The Falls, The Follies

Saturday blew in after a blustery night and I covered my head with my pillow. Not for long, though, as the tempting scent of fresh coffee called my nose and I was compelled to pick up a cup and say hello.

"I've been thinking about Palouse Falls," I told the hubby as we shared home-cooked cold cereal.

"What about it?" he responded.

The "what" was that someone had said that the cold weather had sculpted some wonderful ice designs around the rocky waterfall and I wanted to drive the 60 some-odd miles to see if for myself. However, a Pacific front had moved in overnight and warmed the inland empire well above the freezing level.

We decided to go anyway.

My little car was on empty so our first stop was to buy gas . I stayed in the car and it seemed to take an eternity to complete the transaction. Finally, the hubby got back in and we drove off.

"My gas card was denied at the island and inside." the hubby explained. "I had to use cash. "

We raised our eyebrows and made "what the" faces but then hit the road. The back roads. That is the only way to get there.

The drive was enjoyable. Tumbleweeds rolled down the highway and clustered together on curves shielded from the wind. We saw deer in the stubble fields at midday and in the sky numerous Kestrel and Red-tailed hawks. I think I saw a Northern Harrier, too.

Our conversation rambled from one subject to another. I wondered how long it had been since I'd visited the falls. The hubby road his bicycle to the falls last year and he wanted to make sure I was aware of the steep climb he endured the last five miles. Muscle guy.

The gravel road to the park was muddy and so was the 198 foot falls. It reminded me of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. I remembered why I refused to bring the kids there when they were small. There is a fenced area next to the park, but you can walk past it and right off the opposing cliff, which is even higher than the falls. A footpath along the rocky ledge is certainly a magnet for little feet.

This is probably another reason why. (see my hand puppet?)

No rainbow in the spray today. But, there were two sun dogs in the sky so I didn't feel cheated.

After falling, the Palouse River forms a narrow canyon for about six miles before joining the Snake River. (They later join the Columbia River and journey to the Pacific Ocean.)

On the opposite shore is the mouth of the Tucannon River that flows from the Blue Mountains. A fisherman said he made time today to stop at this spot on his way home from visiting his daughter. He was vague about his target.

There is a tiny town on the route that shares its name with a famous coffee. We decided to stop at the little cafe that used to be a bar. It really is a "mom and pop" affair. When you walk in the door, you can look through an opening behind the kitchen into their living quarters.

One couple was leaving as we arrived and for a while, we were the only guests. "Mom" was friendly, a little older than we are, and happy to talk about the 1880 nickel plated wood cooking stove that adorns one wall. She'd saved it from her mother's old house and had it refurbished. There were cow horns over the entrance. Around the square room was a painting on a circular saw, her grandmother's antique rug beater, kerosene lanterns, a barbed-wire stretcher and a Japanese green fishing ball hanging in a turquoise net. I asked about a weird item hanging over the men's room door. It was a cheater brand. That's what the cattle rustlers used.

I got a good look at many of the local ranch brands because they are burned into wood squares that hang from barbed wire where the wall meets the ceiling.

Three more groups of two walked in, "mom" got busy, and "pop" was called in to help. He served us our apple crisp for dessert. I asked him about the bottle collection that was in various spots around the room.

"I don't know what they are, " he laughed, "I just picked them up from the dirt when I was farming."

When we got ready to leave, she showed us some pictures of the stove before it was refinished. She was proud and I was impressed.

She told us that she and her husband bought the property sixteen years ago.

"Twenty-four hours a day together can be pretty trying." she admitted. "So, you have to like each other an awful lot to do something like this."

I thought about that and the clouds forming on the horizon as we headed home. The falls were nice, but the highlight had really been our stop at the little cafe.

The photographs were downloading to my computer when the hubby walked back through the house with the most recent Chevron statement.

"Look at this," he requested and handed me the paper. "Our bill has been paid and we have a huge credit line. I'm going to call and find out why the card was declined."

I started giggling.

"Hon," I replied, "we were at the Shell Station."

I like him an awful lot.