Book Review: Coins in the Fountain

Judith Works gives readers a fascinating Italian experience in Coins in the Fountain: The Story of an Italian Intermezzo. The book is a memoir of the author’s ten-plus years in Italy.

Equipped with her newly acquired law degree, Judith Works accepted a position with the United Nations Food and Agricultural Organization (FAO) headquartered in Rome. Together with her husband Glenn, they set up housekeeping, a task fraught with obstacles and lack of conveniences.

Rome, is called the Eternal City–even the ancient people thought it would go on forever. The author claims it would take an eternity to see it all. When time permits they explore it, piece by piece, street by street. Once settled at work and in what eventually would be “home,” Judith and Glenn were able to travel on weekends, holidays and vacations. The author and her husband know how to travel, to observe, and to experience a way to life. Often putting up with nightmare traffic, they attend concerts, visit churches, museums, galleries, flea markets, quaint shops, countrysides, big cities, small villages. Sometimes they travel with friends, other expatriates, sometimes on their own. The author is obviously knowledgeable in art and readers have the wonderful advantage of seeing church frescos, sculptures, paintings, ceramic tiles, fountains, etc. though her experienced and critical eye.

Food is an obsession in Italy and takes a prominent role in this memoir, as does wine. The book describes in detail cuisine in Rome and in other parts of Italy. Glenn became adept in Italian cooking, which further enriched (pun intended) their food experience.

The Works returned to the States after finishing her four-year contract with FAO, but were delighted to return to Rome a short time later, this time to work with United Nations World Food Program (WFP) on a six-year contract. Works’ job necessitated travel to other countries as well and she briefly describes these ventures.

The name of the book, Coins in the Fountain refers to the Trevi Fountain, the most famous and beautiful fountain in Rome. It is thought that if visitors throw three coins in the fountain, they will return to Rome. At least it worked for the author, to the delight of all who read this book.

Coins in the Fountain: The Story of an Italian Intermezzo could be a guidebook for tourists visiting Italy, as well as for armchair travelers who may never step on Roman soil, but have the advantage of traveling vicariously through this exceptionally well-written book. Coins in the Fountain is available in ebook format. For more information about the book and author, visit www.coinsinthefountain.com

The Gambia: The Art of Carrying Water on Your Head

From: TUBOB: Two Years in West Africa with the Peace Corps

I marveled that people in The Gambia always looked so clean. Although they might get dirty digging wells or working in the rice fields, or performing any number of physical chores, they bathed and changed clothes frequently. Men often wore spotless, long white kaftans when they went to mosque or on business. Impressive, since all washing was done by hand.

Traditionally, women and girls hauled the water. To pump water at our UN well, one climbed steps to a platform above the well that stood perhaps three feet from the ground. When I arrived at the pump with my two buckets, they often urged me to go ahead of them. I usually refused, saying I would wait my turn. One day I watched two girls, perhaps sisters, chatting while they filled their containers with water. The older girl, probably about twelve, filled a laundry tub; the other, maybe eight years old, a large bucket. After the older girl filled her tub, she slid it aside to the edge of the platform while the younger girl filled her bucket.

With both containers full, the girls returned to the ground and together lifted the large tub onto the older girl’s head which had a circle of cloth on it to cushion the load. Then, with that heavy load on her head, the older one helped the younger girl heft the pail of water onto her head, never spilling a drop. Throughout the whole procedure they carried on a normal conversation, pausing only briefly to heft the containers, then walked back to their compound, still chatting, the heavy containers balanced on their heads, with perhaps one arm raised to steady it.

When Gambian girls are quite young, their mothers train them to carry basins of water. We watched the young girl in our compound, Jariettu, carry water in a shallow basin from the well to their hut. At first, she spilled much of the water, but after a few months, she was able to carry her load with confidence and without spilling a drop.

No wonder Gambians have such wonderful posture.

Book Review: Where Danger Danced

Irene Bennett Brown again captures her readers with Where Danger Danced, the second of the Celia Landrey Mystery series. This second cozy mystery is as delightful as the first.

As Celia Landrey guides her last tour group of the season through town, they are distracted by screaming and confusion at a service station where an old fuel tank is in the process of being removed to make way for a new one. To the horror of onlookers, human bones are discovered buried near the old tank.

Celia works hard to preserve her town’s reputation. Pass Creek is not only where her home and livelihood, Landrey’s Inn, is located, it is where she and her late husband of twenty years lived. Active in the small community, Celia is devoted to keeping the town a safe haven, a place where people want to live and visit.

The grim discovery of the skeleton sets the town to humming speculation. The Police Chief, knowing Celia’s penchant for fiercely protecting her town and her determined drive to get to the bottom of a mystery, warns her to let the police do their job. In others words, stay out of it.

Even her fiance, Jake Flagg, discourages her from getting involved. It’s time they set a wedding date and he strongly prefers her to concentrate on that.

But, how did those bones get into that deep hole? She couldn’t let it rest. Cold cases are apt to be less important to the police than current problems. She inquires around town but the townspeople, especially the old-timers, clam up when she asks questions about whose remains have been unearthed. In many different ways, she’s told to mind her own business. Many of her friends are clearly exasperated with her. What’s going on?

Where Danger Danced is an entertaining, captivating read. It’s a perfect sequel to Where Gable Slept. I can’t wait for the next one. The novel is available in both e-book and print formats. For more information about the author, visit www.IreneBennettBrown.com
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What Did That Drum Just Say?

From: Tubob: Two Years in West Africa with the Peace Corps

Woman at traditional well

The UN well in front of our compound was a popular watering hole for all of Mansajang. Although the village proper did have a water spigot, it often didn’t work and when it did, people complained of the water’s taste. All day long, women and girls came to the UN well to fill their tubs and pails of water, carrying the heavy loads on their heads as they returned to their compounds.

Because washing clothes has such a high demand for water, many women washed clothes right there at the well, then carried their clean wet clothes home to hang on their compound fencing. They used the local soap, OMA, made from peanut by-products. My husband Bruce became concerned about soap residue filtering through the soil into the well water.

He made a circle of rocks around the well a safe distance away and asked the women to wash clothes outside the circle and explained that this would keep the well water clean. It made more work for them, having to haul their heavy tubs farther from the water source, but they obliged him when he was there, and promptly went back to their former habits when he wasn’t. Bruce patiently reminded them with good natured banter. The problem, of course, was that the women didn’t understand they were jeopardizing their own water supply.

One evening a man from Mansajang called on us and asked Bruce to talk to the village about safe water. Probably, this particular man was sent because he could speak English. Apparently the village elders had gotten wind of a problem with the well and wanted everyone to understand. Delighted, Bruce accepted his invitation.

“What time should we be there?” I asked.

Surprised with the question, the fellow answered, “After evening prayers. You’ll hear the drum.” Gambians had a different sense of time than we did. Watches or even clocks were rare. Activities centered around Muslim call of prayers five times a day. When it was time, people, mostly men, stopped what they were doing, brought out their prayer mats, faced Mecca to the east, and prayed.

A word about the drums. Three basic types of drums are common in The Gambia: the rhythm drum, used for dancing; the ceremonial drum, used for more serious things such as funerals or other somber events; and the talking drum. The talking drum has a sort of “boink, boink” sound to it with varying pitches. People understand the talking drum, as they understand their language, whether it be Mandinka, Wolof, or any of the tribal languages. The talking drums provide tremendously efficient communication, especially in areas where there are no telephones

Knowing that we would hear the drum, we agreed to be at the village meeting place.
Sure enough, we heard the drum soon after we’d finished our dinner. We walked to the center of Mansajang, perhaps a half mile away. The meeting place, a raised platform under a giant baobob tree, was devoid of people. One lone person walked by. In Mandinka, I greeted the man, then said, “Where are the people?”

“The people aren’t here.” Such a typical response. I never got used to it. The man resumed his walk.

“But we heard the drum. We are here for the meeting,” I called after him.

He turned to look at me, shook his head and tsked. “The drum said there was no meeting.”

Apparently one of the village’s important people couldn’t attend so the meeting had been postponed.

Gambians found it hard to believe that we could understand, or “hear,” Mandinka, but we couldn’t “hear” the drums. I’m sure in their eyes we were so hopeless.

The Dividing Season

Rarely do I find a book as captivating as The Dividing Season by Karen Casey Fitzjerrell.

Nell Miggins is at a crossroads of her life. It’s 1910 and time to move on, to let go of Carrageen, the Texas cattle ranch she inherited from her father. Nell is no longer a young woman and life is passing her by. She’s done well, managing the ranch. She handles just about anything the ranch hands can and she’s tough. But there must be more to life and she’s determined to find it. Just what “it” is, she’s unsure.

Fitzjerrell spins a wonderful tale, a story that includes a dusty Texas ranch, the humid jungle of Mexico and a near-death experience at sea. Diverse personalities help spin this tale. Nell’s ranch hosts, in addition to the ranch hands already there, a windmiller, college professors, and a smelly cowhand with a bent for making wrong decisions. All the characters have a purpose, all add depth to the story.

The author, a life-long Texan, exhibits great passion for her state and her descriptions put me right there. I felt the dust creep under my collar, I gasped at the brilliant orange sunset, I shivered in the cold rain, I felt the weariness at the end of an exhaustive day. Fitzjerrell knows people and writes with compassion, heart and quiet humor. I loved this book. It has the earmarks of a classic and yet was only published in 2012. She speaks with authority on ranching and, surprisingly, on Mayan archaeology in Mexico’s steaming jungle.

The Dividing Season is a page-turner, but the reader doesn’t feel rushed. Fitzjerrell’s timing and pace are impeccable. We know her characters, we feel their pain, their joy, and, for some, their strength and determination borne of love for those who have become family.

I highly recommend The Dividing Season. The novel is available in trade paperback and e-book formats. To learn more about the author, visit www.karencaseyfitzjerrell.com

On Yukon Time

About this time of year, my husband Bruce and I begin to dream about where we might go for our summer vacation and reminisce about past trips. Yukon Territory is high on our list of special trips taken. Canada’s Yukon Territory is still as wild as it sounds. Look at this region on a map, and you’ll find precious few roads. The main highways–some paved but many still gravel–are well maintained.

Driving this loop tour, we often traveled for more than a hundred miles before encountering another vehicle. And this was in August–the peak of Yukon Territory’s tourist season. If you like privacy, you will love the Yukon, where it’s said that caribou outnumber the people five to one.

We were thrilled to see an abundance of waterfowl, deer, bear, caribou, stone sheep, a variety of squirrels; a pair of red foxes; a cow moose and her calf.

The number of lakes in the Territory is astounding. These sparkling jewels often are surrounded by shimmering aspen trees. We saw forests of white spruce, sometimes interspersed with the more scraggily black spruce. The trees are small due to a short growing season.

As we traveled around Yukon Territory, we noted the “On Yukon Time” icons, signs of special attractions worthy of visitors’ attention, an invitation to slow down, explore and enjoy.

Our 750-mile loop, two-week tour began at Watson Lake. From there we traveled northwest on the Campbell Highway to Carmacks. We then headed south on the Klondike Highway through Whitehorse, then drove southeast on the Alaska Highway from Whitehorse back to Watson Lake. Here are some of the highlights:

Robert Campbell Highway was completed in 1968 and closely follows sections of the fur trade route established by Robert Campbell. In the 1840s, Campbell explored this region and named virtually every major river in the Yukon. The highway bearing his name parallels several major waterways, including the Frances, Finlayson, and Pelly rivers. The distance from Watson Lake to Carmacks along this route is 362 miles (583 kilometers).

The communities of Ross River and Faro, situated along the Campbell Highway, obviously were built to withstand the winter more than provide visual aesthetics. Ross River, population approximately 350, is located at the junction of the Ross and the Pelly rivers. From there you can walk across a suspension foot-bridge that spans the Pelly River.

We found very few people inhabiting Faro, the next town along the Campbell Highway. Apparently, this town, named after a card game, comes to life when the nearby lead-zinc mines are active, but when we visited, they were closed.

An RV campground is located across the street from Faro’s Campbell Region Interpretive Tourist Information Centre. The center is well worth visiting for its historical displays. Faro is ideally situated for wildlife viewing and hiking, not to mention golf: The town offers an unusual nine-hole urban course that plays through the town’s green spaces.

Klondike Highway. The Campbell Highway terminates just north of Carmacks. We turned south on the Klondike Highway (Route 2) and traveled to the town of Carmacks, a good place to stop for provisions and services.

Carmacks was named after George Washington Carmack, who set up a trading post in the 1890s. Carmacks’s post went bust in 1896, so he settled elsewhere. It was a good thing he did. He later found more than a ton of gold in Bonanza Creek, and word of his discovery launched the Klondike Gold Rush.

From Carmacks we traveled south on the Klondike Highway toward Whitehorse. We stopped for the night at Lake LaBerge, named after Western Union Telegraph explorer, Michael LaBerge of Quebec. Our lakeside campsite was secluded and serenely quiet. As we sat on Lake LeBerge’s shore, Bruce recited from memory Robert W. Service’s wonderful poem, “The Cremation of Sam McGee,” a tale that brings Yukon’s rugged history to life.

Only 15 miles south of Lake LeBerge via the Klondike Highway is Whitehorse, Yukon Territory’s capital city since 1953. Whitehorse was named for turbulent, frothy rapids on the Yukon River that resemble the flowing manes of white horses. A hydroelectric dam on the river has since harnessed the “horses,” making the waters more placid.

In addition to provisions and several RV supply and repair shops, the city offers opportunities to view architectural, art, and gold-rush memorabilia.

Alaska Highway. The final part of this loop tour involves taking the Klondike Highway to Jake’s Corner, and then turning east toward Watson Lake on Route 1, the Alaska Highway.

The Alaska Highway was built jointly by military and civilian personnel from Canada and the United States, and was to serve as an important access road to Alaska. It is now mostly paved and, compared to yesteryear, easy to drive.

The Alaska Highway dips briefly into British Columbia, then continues on to Watson Lake, where the loop is completed. For more information about the Yukon Territory, visit www.touryukon.com or call 1-800-661-0494.

Tips for Yukon Travel
● Place a mesh screen over your radiator to protect your vehicle from rocks and to filter out insects. Consider protecting your towed car with a rock shield.
● Be sure your spare tire is reliable and ready to install.
● Bring plenty of insect repellent. To keep mosquitoes at bay, wear lightweight pants and tops with long sleeves.
● In August, we found nights can be cool, but daytime temperatures quite warm. Be prepared for these extremes.
● Take advantage of all fuel stops. In some cases, there may be long distances between gas stations.

Camping in The Yukon: Many privately operated campgrounds are available in Yukon Territory, but we stayed exclusively at the government campgrounds, and found them to be delightful and reasonably priced. You must purchase a camping permit before you arrive at the campground. Permits are readily available at visitor reception centers as well as at retail outlets throughout the Yukon.

Most Yukon government campgrounds do not offer hookups. Most locations do have picnic tables, campfire pits, firewood and at least one picnic shelter. Outhouses and hand-pumped water are the norm. At many of the campgrounds, signs indicate that the water should be boiled before being consumed. For your convenience, you might want to carry your own drinking water if you choose to stay at these camps.
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A Logger’s Daughter: Growing up in Washington’s Woods

Joan Rawlins Husby’s delightful memoir, A Logger’s Daughter: Growing up in Washington’s Woods gives readers a poignant view of the life and times of growing up in Washington’s wilderness in the ‘40s and ‘50s.

Joan Rawlins was born just months before her parents, Delbert and Marie Rawlins’, moved from North Dakota to Washington’s Robe Valley, at the foot of Mt. Pilchuck. The Rawlins lived in a tiny cabin until Joan’s father could build a larger cabin of scrounged material. Eventually, the Rawlins had five children who played in the great outdoors with other loggers’ children.

Husby shares with readers a life of growing up in Washington’s forests, the daughter of a logger. Although her parents didn’t have a lot of ready cash and worked hard for every advantage they had, there was always food on the table and love to spare. The family was years in getting electricity and running water. Their “bathroom” was a two-holer a distance from the house. Heating fuel was wood, hand-cut and split. They raised chickens for eggs and meat, and rabbits for meat and skins to sell to Sears, Roebuck and Company.

If logging was shut down by fire, strike or snow, Husby’s father earned money by making roofing shakes, or taking on any job that would put food on the table.

Equally interesting is Husby’s writing of the area’s history. When they arrived in Robe Valley, most of the timber was virgin. Many of the cedar trees were as wide in diameter as her father was tall. In the early days, timber was cut by hand-saw. Raging rivers changed the lay of the land. The purpose of railroads evolved from mining to tourism.

Husby creates vivid pictures of family and landscape, giving the reader a taste of yesteryear and a glimpse of a childhood in a pre-tech age.

I highly recommend this memoir of a simple life in a simpler time. Many will relate to at least parts of this book, while others will marvel at the grit it took to simply survive deep into Washington’s woods.

To purchase a copy of A Logger’s Daughter, visit www.rainsongpress.com or contact the author, Joan Husby <hjhusby@frontier.com>.

 

Book Review: Close Calls: The True Tales of Cougar Bob

Close Calls: The True Tales of Cougar Bob (Gray Dog Press) by B. J. Campbell is the perfect read for outdoor and wilderness enthusiasts.

Robert L. Campbell, aka Cougar Bob comes to vivid life as his wife, B. J. Campbell relates colorful stories beginning from his childhood on through his senior years. Written in first person, the book is chock-full of colorful descriptions of outdoor adventures, hunting, trapping, sometimes for sustenance, sometimes to save farm stock, often for hire when wildlife stalks too close to civilization.

As a boy, Bob loved to run–he could run for miles. He ran for the love of running. He ran nine miles to catch the school bus in rural Idaho. He ran for survival. He ran for play. While in the Navy, he contracted polio and, for most people, that would have been the end of running. But not for Bob. As soon as he could he was up and struggling to walk. He graduated to walking with leg braces and eventually managed without the braces. Although continuing to be an active outdoorsman, he still suffers from the pain of post-polio syndrome.

Interspersed with the chapters, each of which tells a story, are excerpts from The Cougar Bob Review, an annual newsletter that “captures the hunter, trapper and straight shooter’s endless supply of stories that happens because he is himself.” Also included throughout the book are clips of newspaper articles. One such article tells of the state Fish and Game Department hiring Cougar Bob to hunt down a cougar, known as the Bayview cat, who was blamed for killing 6 horses, 8 goats, 3 sheep, 7 farm dogs and stalking children at the school bus stop.

All of the stories in the book are true and are told in Cougar Bob’s voice, with attitude. It’s a book full of humor, yet awe inspiring in the courage of one man who conquers threats, dangers, and his own health issues to solve problems at hand.

Animal activists might have issues with some of the stories A fair amount of the hunting is done for the meat, or simply for the sport. On the other hand, authorities hire Cougar Bob to trap wildlife that threaten the safety of people or their property. When practical, the trapper will displace the animal, but when necessary, he will kill it. That might seem harsh to some, but it’s reality to many.

I enjoyed Close Calls: The True Tales of Cougar Bob. I love a good story and this book captures the essence of rugged wilderness and its sometimes eccentric occupant, outdoorsman extraordinaire Cougar Bob Campbell. For more about author B.J. Campbell and her husband, Bob Campbell, visit www.cougarbob.com

 

The Heroes Among Us

Snohomish County has heroes that most of us never hear about. Each year the Snohomish County Chapter of the American Red Cross honors these heroes by hosting a breakfast celebration. Held at the lovely Tulalip Resort Casino, about nine hundred people attended the gala event. As in the past, the Tulalip Resort Casino served a scrumptious breakfast. Humorous inspirational speaker Pat Cashman served as Master of Ceremonies.

Following are the featured Real Heroes of 2012:

Snohomish County Volunteer Search & Rescue On May 19th the Search and Rescue, a non-profit organization, received a phone call that a 13-year old boy had fallen into the river above Wallace Falls. He had been carried over one waterfall and was only a few feet from plunging down a 265-foot drop. The boy had managed to climb onto a one-foot wide rock The team immediately responded. They first tried to reach the boy by helicopter, but an overhanging rock prevented them from reaching him. After several attempts at repelling down to the boy failed, the final solution was for the team to anchor a fire ladder across the river. The team was able to get the boy into a harness and off the rock he clung to.

Robert Bentz On his way to drop off his 16-year old son Roudy at school, Robert Bentz saw that they were about to be struck head-on by a man driving what they later learned was a stolen car. In the split second of seeing the oncoming car, Bentz cranked the steering wheel as hard as he could to put himself in the path of the speeding car, in order to spare his son injury. He awoke at Seattle’s trauma center, Harborview Hospital, with a broken jaw and extensive loss of teeth, severe spine injuries, massive leg trauma and fractures. Robert’s heroic actions spared Roudy from serious injury, exactly the outcome he’d hoped for.

Sam Simball came to the aid of his 69-year-old neighbor, Dick Thibert, who had suffered a stroke. (The boy’s age wasn’t given, but I assume he was about 14 years old.) On March 8th, Thibert’s wife called the Simball residence to ask them to check on her husband. She had been trying to call him, but he wasn’t answering the phone. Sam ran next door and looked through the window and could see Thibert lying on the floor. The door was locked, but Sam kicked in the door. Sam’s mother called 911 and Thibert received the help needed to save his life.

Sgt. Bill Lange & Officer Mike Braley responded to a 2:00 a.m. Everett house fire. They learned from Dispatch that a female confined to a wheelchair was unable to get out of the burning house. They tried multiple times to break the glass door to reach the victim. They finally managed to break the glass and reach her. Although all three suffered from smoke inhalation, Lange and Braley’s actions saved the life of the elderly resident.

Bob Esmay and Gene Pierce, friends and neighbors for more than 40 years, were fishing in Puget Sound near Mukilteo. Bob heard Gene mutter, “Oh, my God.” Thinking his friend had already caught a fish he turned to take a look, but instead saw his friend slumping to the deck. Bob caught his friend, but panicked when he couldn’t feel a pulse. As he dialed 911, he began performing chest compressions, all while steering the boat toward shore. Members of the Mulilteo Fire Department met them on shore and were able to stabilize Gene for transport to the hospital. Due to Bob’s heroic action, Gene is alive today.

But there’s more to the story. Two years ago, Bob and Gene were returning from an outing when Bob suddenly suffered a heart attack and passed out as he was driving his car. Gene reached over and managed to steer the car to the side of the road, then moved his semi-conscious friend over and jumped behind the wheel to drive him to the hospital. These two close friends owe their lives to one another.

Chris Robertson, Tim Browning, Craig Rankine, Juan Lira and Stan Boyle were climbing near Luna Peak in the North Cascades when another member of their team, Kevin Weed, lost his footing when soft snow gave way. During the first 800 feet of his fall, Kevin unsuccessfully tried to stop the slide with his ax. For the last 400 feet, he was in an unconscious free-fall tumble which ended when he slammed into rocks. Fortunately, two other nearby climbers were able to use a spot beacon that could send out a message for help. As Kevin’s climbing companions reached him, they began assessing his condition and making efforts to keep him warm and to prepare him for airlift evacuation. Six hours later he was airlifted to Harborview Medical Center where he made steady improvement and in less than two weeks returned to his home in Snohomish.

Kim, Talley & Jacob Anderson and Travis Anderson were floating in the Pilchuck River when a strong current grabbed Travis’ legs and carried him downstream, wedging him underneath a log. His mother Kim screamed and his sister Talley went for help. Kim and Jacob tried to free Travis but the log could not be budged. They could see Travis drowning before their eyes. Tally found a man nearby who was able to use his added weight to help move the log. Once Travis floated free, Kim immediately began CPR. When emergency crews arrived, Travis and the family were rushed to Children’s Hospital where Travis remained for three weeks. Travis would not have survived had it not been for his mother’s knowledge of CPR and his siblings’ quick actions.

Phil Gaston was midway through his route as a waste truck driver when he noticed a man in distress with a profusely bleeding leg. Phil grabbed a roll of paper towels from the truck and started applying direct pressure to the man’s wound. It became apparent he couldn’t apply enough pressure to staunch the bleeding. He took off the man’s belt and applied it as a tourniquet. All the while the man was on his cell phone and Phil realized the man was trying to give the 911 operator directions to the location. Phil took the phone and gave the operator directions and stayed with the victim until paramedics arrived. Later it was learned that the resident had cut an artery with a box cutter while working in his garage just seconds before Phil arrived.

Geri Kellison and Ian & Katie Duncan. Geri Kellison and her husband Ed were enjoying an evening in their hot tub when Ed suffered a heart attack and collapsed. Geri tried to pull him out, but she couldn’t manage his weight. She screamed for help as she held his head above water. A neighbor came to their deck and Geri yelled for him to call 911. At the same time another neighborhood couple, Ian and Katie, arrived. Katie grabbed Ed’s arms and Ian took his feet and together they lifted him out of the tub and onto the deck. Katie had been trained as a lifeguard and quickly began CPR and continued until EMT’s arrived. Ed was treated for ventricular fibrillation and is now doing fine, thanks to his wife and neighbors.

Dr. Ellen Farrokhi, George Litz & Dr. Mohammed Quraishi. Dr. Farrokhi was on-call when she received a page from the hospital about a patient who needed emergency surgery for a burst aortic aneurysm. Emergency surgery was needed as the patient was bleeding to death. Dr. Farrokhi got into her car and sped to the hospital. The doctor soon noticed a State Patrol car with its lights flashing, obviously intending to pull her over. She called 911 to let them know she was a surgeon and needed to get to the hospital immediately or her patient would die. She continued on, deciding that a man’s life was more important than consequences from speeding and not pulling over. She soon noticed three patrol cars pursuing her, all with flashing lights. She realized she had no choice and pulled over. Luckily she was still able to make it to the hospital in time. Her team, George Litz and Dr. Mohammed Quraishi, had prepped the patient for surgery. The surgery was successful, thanks to Dr. Farrokhi’s willingness to put the patient above all else.

To learn more about your American Red Cross, visit www.redcross.org

Book Review: The Dry Diggin’s Club

The Dry Diggin’s Club by Bob Weldin is an ideal novel for readers interested in geology, particularly in mineral discovery and mining in the 1960’s. More than that, the novel delves into the personal aspects of the miner persona, particularly into the life of a young woman, Sara, who braves the masculine world of mining.

Sara Mullins and her twin brother Steve are the children of a Montana rancher/miner and a mother who is head of the Mathematics Department at the University of Montana. Sara works along side her dad and brother at the ranch tending cattle and logging on their own land, and also at the family gold mine situated on their ranch property. Because of the huge distances involved, both Sara and Steve get pilot licenses at the age of sixteen. The children benefit from the hard work of ranch life, but also from the intellectual influence of their academic mother.

After graduating from college in the 1960’s, the twins are eager for their next step. Steve plans to attend law school and get a degree that will equip him to practice law in the field of geology. Sara is eager to have practical field experience and gets a job working for a mining company. She is met with scepticism–a female mining professional is highly unusual. She is offered and accepts other positions, each time gaining in responsibilities and stature. She finds she must repeatedly prove herself in a segment of the industry primarily reserved for college educated, macho men. Sara has neither the support of management nor the protection of a union. As a field geologist, she proves herself capable, but meets with challenges–and dangers–along the way.

Sara and her brother become involved in the Dry Diggin’s Club, a clandestine group whose membership network for pleasurable, economic and intellectual advantage. Inevitably, Sara becomes romantically involved with a fellow geologist which bring unexpected complexities and consequences into her life.

The Dry Diggin’s Club offers an in-depth examination of northwest mineral mining as it was in the ‘60’s. Readers learn how mineral discovery and the resultant mining was conducted. It was a tough field, not only because of unforgiving terrain, but also because of the secrecy shrouding findings. Although mining and minerals have never been high on my list of interests, I found this book not only educational, but a fun, worthwhile read. Author Bob Weldin speaks with authority having made a career in the mining industry. Now retired, he is a sought after speaker on the subjects of mining history, mineral deposits, wilderness areas and humor.

The Dry Diggin’s Club is available in both trade paperback and e-book formats.