Quote:On March 1, 1989, Harry Whittaker and I went fishing at Lost Creek
Reservoir. We caught our limits but this expedition came near to being a
tragedy.

 

                We
pulled Harry’s 12 ft. boat on it’s trailer and put in at the ramp on the East
side of the Reservoir. This was late in the morning I think, a chilly,  cloudy day, but calm enough; the boat had a
small canvas top, just enough to keep us out of the bad weather    About an hour later we were trolling under
the Payton bridge headed upstream.  The
boat was powered by a 712 HP (I think) outboard, and also had a battery
operated trolling motor. We kept going upstream until we about ran  out of water, several miles I think, and
fishing was slow.   Finally we shut off
the gas and let the boat drift back downstream until we had several feet of the
bright clear water under us.  It was
misting a little with occasional light rain showers.

 

                The
fishing picked up and we were busy for awhile, 
most of the time being busy just untangling the lines.  Harry was a klutz,  but very calm about it all, and little by
little we added the fish to the fishbox, hardly noticing that one by one the
few other fishermen who were in the area had pulled out.  The weather was lowering and the misting
turned into snow flurries, and when the rain showers turned into snow showers
about four
o’clock we decided to head on downriver.

 

                We
cranked up the outboard but for some reason we could not get it out of
reverse.  Some thing had jammed!   Try as we might we could not get the boat to
go forward, so we gave up and headed downstream in reverse, at about three
miles per hour.  In the meanwhile the
snow got serious, as in just a short time we had two and three inches of snow
in the boat, and the daylight was dimming away.

 

                After
what seemed like two or three eternities 
we ran out of gas,  and
daylight.  We hooked up the battery to
the trolling motor and nosed downstream 
again.  Fortunately the snow was
thick enough on the sloping river banks so they reflected the last dredge of
daylight so we were able to navigate somewhat. 
Also the snow would quit now and then giving us some relief            Pretty soon though the battery
started to lose its energy and little by little we went slower and slower.  From time to time we scraped one bank or
another and poled  ourselves off and did
some one oar paddling to keep us moving. 
We finally admitted it-we were cold, wet and miserable, and lost.

 

                But
we were still moving.

 

                At
about 8
o’clock we could see the skeleton of the bridge ahead
of us,  highlighted every once in awhile
when a passing motorist, or truck would drive across.               We pulled up to the West bank, directly under the
bridge and tried to get out of the boat with a rope to latch on to
something.  All the somethings were
covered with eight inches of snow, but we finally kicked around enough to
expose a rock to tie up to.  About then,
Harry stepped off the boat into a couple feet of cold water.  He got back into the boat which we pushed
sideways to the bank so he could get out easier, which he did do, but as soon
as he got two feet under him he slipped again and fell face down into the snow.     We had been to this same place in the
summertime and knew there was a path up the steep hillside to the road up
above, so we kicked around for awhile and found what looked like the shallow
opening we were looking for.  We would go
for awhile and then wait until another car came by to give us a few seconds of
light so we could try to pick the next section of the climb.  A lot of this climb was on all fours, climb a
little, slip a little, climb some more. 
It probably took us about an hour to climb up to the road, and we were
thankful at last to get onto the flat of the road.  The snowplow 
had already been through  which
made it much easier going.  We had
decided we were going to walk to Prospect, about eight miles I think.

 

                A
little while later a car came down the road . Southbound and we were too tired
even to wave at them.  A little later a
Northbound pickup came by; the driver stopped and asked us if we wanted a ride.
Such a question!

 

                This
Good Samaratin, [[Larry Loftus, PO Box
29, Prospect, OR. 97536 --560-3691] was a Forest
Service Employee who took us to his trailer home in Prospect. We were close to
hypothermia, Harry moreso than I, as one of Harry’s legs was soaked up to his
hip from that stepoff into the water down at the boat.   Harry phoned his son, Bruce, who, after an
hour or so, drove up to Prospect through the snowstorm and using some magical
sense of direction found the trailer house we were in.  He took us to his own home near Eagle Point,
dried us out and  tucked us in for the
night    After he got home with us, Bruce
phoned the Sheriff to call off the hunt posse which already was forming to find
us,  and we phoned Ethel, his mother, and
also Nelle.

 

                The
next day we went down with Bruce in his Ba10:49PM  1/13/95ss boat, found the boat intact, and
pulled it back to the landing and then home. We cleaned the fish, untangled the
lines, and got ready to go fishing again.

 

                Just
another day, almost.    End of Story

Quote: (Jan. 22, 1995)







In 1938 or so, one late October evening after a roller skating session at King's Roller Rink, my best friend, George van Kleeck, and I, caught the
freight train at the trestle on the lower end of the McKinley Avenue gulch for the ride up the gulch to Bismarck, where it always stopped for some switching,
or something, and we would get off and walk the rest of the way home-either to his house or mine.



This time though, the train not only didn't stop when it got to the 64th street crossing, but it was picked up speed at this point, too
fast for us to get off, especially as dark as it was. We just hung on, standing on the rear platform of the caboose, trying to puzzle out what to do.



About seven hours later we got off the train between Hoquiam and Aberdeen, a little after daylight. We wandered down the streets until we
came to the house of a relative of George's, and after we pounded on the door for awhile, the lady of the house let us in after determining who we
were.



A little later the relatives phoned George's folks in Tacoma to let them know where we were and that we were alright. I think she was an
aunt or something, not very enthused about us being there. But she fed us and then let us sleep someplace there for awhile, and after another little while,
early afternoon I think, we walked out to the highway and hitch-hiked back to Tacoma.



Neither George's folks nor my family knew that we were out of town for the evening. We both lived at each others' house, sometime two
or three days at a time before checking in at the other house, and for the most part that was a good arrangement. We had the same school hours, same
homework, the same everything, caught the same streetcar, etc etc.

Quote:

November 2, 1996



We rented a mid-sized Ford station wagon in Milan and after some grunting and pointing we took off to find an eastbound highway. It turned out to be a
toll road and as we didn't quite know where we were going it was OK for starters.. Earlier, we had tried to make a reservation at a hotel or motel or
bed-and-breakfast in the town of Piacenza, about 30 miles from Milan (55km), in a place where English was spoken (according to a tour book) but when we got
there we found out there was a huge convention going on, so we drove to the next larger town, Parma, where the same convention was happening.



Marguerite did all the driving as she threatened to get car sick if she didn't!



We had heard that driving was different in this country, but we had no idea it was this different -wild! Cars cut in and out with only a catswhisker
between fenders. She did a magnificent job; in the week or so we had that car, only two small scrapes were experienced!



In any event, we ended up at this fancy hotel, $200 per room, but it was OK we were told, because breakfast was included! And breakfast was served.
Through some language difficulty it ended up that the four of us were served six breakfasts.



Next morning, from Parma we headed East, this time on the old road, not the autostrada, to better enjoy the sights along the way, and it was delightful,
through one very small village after another, all quite picturesque. This took us to the outskirts of Reggio Emilia, where we turned South for a long much
turning road up the mountain, through another string of villages, an occasional tunnel, and finally, to Cervarezza, which is over the top and on the
Southwest down slope.



It seemed to me the higher up the mountain we went, the friendlier the people became, and they were not at all unfriendly down the hill.



There are two roads into Cervarezza. The high road on the up side of town where there are some relatively new buildings, and the old road through the
older part of town which we took, and fortunately turned out to be right one for us.. This was the only through-street through town, hemmed in on both sides
by old brick and block buildings, and Margy drove more carefully than usual as there were some pedestrians along the way. We drove past the Bar Italia, a
café kind of a place, which was the name of a connecting point our Internet guide, Dario Zanichelli, had given us a week or so before.



We stopped, of course, and I ran into this café place, carrying only a letter translated into Italian (by Helen Smith). I asked the bartender if I could
speak with Guiancarlo Zanichelli, and he told me he was a relative of Sr. Z., who is not here. I handed him this letter which he glanced at and then
handed it to a man alongside me at the bar, who also glanced at it and who in turn handed it to another man on the other side of me who began to read it
silently. Then he Whooped! And then began reading the letter aloud. By this time there was a cluster of men around us smiling and all talking at once
telling the reader to "go-on, go-on"!



The reader turned out to be Sergio Galassi, a cousin, somewhat remote on the family tree, but still, a cousin.



The conversation got more animated and two or three side conversations developed, and about this time my three fellow passengers - Jeanie, Margy, and
John came into the café, full of wonder and some trepidation, not knowing what to expect. They were quickly introduced, and the little crowd dispersed
somewhat.



Sergio and the four of us worked our way toward the back of the café, to an empty table where we stooped over a bar napkin where Sergio had written the
names of my grandfather, Riccardo, two brothers -Battista and Domenico, and a sister, Elvira. My great grandfather, Stanislaus, was a cousin of Sergio's
grandfather (I believe) and that's where our relationship lies. (There was somewhat of a language problem here: Sergio had some French, as did Jeanie
and Margy, and to a lesser extent myself, and I had some Italian but a lot of Italian sounds a lot like some of the Spanish I got mixed up with in the last
few years. In any event, Sergio's great grandfather may have been his great great grandfather and a twenty-second three times removed cousin from my
grandfather, but we did satisfy ourselves that we were cousins!)



This bar napkin with the four names on it became the base document of our newly structured family tree. After meeting a few more relatives, we quickly
transferred this information onto a regular and more durable paper notebook page. This later data eventually found it's way onto FamilyTreeWorks, a
computer based record keeping program.



In the next several days, we met and had identified for us, other Galassi family members, and as we were introduced to them, we pulled out this base
document with the four names on it, and asked, "Where in this tree, do you fit"? Generally speaking, each person would study it a little, then
plug into it which relative they identified with. From these new connections we would learn of others, and sometimes some more than usual interesting
information. Like, my grandfather's brother, Battista, went to Syria for awhile, but came back home. He died in a hospital just a few miles from
Cervarezza. He it is who wrote most of the letters we have copies of - written from around 1920 to 1931 - that got us started on this family search in the
first place!



In the course of our stay in Cervarezza, we were told that this village was 500-600 years old, and that there were less than ten families there as the
root stock, so to speak, of the village. These family names show up again and again on the headstones of the local cemeteries. According to Alfredo
Correggi, the "Capostipite de Cervarezza" are the Balzoni, the Beccarii, the Correggi, the Galassi, the Mazzoni, and the Zanichelli families!



We were told where different of our relatives were born, died and buried. To verify this sort of information, a person needs to visit the grave sites,
and inspect the church and county records, which we did not have the time to do, or having it, did not take enough time to, which all leads to the
conclusion that a specifically planned research trip is called for!



In any event, after some little while with Sergio at the Bar Italia, we mentioned to him that we would like to go up to the hotel Ilton, which was
recommended by Dario Zanichelli, but Sergio took us out to the street (via Di Resistanza) and walked us up past several buildings to another place, the Bar
Albergo Ventasso, a tourist hotel, but closed for the season. It has a café like set-up on the ground floor, which is kept open most of the year, and we were
introduced to the owner, Valentino Bucci.



To make a long story short, Valentino offered us to stay at his place which he would reopen for a few days for our convenience, and after some small
contemplation and observations of halo's and aura's and such, we agreed, and brought our baggage in. Margy parked the Ford in the upside back of the
hotel where no car could drive to, and we settled in.



We stayed there only three or four days, but it was a most adventuresome time, to say the least!

A couple days later, we met Luciana Benevelli Ferrari and Franco, and the next day, Gianni and Isamilla Notari and Caterina, and a day or so later, Zita
Costi. From Cervarezza we went to La Spezia on the Italian Riviera, where we met Marcello and Miryam Benevelli, and one of their grandsons, but this was a
little later. The point here is that each of the above is the closest relatives we have "over there!"



From Valentino's Ventasso, we sortied out to Talada, in search of the mulino, but had to turn around because the rio Secchia was too deep to ford on
foot at this time.



The WE, were the four travelers, Valentino's wife, Germina, Sergio Galassi, and Guiseppe----------------(I've misplaced his name:
'Bill' something.)

At the Mulino

In two cars, we threaded our way down to the little village of Talada, then reversed our route because of the high water on the Secchia, then back up
again and a long ways away, up the west side of the valley, finally crossing the river Secchia just below Sologno, where we parked the cars and walked up
river about three miles, to reach, finally, the mulino (the grist mill), where my father was born.



From the car place to the mulino, we walked through field after field, along the river bottom, where the grain that was fed into the huge stone grinders
used to be grown. Here and there we saw fresh sign where the wild boars had been rooting for tubers and the like. It was exciting!

Quote:

This is a collection of events, words, picture places, ideas and what all else that led to and fell out of the the stories I used to tell to my children
when they were small and more gullible than they are now. Now is Nov. 7, 1992.











THIS IS A STORY ABOUT THREE FRIENDS AND THINGS ABOUT THEM






BUCKY, a beaver, who eats willow, almost exclusively.




DRAGGY. a dragon, mostly friendly, who eats minerals, almost exclusively.




ALLY, an alligator, who eats fish, almost exclusively.




These are the three friends; most of the time they just play together and hardly ever get into trouble. They each have their own mannerisms but once you
get used to them they are pretty cool.




They live in the country of FARWAY, between Mineral Mountain and the sea.




Almost to the top of Mineral Mountain is a litte opening, like a cave entrance, that leads to and opens out into a broad flat area which is the bottom of
the crater inside the mountain. All around the inside wall of the crater are openings that disappear into the side of the mountain. This flat area is where
the old dragons gather to visit, and rest, and meet, and do all the things old dragons do when they are out in the sunlight. One of the openings that
disappears into the side of the mountain leads into the area where Draggy lives, with his Mom and Dad. There is a whole bunch of openings for quite a few
dragons, including some relatives.




These dragons are quite normal for the most part, as dragons go, but they do have one peculiarity, and that is, when they get wet, they shrink and it
takes quite a while to unshrink.




That is not quite as bad as it may sound because as you may know, in FARWAY, the dragons are in charge of the weather. It's up to them to decide
when it will rain, and where and how much, and stuff like that. Every once in awhile they have a rain meeting and the Old Ones decide about the rain
business. Sometimes some of the younger ones start toying around with the weather when no one is looking and they generally mess it up. That's when
floods happen and trees fall and mud slides.






When Marybell the Ancient One in charge of the Old Ones who are in charge of the weather, catches anybody tinkering around with Rain or Snow or Fog or
Wind or Dry or Cold or Threatening or Barometer or whatever, she sits them down in her pincer chair for a little sprinkle; if they are into big stuff like
Heavy Storm, Typhoon, Hurricane, overmoderate Lightning and Thunder and Torrentials then it is another matter, quite serious, this gets into splashing and
quick soaking and the like. It all depends.












Early in their friendship they formed a new society, which was The Perpetual Recreation Society. But it was quite a awhile before this society was
really formed; because at first they did not know there was anyone else around to play with at all. Draggy was the only one who had any relatives and he had
a bunch of them; both Bucky and Ally were orphans and none of them knew that it was alright for them to play with other animals or beings and if it
wasn't for an accident or two none of them would have even known about the other two.




Bucky lived on the West-South side of Mineral Mountain, on Willows creek which ran down Flatts plain to the foot of the mountain where it turned south
and in a little while ran into a river just below a mudflat that had a pile of old logs and trees that had accumulated there from a number of bygone floods.
His house was a scrambled looking beaver dam on the creek that took him one whole season to build. And as it turned out, Ally's home was under the brush
pile at the edge of the mudflat that was just above the mouth of Willows creek.





Most of the time Bucky roamed around in the woods upstream from the dam because that's where the tastiest willows were, but he spent a lot of time
being lonesome, just like Ally did, and like Draggy did, so it was a good thing for each of them that they became friends.





One day Ally was swimming around under the log jam scouting for a meal when he spied a fish tail wagging back and forth under a small log end. He eased
himself over to it then and quickly grabbed it in his mouth; the fish tried to shake itself loose but the only thing that happened was the small log got
shook loose from its jammed end which in turn caused the bigger logs over it to settle down pinning the alligator between another log and a small pile of
brush sticking out of an underwater sand bank. He was stuck but he was too stubborn to let go of the fish, so he just thrashed around making the water all
muddy, getting madder and madder not yet realizing how badly he was stuck.




Bucky rescued him without even knowing who it was. Bucky had been cruising down his creek where it dumped into the big river when he noticed the roiling
water over by the brush pile.


Some of the brush had gotten loose from the sand bank and it looked like some delicious willow branches. He was a strong swimmer so he dove down to the sand
bank and with his sharp teeh cut the brush pile loose from the sand. He floated back up to the surface pulling the brush with him and was surprised to find
the brush pile was thrashing around. Well, it turned out to be Ally who was still stuck in it; the two of them got over to the shore and Ally got loose from
the brush at the same time Bucky


noticed who and what it was who was doing all that thrashing.


He was kind of scared as he had never seen any beaver like this one before, He took a bite of the willow brush and said:


"You sure are a funny looking beaver, and why are you holding that big salmon in your mouth?"




"I am not a beaver," said Ally, "I am an alligator and I eat fish all the time , like this one, and thank you for saving me from being
stuck under that brush pile, and why are you eating that brush?"




"This is a delicious snack," Bucky replied, "It is willow bush which all beavers like and what is your name?"




. Between mouthfuls of fish Ally told Bucky his name was Ally and then he asked




"Would you like to play, or do you have to go home and where do you live?"




Well, that is how Bucky and Ally met, quite by accident, and the two of them one day met Draggy, also quite by accident, only this time it was a loud
accident!




Ally and Bucky were playing chasies around the foot of Mineral Mountain when all of a sudden some rocks started falling down the mountain and some little
ones bounced over and hit both Bucky and Ally. They ran out onto the plain, farther away, and looked back to watch the rocks falling. This made a lot of
noise and clouds of dust, but quit pretty soon, and a light wind blew the dust away. They went over to look at the rock pile and when they got to the edge
of the pile they heard some funny sounding groanings come out of it.




They climbed up a little way onto the pile right over where the noise was coming from. They picked away at the rocks and uncovered what looked like an
alligator tail which they pulled on but it started to wriggle and more grunts and groans came out from below. They moved more rocks away and all of a sudden
a young dragon jumped up and out of the pile and he growled at them:




"Quit pulling my tail, will you? And thank you for saving me from that lunch pile, and who are you?"




Ally laughed. "That is a rock pile and my name is Ally and his name is Bucky, and we were playing and we saw this bunch of rocks sliding down the
mountain, and you must have been mixed up in those rocks somewhere, and are you hurt and what is your name?







"No I'm not hurt, my name is Draggy and I live toward the top of this mountain with my family and I was up on the side of the mountain looking
for some tasty minerals when the rock I was on got loose so I scrambled away but it was too late the rocks started falling and so did the place I was
standing on and all of a sudden I was rolling down the side of the mountain with piles and piles of dirt and rocks and some mineral rocks and I got rolled
under a little pile and the next thing I knew someone was pulling on my tail and I thought it was my cousin, but it was you two, so thanks again."




Ally told him he looked a little bit like an alligator so he was probably OK, and did he know how to play chasies?




Draggy told them he did not know what chasies was but he did do a lot of chasing






??