east and the Lemhi Range to the west and straddling the Salmon River the town of Salmon in located in a beautiful natural setting.

For those who are unfamiliar with the history of the area, the Lewis and Clark Corps of Discovery crossed the continental divide at Lemhi Pass (crossing from what is today Montana into Idaho) and descended into the Lemhi River Valley just a few miles south of where the town of Salmon is today. Their Indian guide Sacajawea was raised in the valley and by the time Lewis and Clark arrived her brother Cameahwait was the chief of the Shoshone tribe in the Valley. They gave Lewis and Clark horses which allowed them to continue on their trek to the Columbia River and the Pacific Ocean.

Our council president, Gregg Landon, and I have gone to fifteen of the eighteen district dinners so far this year. He was riding with me on this trip.

There was a severe wind storm and Interstate-15 was closed from Idaho Falls to Roberts, not an uncommon occurrence around here, due to blowing dust. The wind picks up the dust from the potato fields and visibility drops to almost zero. We took the back roads from Idaho Falls to Roberts and picked up I-15 at Roberts. North to Sage Junction, west on Highway 33, then north on Highway 28 to Salmon. Along the way we saw lots of cattle, several deer, and one moose grazing in the creek below Gilmore Pass. Gregg commented that we need to watch out for them on the drive back because it will be dark.

The dinner finished at about 8:30 and we got back in my truck for the drive back to Idaho Falls. It was dusk and the storm had passed over while we were at the dinner. It was a beautiful evening with a partly cloudy sky. As we were driving the full moon rose through the clouds over the mountains to the east in a glorious display. There was enough lingering twilight for me to see pretty well through most of the heavily timbered Lemhi River Valley where there is always a lot of wildlife.

By the time we started the slow climb up Gilmore Pass it was full dark but by then we were pretty high and up and out of the timbered lowlands. I wasn’t too worried about playing deer-tag at this higher altitude. There are often antelope in that part of the country but we didn’t see a single one on our drive up and I assume they have not migrated back to their normal summer grazing territory in the high sagebrush desert. Right at the edge of my headlights I saw something in the middle of the road and I hit my brakes—hard. Just as I did I realized what I saw was the light feather hairs on the back edges of the legs of a moose. The moose was very dark and all I could see were those light hairs and the moose’s silhouette backlit by the moon.

I was breaking very hard by then and I saw that it was a large cow moose with a young calf right behind it. The cow was in the middle of the road and the calf was behind her to the left in the opposite lane. They were crossing the road from east to west and had stopped as we approached. The truck came to a stop with only about ten feet to spare. It took my heart a lot longer to slow down. As I slowly started rolling again the moose (mooses? meese?) moved back the way they came then ran quite a ways along the side of the road keeping pace with the truck. I finally sped up and left them behind.

I’m glad Gregg warned me to keep a watch out on the return trip. I’m glad the moose had a small strip of light hairs on the back edges of her legs. I’m glad there was a full moon rising. And I’m glad my brakes worked well. Change any one of those things and this story would have ended differently.

I see a bad moon arising.
I see trouble on the way.
. . .
Don’t go around tonight,
Well its bond to take your life,
There’s a bad moon on the rise.

Tripping the Light Fantastic

Come mothers and fathers
Throughout the land
And don't criticize
What you can't understand
Your sons and your daughters
Are beyond your command
Your old road is
Rapidly agin'
Please get out of the new one
If you can't lend your hand
For the times they are a-changin'.
—Bob Dylan

For some reason I have always preferred classic Rock and Roll. Even at the peak of the 70’s Hard Rock craze while all my friends were rockin’ out I listened to “Oldies” radio stations and liked the Beach Boys, Bill Haley & the Comets, Buddy Holly, and Flash Cadillac & the Continental Kids (to name just a few). American Graffiti was (and still is?) my favorite album. I use a question mark because Oh Brother, Where Art Thou, The Beach Boys’ Endless Summer, and Billy Joel’s Stranger are right up there as well. Now I prefer Folk music—not sure why.

Back in the mid-70’s we used to have dance competitions between the wards in the stake we lived in in New Jersey. I think LDS stakes all over the country did the same thing. The first year I can remember the youth in our ward learned to Swing. Our Scoutmaster, Joe McNall, was our teacher and we saw a whole new side of his personality. He was always a pretty easy going guy but when the music started to play he really came alive. We had been on plenty of hikes and canoe trips with him but we had never seen how he could jump and jive. Under Joe’s direction all of us got pretty good at the basic steps and moves of the Swing and, if I remember correctly, we won the competition that first year (1974?). If we didn’t, we should have!

The next year the entire stake learned how to Swing and Joe taught us a full choreographed swing routine to Glenn Miller’s “In the Mood.” For weeks we practiced in the church gym after MIA/Mutual meetings. We all had a great time and we learned many flips, slides, turns, and tricks. Joe taught us everything we learned. I’m sure he had some help but I cannot remember who it was or who they were. Joe also taught us other dances like the Twist, Loco Motion, and Polka, but for us it was all about the Swing.

Debbie McNall (Joe’s daughter) was, of course, my favorite partner. (She was my girlfriend, on-and-off, all through high school.) Shalynn Murphy and I were technically better dance partners and I always enjoyed dancing with Sandy Johnstone and Susan Eckersley as well, but Debbie was my best girl. Our group later went on to compete in several community dance competitions and marathon dance contests. We always did very well and even won a few.

When Nancy and I started dancing together it took some time to adjust to each other. While I had learned to Swing she had learned the West Coast Swing and Lindy Hop and the footwork was slightly different. Over the years we have become pretty good dance partners but she has never been as daring as my high school dance partners with all the flips and slides. While in college we took a few dance classes together and learned Latin dances; Cha-cha, Rumba, Samba, and other classic dance steps; Waltz, Foxtrot, Box-step, Viennese Waltz, and Polka. We taught all our kids to dance and our son Daniel became an excellent ballroom dancer and even worked as a professional dance instructor for a few years. It must have been genetic.

Nancy and I have been chaperoning church dances for many years and I thought we had seen it all. Last Saturday night we chaperoned a four-stake dance. We usually dance to all the slow dances—and of course any Swing songs. We like to dance together and it shows the kids that they can do something more than the Deacon Shuffle; standing in one spot, holding each other awkwardly at arm’s length, and sliding your feet while rocking from side to side. While we dance together we can also monitor the dance floor and intervene if we see a couple dancing too close. (“You have to leave room for the Book of Mormon!” is the typical Mormon standard of proper dance measurement. They typical youth response is, “We’re using the CD version.”) While we were out 'cutting the rug' we saw a couple in a very tight bear hug. A few other kids were watching them with big smiles as we danced over. All I saw was a small petite blonde’s head buried in the chest of a burley athletic looking kid—and there wasn’t even room for a CD between them! When we moved beside them I leaned over and said, "Hey, break it up." They quickly did, and as they separated I saw it was two boys. Nancy thinks they were just goofing around. I think "the times they are a changin'."