Something wicked this way comes

Something wicked this way comes. 

Do you ever say that, when you see storm clouds? 

I think of this title when I see storms not carnivals.

Saturday night about the time my Aunt rolled in, so did a storm from the South. It built up silently as it appeared on the horizon, I stood on the covered doorstep with my Aunt Kay to watch it and whispered to myself 'something wicked this way comes' and following my words so did the wind. It came rushing from the center of the storm cell right at us with long gusts carrying spring blossoms. The equivalent of confetti by nature; blossoms in pinks and yellows scattering in the wind and into the house, soon followed by sheets of rain that were aimed so accurately it soaked every nook and cranny like a sprinkler. 

We turn to head inside to watch my no longer secret obsession; America's Next Top Super Model. She secretly watches it too; I'm impressed and it makes sense, she is an artist like me and it is the beauty and art of the show that I'm intrigued by followed by the psychology.The front door is hard to shut with the wind tunnel and suction effect and I lean on it to shut it completely and lock it. We arm ourselves with glasses of wine, from a bottle called 'Promiscuous'. On Saturdays a seasons worth of shows are shown in one day and I find it addictive, like some would like heroin I suppose. Today is the current season; my Aunt informs me, and I'm stunned to not have the final show at the end of the night. Instead I had to make a post it note to self to watch the finale on the coming Wednesday.

The clouds lingered into Sunday and my Aunt headed off to her invitations and activities, I called my Great Uncle Sam and drove out to Benton City to hang with him below the soft rise of the cheat grass covered Horse Heaven Hills. He has lived in this area since he was nineteen and now he is pushing his late eighties. He is a wealth of knowledge for local history; history in general actually, on many subjects and I love to chat with him.

A while back, I had borrowed a book from him called Sheepherder I & II written by Wilt Mercer because of a story my Dad had told me. The story of the Mercers sheep herding operation in the early nineteen hundreds up till 1953 I believe. He told me the history of it, while on a road trip through the Horse Heaven Hills last winter and mentioned that his Uncle Sam had a book about it. Intrigued and having an idea for a novel coming together with bits of information floating around my little world, I borrowed it for research and was now returning the book to him and knew he would be able to answer many of the questions that I had and were not addressed by the book.

Sitting on his couch after finishing with the pleasantries, I started with my first question. "Where is Whitstran?" He lit up, and said "right down the road let's go there, I'll drive."

We hopped in his car and laid rubber tracks over the Old Inland Empire Highway heading west. Whitstran was a location Milt Mercer referenced for sheep herding in his book. I recognized the name from the Whitstran Brewery in Prosser and wanted to know more about it. Uncle Sam on the way explained the sheep herding process and locations to me. One of the main questions I also had, is why they would move the sheep every year to Montana. I knew some of the reasons; train prices and a cheap lease from the Blackfeet, but why so far? Cheat grass. The hills here are covered with it, the sheep love it when it's green but it gets to tough to eat in are dry months. While there is not much in Whitstran to look at, that curiosity had been satisfied. I continued to ask more questions and we made circles, loops and turns through the back roads of the Roza.

Speaking of roads my Uncle Sam has his own. (Below Meacham PR NW).

We returned back to his place and had a beer apiece while perusing his collection of books on The Gang Ranch. My Uncle Sam has many books, and he is not a man that reads fluff. He also has every receipt for every horse he ever purchased. He grew up on a horse farm in the lip of Oklahoma, close enough to Colorado that he went to school there and lived through the dust bowl years on pinto beans and jack rabbits.This story intrigues me as well, and he glances up at me and says "I loaned the book to your Dad awhile ago, maybe you could find it, read it and bring it back."

I laugh, and family traits come to mind about loaning books, artistic interests, weather and road trips.
And how having something in common or inherited with other family members is rather special. This weekend was filled with family and all the cool weather we had this weekend makes me think of my Dad who is in China, working and suffering from a dust storm cold. I text him that I'm spending the afternoon with his Uncle Sam (who is the last from his Dad's family that is living) and send him pictures of the recent storms we had.