Repurposing the Past

Holyoak family farm in Parowan

I freely admit it. I am sentimental. The older I get, the more fond my memories of years long since passed become.

Growing up as a kid, our family vacations were always the same--and I loved them! We parents, two brothers, little sister and me would cram into the station wagon and head west to visit family in southern Utah. We would spend one week at my grandparents' in Glendale and then head across Cedar Mountain to spend the other week in Parowan where I LOVED doing the daily chores with my Grandpa Vern.

We would feed and water the cows, bottle-feed calves, cut and haul the hay, change the water, run into town and do whatever else a Utah farmer needed to do. I also remember climbing onto the roof of the old barn with my brothers, with hammers in hand, to drive any loose nails back into the beams.

One day Grandpa told me to head to the old chicken coop out back--a place where I had gathered eggs just as my father had gathered eggs decades before me. He told me the sparrows were rifling through the chicken feed and he needed them thinned out. Dutifully (and as giddy as a young BB-gun toting kid could be) I headed that way to do my best. I soon discovered it was hard to shoot any sparrows because there were so many of them flying so fast in such a confined space. Grandpa then gave me a small iron rod, gave me instruction to swing it around like a mini baseball bat and left me to do the deed. This was both great fun and allowed me to hone my little league skills! As each bird met its demise and fell to the coop floor below, the hens quickly sprinted to my feet to "clean up the mess." Little cannibals! It was truly a delight for all involved (except the sparrows).

Lori & Kathrine in front of the old chicken coop

This past summer, I set foot back in that chicken coop for the first time in years. Probably constructed by my great grandparents about a century or more ago, its roof is now caved in and most of the wood is warped, faded and rotting. I stood there looking at the old nesting boxes and recalled my time with the sparrows.

When I returned home to Montana I brought the old chicken coop door home with me. It had been laying on the ground by the coop barely visible beneath the brush and tall weeds. My parents were coming for a visit and I had just the perfect present in mind for my dad for his 87th birthday.

Square-headed nails

I removed a plank from the door and repurposed a bit of our shared Parowan past. I used my chop saw to cut the old wood into five smaller pieces, grabbed one of Grandpa Vern's old Utah license plates for a roof and attached it with some really old, rusty square-headed nails (probably older than Dad and I put together) which I also brought home from the farm's shop.

When the big day finally came, Lori made Dad a huckleberry pie for his birthday meal and then I presented him with the repurposed Parowan birdhouse. He commented that he could use it as a birdhouse outside or a decoration inside. He really liked it!

You see, he's sentimental too.

Happy birthday Dad!

Find directions on how to make the birdhouse here.

Pokeman NO

I am the first to admit that I am not hip. I'm not cool. Sure, I've got a smart phone and a laptop but I wouldn't call myself very "techy" either.

Having said that, a lot has been said about Pokeman GO, the free-to-play, location-based reality game played via a smartphone app. Things like:

"Instead of my adult son and his friends playing video games from the sofa they are out and about enjoying the outside. Good friends, clean fun, great exercise.”

"It’s a fun and productive way to get out of the house and go on a walk.”

“If people pay attention to their surroundings, I think it’s great. It’s getting people off the sofa, out of the house, and exercising.”

Two Pokeman GO players in the work parking lot

That's the key--IF people pay attention to their surroundings. We apparently have some of those Pokeman critters in our parking lot at work because I've seen dozens of people of all ages wander in and out of the parked cars in their quest including several kids on skateboards and bikes who keep their eyes down as they motor along. On one particular morning I noticed a man in his 40s or so not once, but twice. On the second occasion, I called to a nearby co-worker and said, "Hey, watch this guy. He's going to stop at the intersection of two sidewalks (which he did), Now he's going to wait 5 seconds, pivot around and walk about 10 yards toward our building (which he did). Okay, now he's going to turn back around and return to the sidewalk intersection (which he did). And now he's going to hang a left-hand turn and walk out of sight (which he did)." All the while he never once raised up his head to see what was going on around him.

I also read a report about man who is suing the game maker because players keep wandering into his yard. Some people apparently like to play while they drive.

My kids will tell you I'm not a big advocate of computer games. And there's a pretty specific reason why that is. Early in my married life my wife and toddler daughter took an out-of-state trip for a week or so. While they were gone, a buddy of mine let me borrow his new Nintendo Super Mario game. I hooked it up to my TV and started playing on a Monday morning after breakfast. I eventually grabbed something for lunch but kept on playing. Before I knew it, it was dark outside. When I finally went to bed that night at about 11 o'clock, I didn't even need to change because I still wore the same robe I put on after rolling out of bed. As I laid there I thought, "Boy, what a waste of a day!" I vowed something like that would never happen again.

Am I saying don't play Pokeman Go or any other computer game? No! I'm just saying if you do play, don't get so deep into it that you're missing out on experiencing real life. Keep your eyes up and live your surroundings. After all, there's a lot of beauty out there. And a heck of a lot more to soak in and experience than what you see on a smartphone screen.

(And yeah, I'm like the oldest generation in the video below, which has a pretty hard-hitting message from all three generations.)

My Pinterest Moment

The last year has been a blur of outdoor projects, home remodeling, hauling limbs, repairing fence, splitting and stacking firewood, thinning out dead brush, hauling dirt--you get the picture. Such is the life of making a new-to-us place, a home of our own.

One of the issues we have with living off a windy dirt road in the woods is people can't always seem to find our house. Even following GPS directions takes some people up the wrong driveway to a neighbor's property.

In the midst of my projects it came to me--like a bolt of sunshine through one of our 80-foot tall Ponderosa pines. We needed something more than just our address number nailed to a tree out front. We needed an identifier, a sign post, an indicator that "yep, you've found the right place."

Sitting on the front porch one afternoon with a 1" x 6" x 15" piece of lumber in hand, it came to me. I grabbed a hammer, pliers, bolt cutters, nails and some barbed wire from a section of fence I repaired earlier that morning. I measured, cut, bent and spelled. When all was said and done, it was finished. I then drilled a couple of holes, put the ladder in my truck and drove to the front of the property. Two nails through the sign and into the tree just above our address number, and it was done.

Now our visitors will know they're at the right place. Of course, they could also turn at the totem pole, but that's an entire story in itself.

Still, eat your heart out Pinterest!

(By the way, I noticed if you take your mouse and hover over any photo on this blog post, you can pin it to Pinterest. Go figure!)

Montana Deer: Love 'Em, Hate 'Em, Love 'Em!

I admit it. I have a love-hate relationship with deer. I ABSOLUTELY love seeing them in the wild! Whether hiking, canoeing, floating, hunting, camping, picking huckleberries or whatever...I just love watching them.

Whitetail doe walking across the back pasture

We have a spotting scope at work just around the corner from the door into my office. As the temperatures drop, the deer become more active and flock to the hillside. When they're out, I like to zoom in and watch their behavior. 

Antlers from Jace's buck

One time a couple of years ago while hunting for elk, I stood on a snowy hillside and looked down into a drainage some 400 yards away or so where I saw a handful of deer. I had already filled my deer tag that hunting season so I pulled out a deer call and started to grunt and doe call toward them. They seemed rather puzzled. They could hear me but they couldn't see me. Still, the calling didn't draw them any closer my way. After messing around for 10 minutes or so I had a feeling come over me that someone, or something in this case, was watching me. I slowly pivoted around only to see a 5x5 whitetail buck standing a mere 20 yards or so behind me. I slowly lifted my rifle to my shoulder, looked through its scope and verbally but rather nonchalantly said, "Bang." As I lowered my rifle, it hopped a barbwire fence and started to prance away. I pulled out the call and quickly stopped it in its tracks at about 35 yards. I again raised my rifle to my shoulder, looked through the scope and said, "Bang." It finally got the hint and trotted away. (Actually it didn't really get the hint because my son ended up shooting it about a mile from there a few weeks later.)

On a different hunt just last fall, an overnighter in the Bitterroot Valley, I saw a handful of dandy mule deer bucks. Unfortunately I didn't draw a tag so I couldn't take one home with me but they were more than impressive to see as was the bighorn sheep that crossed the road in front of us.

My experience with deer took on an a whole new, up-close perspective when we moved among the Ponderosa pine trees in the heart of Montana's deer country. Now we see them on a daily basis.

Rufus tries to keep deer at bay

Last year, we watched a whitetail doe raise triplet fawns on our property. This year she's back with twins. Of course there are other does, bucks and other critters as well. The deer like to bed down right next to our home. I even had to shoo a couple of them away from my target when I was on the side of my house practicing with my bow.

I still love them but my opinion tilted a wee bit after we purchased a trunk load of "deer proof" perennial flowers and plants for my daughter's recent wedding reception that took place in our front yard. They looked great that night but not so much the following morning after the local deer herd took a bite out of them. Or should I say ate the blooming flowers off of most all of them. That just goes to show deer will eat just about anything--even plants they supposedly don't like.

Munched!

I guess you could say we got a measure of revenge because we served barbecue venison sliders the night of the reception and they were delicious! Or maybe they were retaliating for that by getting revenge on us by wiping out our plants.

Still, given the choice, I'll most definitely take having deer close by compared to not. Plus, you can use them (like I did during last hunting season) to have a little fun with our young dog Rufus.

"Best Present Ever!"

Standing 12 feet above the ground, it towers above all those who enter the Holyoak property--that is, if they even notice it.

Here's how the story goes. I went on a walk on the trails around the Rocky Mountain Elk Foundation's (RMEF) property during my lunch hour this past spring. As I made my way across the back of the acreage, a place I'd passed many previous times, I noticed something glistening back in the foliage. I left the trail, waded through the tall grass and stood above it. Looking up at me from the ground below were many faces on a totem pole.

"A totem pole?" I thought. "What the heck is a totem pole doing back in the ground cover under a bunch of cottonwood trees?"

I asked that same question when I got back inside and found out that the totem pole was a donation to RMEF a number of years earlier. It found a home on display in the distribution center just across the parking lot from headquarters. A short time later, an ant infestation broke out inside the distribution center. It turns out the totem pole was riddled with ants so it was loaded up, taken to the back of the property and dumped in the trees.

That night I told Lori the story of the totem pole.

"Cool." she said.

That's when a plan I'd already started to formulate took an additional turn. You see, Mother's Day was approaching. I already had a surprise present planned so the totem pole would be a bonus. Jace was coming home for the weekend but Lori didn't know anything about it. And I meant to keep it that way.

I ventured across the parking lot to the distribution center on a Friday in search of a not-so-noticeable human-sized box, What I came up with was a narrow cardboard gun box. But was it too narrow to put a son in? Being about the same size, I held it open above my head and let it fall around me. It was a snug fit and was almost perfect for Jace. But because he's taller than me I grabbed another box.

Loaded up and heading for home

Later that evening, Kenny and I returned to RMEF where Jace had been dropped off. We then drove my truck, which only has a six-foot bed, on the trail to the back of the property. The three of us maneuvered the totem pole (one heavy booger!) until we got one end of it on the tailgate. We then heaved it onto the bed and strapped it into place. The front wheels never came off the ground but it sure felt like that might happen. I envisioned pulling a wheelie as we drove home on I-90. What we did get were a TON of somewhat puzzled looks! After all, how often do you see a pickup rolling down the highway with a totem pole twice sticking six feet out of the back of it?

Once on the property but still a good couple hundred yards from the house and completely out of sight, phase two of the plan kicked in. We put Jace's suitcase behind the seats, pulled out the collapsed boxes, taped them together as one and he climbed inside of it next to the totem pole. After parking in the driveway, Kenny went inside to notify the troops and I met Lori at the front door. What happened next (see video below) will go down in Holyoak lore.

Jace's surprise homecoming certainly ended up being the big hit. Still I wonder, the tales the now upright and yet stoically silent totem pole would tell if it could talk. I don't know what it would say about its pre-Holyoak past but it surely would gush on and on about Lori's "best present ever!"

Mr. Totem Pole (left) overlooks the entrance to our "driveway"

Gettin' Down-n-Dirty

Yep, D-I-R-T-Y!

The spring and summer of 2016 were...well, dirty! With a combination goal of making our new home more "ours," and in preparation for Hallie's wedding reception on our front lawn, I found myself reverting to my childhood. I kept digging in the dirt again and again and again.

It started with our greatest need. Because of the increasing slope of our driveway, there's a 30-inch dropoff on the east side of it. Needless to say, that's a pretty steep step for the grandkids let alone an aging 50+ year old like myself. 

Lori and I responded to a Craigslist ad for free railroad ties. We drove to the house, dug them out of the ground, lugged them to my truck and lifted them into the bed. Once we got home the work began. 

There was already a cement slab in the grass (for some reason) so I dug out a foundation between it and the side of the driveway so the bottom or fifth stair would be the slab itself. Along the way, I came across a lot of stone including one rock the size of a small duffel bag. (It now sits in the front flower bed.) As I started to lay out and design the 8-foot long outdoor staircase I soon realized I needed more railroad ties so I went and bought a few more of them.I used a circular saw to cut the side pieces, drilled 1/2-inch holes and used 18-inch pieces of rebar and a sledge hammer to hold the framing together and secure it all to the ground.

Before...

After stacking and securing all the stairs, the entire framework was in place. Kyler grabbed his shovel and together we scooped dirt back into the framework until it was packed down and filled. Then we jumped into my truck for a drive to the back pasture where there's a big pile of native rock someone had obviously formed years earlier to clear the field. We sorted through the rocks and picked out those of proper size to add to the steps. We added the rock, swept and sprayed away the excess dirt and the outdoor staircase was ready for use. 

...and after

Since I was already coated from head-to-toe in dirt, I decided to build a second such set of stairs off the back deck to replace the six cinder blocks that previously served the same purpose. Though just two steps, this project would be much prettier but just as efficient and effective. The previous homeowner left behind two eight-foot planks which appear to be leftovers from the raised garden. The result was great.

...but much more attractive

Just two steps...

Other down-n-dirty outdoor projects included hauling in dirty to form two rock-lined flower beds. (Boy do the deer LOVE flowers--even those plants the nursery said deer didn't like.) Kyler and I put in a couple of horseshoe pits. Our last project is what we call the "Parowan Pit." I'm guessing the old, rusted metal ring was some sort of feeder back on the family farm in Parowan, Utah. We dug the hole, dropped the ring into place and it now stands ready for use as a fire pit and ultimate smores zone.

Flower bed #1 with an old Parowan plow centerpiece from the family farm

Flower bed #2

Horseshoe pit

Me and my best building buddy Kyler

Welcome to the...

...ultimate Smores Zone!

Our Own Personal Barn (Door) Raising

It was my wife's idea, and a dang good one at that! In order to make our new-to-us home more "ours," and to give it a little more of the farm style flair she desired, we embarked on a throwback project. I call it "throwback" because the last time I'd made furniture with my quasi-dormant woodworking skills was more than three and a half decades earlier in high school. The goal was to remove the sliding doors from the entry way closet and replace them with a barn door, built from scratch, and then hang it on a roller system.

Kelly lending a hand

I relied on a family friend, Kelly Laga, for direction and for the use of his shop in the Bitterroot Valley--thanks Kelly! I decided to go with soft maple--wood that was easy to work with and featuring a nice woodgrain. After purchasing the wood I loaded it up and headed to Kelly's. I cut the boards on a radial arm saw to a raw length of approximately six feed wide by seven feet in height, ripped some of them on a table saw and then ran them all through the jointer to prepare them to be glued. We then butted them up to each other, applied the glue, attached the large clamps and allowed them to dry. Kelly glued the second batch of planks the following evening and then glued both sides together. 

I came up a little shy in width so I made another trip to the lumber yard, repeated the process, applied the glue and then returned following work on another day. We made the final cuts for length and then it was time to sand and sand and sand. I felt like I inhaled a couple of board feet worth of saw dust but then got smart enough to get a mask when I returned to continue the process. 

Once the main door base was good to go I cut the design pieces out of the leftover boards. Lori wanted it done in that fashion so it looked like two doors butted up to each other. I glued and clamped the perimeter pieces in place and then Kelly glued the rest the following day. After another round of sanding, the door was ready to be transported back to my place for staining and hanging. 

We decided to stain the door the same color as the new molding we were in the process of installing on our home's main floor. We had ordered the hardware online and attached the rollers to the door.

The door was so big, heavy (I'm guessing about 160 pounds or so), bulky and awkward to carry that Kenny and I waited until Jace was home to help move it from the garage to the front entry way. A few days later Lori and I worked together to locate the studs and drill the tracking into place. Then, somehow, the two of us raised the barn door by lifting the beast into place. 

Mission accomplished! It was glorious! We rolled it back and forth again and again and again, kinda like a couple of kids who have a new play toy. When the door opens and the entire closet is exposed, it covers up the entry way to the kitchen. 

Now it stands in place as evidence that throwback skills can be brought to life, especially if you have a good idea, some good guidance, good tools and good help. 

Still Puzzled

Topeka, Kansas

I left the broadcast news business more than four years ago. I spent the previous 24 years doing the TV thing--14 years as a sportscaster/reporter and 10 years as a news anchor/reporter. Looking back on that very public career I remain perpetually puzzled. My latest television-related conversation is a perfect indication of what I'm talking about. It went something like this.

"I'm curious. What exactly did you study in college so you could become a TV weatherman?" I was asked.

"I never did the weather," I responded.

"Really?"

"Nope. I was a news anchor my last 10 years in the business and did sports for 14 years before that but I never did the weather."

"Man, I could've sworn you did the weather."

Spokane, Washington

Conversations and comments similar to this didn't happen just a handful of times either. I'd say more than a couple of dozen times. I guess I could maybe understand a teeny bit why they take place in Montana. After all, a meteorologist at the rival station has the same first name as me but that is the only thing we have in common. Viewers would get my last name right but some people, like passersby in Walmart, would say something like,"Hey there's Mark Holyoak, Mark, how 'bout that weather forecast for tonight?"

Spokane, Washington

The thing is I somehow got that same label in Washington and Kansas. In both locations I only reported on sports--NOT the weather.

The funny thing is that even when I was in college at Brigham Young University and taking upper level classes in broadcast communications, I always found a way to wriggle out of my assigned day to do the weather on our live nightly newscast.

Now, it's all kind of evolved into a running joke between my wife and I over the years. I'd tell her about weather-related comments somebody makes to me. She'd then roll her eyes and we both get a chuckle out of it.

So life goes on. And as it does, my TV career gets farther and farther behind me in the rear view mirror but I'm sure the bizarre conversations will continue. There's probably at least a 50 percent chance of that happening anyway.

Missoula, Montana

Topeka, Kansas

Hobbling Across the Finish Line

In my final game of the 2016 softball season I stood on third base with two outs. At the plate, a teammate laced a clutch line drive single to right field. As I jogged down the third base line and then planted my foot on home plate, the umpire raised both hands above his head and yelled, "Ballgame!" Taco Johns run-ruled its opponent to the tune of a 19-7 victory.

It was a good season. Check that, it was a great season with a great group of guys. Unfortunately, we dropped our last two games of the regular season and fell out of first place. But for the first time ever, I felt like I was physically hobbling across the finish line.

During batting practice the final day of the season, I took an innocent-looking ground ball just above my right ankle. It wasn't hit very hard (and yeah, I should've not let it under my glove) but it hit in the exact same bruised spot as a harder ground ball during a game earlier in the week. It hurt like a big dawg! I guess it was a fitting way to end the season. My pains began during our first practice of the year when I lost a stinger-of-a-line-drive in the setting sun. It tattooed me squarely in the right shin. I hobbled around like someone had just shot me. The next day it swelled up to the size of my right knee. It was so tender that I could almost feel it with each beat of my heart. The tenderness of it all knocked me out of my first two games of the season.

As the season continued, other pains both new and old kicked in. My left ankle (from an basketball injury 16 months earlier--see photo on left) was an off-again, on-again gimpy situation. My right groin (which never seems to loosen up from eight years of climbing over the boards while playing hockey) was also an on-again, off-again situation. Luckily, the old right shoulder impingement from softball seasons gone by did not manifest itself but a new pain did--in my right hamstring. On some nights it felt like I had a couple of bricks attached to it as I lumbered around the bases. It also especially worried me after watching a teammate totally blow out his hamstring and crumple to the ground after sprinting to first base.

Weider home gym

So I'm 53 years old and the oldest guy on my team by eight years. I have friends about the same age who say now (or sooner) is the time of our lives when knees, shoulders and other muscles and joints start to give out. So given the past season of aches and pains I really have two main options:

A) Decide that "I'm old," give up the active sporting lifestyle, spend more time in the recliner and look back on my days in the field and on the court.

B) Heal, have a great fall hiking in the mountains during hunting season and then turn my attention to  Mr. Weider in the basement to get stronger and seek to defy my age by being a 54-year-old who performs more like a 44-year-old on the diamond next summer.

I choose B.
#bringit