Giving Up the Keys

Source: Dorothy Mangold

I am not a big fan of sitting in the passenger's seat. I'd rather drive.

When I started working as the new public relations director at the Rocky Mountain Elk Foundation in May of 2012, I was given the car keys to RMEF's social media channels. At the time, RMEF's Facebook page had somewhere in the neighborhood of 29,000 likes.

While I was a latecomer to the Facebook world (because my kids kept bugging me to get on board but I initially resisted), I eventually did have some success with it. Years ago when I worked in TV, we were urged as news anchors to create fan pages. Each of us were free to focus on whatever we wanted to. I chose to mostly avoid everyday news since our station, and so many other media outlets, did exactly that via social media. Instead. I chose to focus on the offbeat, quirky videos, fun photos and add a caption contests. You know, good upbeat news. But I also was hyper-focused on life-or-death happenings like wildfires and other events that threatened lives or property.

Marianne Solari Carroll

Back to RMEF, and what really helped my cause was the product. Who doesn't like a wild and majestic mammal like the elk? And what about where you find them? Elk live on some of the most stunningly beautiful landscapes of anywhere in the world. True, there were some social media marketing approaches that worked really well like posting daily "good morning" elk photos, add a caption contests with the winning comment receiving a knife or knife set, and of course publicizing RMEF projects to better further our conservation outreach.

Earlier in 2017, our Facebook page surpassed the half a million mark in "likes." We routinely reach more than one million people on a weekly basis. Our Instagram page, launched only a few years ago, now tops 90,000 followers and we now have more than one million page views on the RMEF YouTube Channel.

And then there's our blog, Elk Tracks, that we launched four months after my hiring date. It has more than 1.5 million page views. That number will continue to grow but the the number of posts will not. The 506th and final post explains why there won't be a 507th. RMEF just unveiled a new online, digital hub for all things elk and elk country. It's called the Elk Network and that's where I'll be focusing a great deal of my time alongside our new digital media director. Check it out!

So the bottom line is after more than four and a half years, I was asked to give up the keys to RMEF's social media outreach efforts. While I'm still intimately involved with everyday social media efforts, I'm now in the passenger's seat. And I gotta tell you that the view is still pretty good.

I Would Kill for a Bag of Doritos

I would kill for a bag of Nacho Cheese Doritos. The only problem is I couldn't eat them if I had them. Oral surgery earlier this week saw to that. Now I'm on this diet of overly soft foods that, if I eat enough, sort of fill me up but certainly don't satisfy me.

Here's the deal. I got braces way back in my junior high school days. I distinctly remember my orthodontist lecturing me about the importance of brushing both my teeth and my gums to make sure they remain clean and healthy. I'm not saying I brushed my gums to death but I wasn't as gentle on them as I should've been.

Fast forward to a handful of decades later and I had recession that needed medical attention. My dentist kept telling me to get gum grafting done but I didn't have any pain. They never bothered me.

"Does cold water bother your teeth? Don't you have any sensitivity?" they asked year after year.

"No, I'm totally insensitive," I responded again and again.

Still, I finally realized I had to get this done because the pain would come one day. Or worse, maybe some of my teeth would just fall out. When I was a kid I'd watched both my grandpas deal with false teeth and I definitely don't want to go there.

I was given a pill to take prior to the gum grafting procedure that I was told knocks out 90 percent of patients. Well, count me among the "lucky" 10 percent, so I laid there in a quasi-loopy state as the needles came out and the shots went in followed by the scalpel and the removal of tissue from the roof of my mouth followed by transplanting it over three of my lower teeth. It didn't hurt but (not to get too graphic) I could feel the cuts being made and the stitches going in both the top of my mouth and over my teeth below. It was an eerie, icky kind of thing. Beforehand, the nurse did give me shades for my eyes and earphones to better dull my senses and so I didn't have to hear anything--other than the country music they played (ugh). Where's classic rock when you really, really need it?

Now I may sound like I'm complaining. I don't mean to do so (too much). I fully appreciate and applaud modern technology and the skills of a talented surgeon that make such procedures an in-and-out kind of deal. Heck, I walked in at 8:15 a.m. and my wife helped out to the car only some two and a half hours later.

The thing is, outside of routine checkups, I just don't like any kind of work on my teeth--AT ALL! It goes back to when I was about 10 or 11 years old. I visited the dentist to have a few baby teeth removed to clear the way for permanent teeth to follow. I was told it would be relatively quick and easy. The thing is one of them just didn't want to let go. It had some sort of stubborn root or something that snapped off so the dentist had to dig out. As I laid there, the procedure seemed to go on F-O-R-E-V-E-R! I was traumatized. I had other teeth pulled later in life, including four when I received braces in my early teens and wisdom teeth my senior  year of high school, but the mental scars were there. And with all that in mind, then came my most recent oral adventure.

Battered but not defeated

Right now, three days after the procedure, I look in the mirror and my face is still puffy and swollen. My wife commented that it has the shape of a woman's body. You know, kinda curvy but more slender in the middle than the top and bottom. Ice pack treatments applied multiple times a day aren't seeming to kick in and help that yet. And I've got purple and yellow bruising that's now seeping through and showing up on my face. I'm kinda afraid to see what the inside looks like but my mouth is still too sore to pry open and get an all-encompassing, panoramic view.

I also don't like the hazy, semi-thick-headed feeling of taking a cycle of medication. Good thing I'm done with most of that by the weekend. The doctor also told me not to talk because I need to heal. I get that because it hurts when I do. But what really bugs me is the pulsating that I feel in the top of my mouth when I'm really still--like when I'm sitting quietly or (worse) as I lay in bed at night trying to fall asleep. I always thought my heart was in my chest, not located immediately above the roof of my mouth. What's up with that slow beating sensation?

And that takes me back full circle to the food dilemma. I'm currently eating yogurt, soups, overcooked pasta, bread and milk, Chef Boyardee ravioli, graham crackers and milk, pulverized Ritz crackers sprinkled into soup and not gummed down with my tongue until everything is overly soggy--you get the idea. What I wouldn't give to open wide and take a massive bite out of a burger, an apple, corn on the cob, SweetTarts or Spree, a candy bar, french fries...you get the picture.

Oh yeah, the oral surgeon says my mouth won't fully heal for two to six months. I guess I'll have to stockpile my Doritos until then. Heavy, heavy sigh!

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"