Slim Randles Columnist

Dud Campbell had been quiet for almost an hour, which brought concern to his wife, Anita. Dud isn’t the strong, silent type. He’s more like a quick, noisy type. After an hour had gone by in silence, he picked up a sheet of paper and began taking notes.

“Dinner’s pretty soon, Hon,” Anita said.

“Can’t eat now. Uh, can I have something later, maybe?”

“Sure. Hey, you OK?”

He nodded, then went for the coffee pot. He gave Anita a hug on his way back to the table.

Slim Randles Columnist

We watched the fence growing, growing even as the snow fell, and there was bile and envy oozing from several pores in town.

This was the rich guy’s fence. The rich guy and his wife moved to our quiet little town to spend weekends. Their real home is two hours away in the city. He owns a factory or store or something down there.

But here they bought that five acres on the edge of town and had people from the city come up and build their vacation home. They paid the builders to stay down at the Empress Motel while they worked, too.

Well, the house was finished toward the end of summer, and they’ve been up here several times since. Seem like nice enough folks.

But the fence .…

The rich guy had no fence around the five acres, you see, and he had no firewood.

So he decided to kill two birds with one stone and have some firewood cutters build a firewood fence, about four feet high, around his little country estate.

So we watched, as load by load the fence grew — first across the front of the property and then turning a corner to go back toward the rear of his property.

A firewood fence. Dud did some figuring down at the Mule Barn the other day. Dud always was handy with figures.

“As I see it, he has one fireplace in that whole house,” Dud says, “and he doesn’t need it to heat the house. They had a propane furnace put in.

“So, if he burns that fireplace continuously every weekend during winter, figuring winter lasts until about April, give or take, I figure it’ll take him 93 years to run out of fence.”

Those of us who cut and haul our own wood, and use it to heat the house, at first said nasty things about the rich guy. This fence was really gilding the lily, of course.

But then we started taking friends from out of town to see it.

“You think you’ve seen a fence?” we’d say. “I’ll show you one for the books.”

Brought to you by Marqcom Media. Visit www.slimrandles.com.

Slim Randles Columnist

When it’s cold, build a fire in the fireplace, or the woodburning heater, or maybe just light a candle and look in the flames, look deep in the flames for the answers.

I’ve always believed they are there, and this time of year is a time for questions. It is a time to weigh the events of the past year and toss them around and ask why.

It has been a good year for each of us in some respects, and a bad year in others. Just like every year.

A few of our young people died this year. Others were born. Some precious old-timers left us, too, but at least they’d had the chance to hang and rattle and turn gray. It was the young ones that make us ask the tough questions.

But there were also the beautiful things that happened this last year. People went out of their way to help others. People tried valiantly to better themselves. Some did it by studying a foreign language. Some did it by taking wood shop at the community college. Dewey did it by managing to get acquainted with his dream woman. Doc held another of his unique golf tournaments to raise money for winter clothes for kids. The old Miller dairy got pulled down. Many of us were worried about kids playing in there and getting hurt. It really wasn’t safe any more. And while we’ll miss seeing it out there, with that big tobacco ad painted on its roof, we’d miss having those kids around even more. You make decisions and hope for the best.

There were some new homes built this year, and Steve has been spending more and more time in his cabin up in the mountains not too far from Jasper Blankenship’s mining claim. Steve just needed a hole-up spot. A place where a cowboy can go and no one can kick him out. And so our world says goodbye to another year and we’ll hope the next one is better, and it probably will be. Life brings the good and the bad together at this time of year and helps us wash our lives with a laugh and a tear and a dollop of forgiveness.

Brought to you by Slim’s award-winning advice book “A Cowboy’s Guide to Growing Up Right.” Start your year off right at www.nmsantos.com/Slim/Slim.html.

Slim Randles Columnist

When Pop Walker sneaked out the kitchen door the other day, it affected all of us. He’s been a resident of the Rest of Your Life retirement home for several years now.

He still remembers who said what during combat in Europe, but has a hard time remembering if he’s had breakfast.

The call went out down at the sheriff’s office around 10 p.m. that Pop had slipped through the enemy lines, meaning the kitchen staff, and was on the loose. One of the deputies called Doc, who was a friend of his since forever, and Doc alerted the rest of us.

Pop is one of our own, of course. A couple of years ago, he took his coffee black and his philosophy straight at the philosophy counter at the Mule Barn.

It was cold, and they found his heavy coat still in his room, so this wasn’t good.

The deputies checked out the interstate and volunteers hit the all-night diners to see if he’d checked in there.

No luck.

The cook at the home was crying, and she said Pop had been talking about going to see his buddy, Jasper, again, and did we know someone named Jasper?

Sure. Jasper Blankenship, up at the cabin in the mountains. When we heard this, the hunt actually took more form.

Two guys started up at Jasper’s place and worked down the road. Steve and Dud both went on horseback and started from the edge of town.

Steve found him. Pop was sitting and shivering under a tree high up on a ridge.

Steve used the cellphone to let us know he was all right, and then built a fire and wrapped a blanket around Pop.

Pop wouldn’t go back until Steve told him Jasper was down at the home, waiting for him. And Steve let him ride in the saddle, too. But before that happened, Steve ducked off behind a rock and made another phone call, to be sure Jasper would be there.

Two hours later, everyone had coffee and doughnuts back at the home, and they fixed the lock on the kitchen door. We have to be careful with those who have problems. We can’t afford to lose beautiful people like Pop.

Brought to you by Slim’s award-winning book (and stocking stuffer), “A Cowboy’s Guide to Growing Up Right.” Learn more at www.nmsantos.com/Slim/Slim.html.

Slim Randles Columnist

We knew. We looked at Dewey and we knew tragedy had struck. Naturally we assumed his carefully planned courtship of Emily Stickles had died a stillborn dream, but that wasn’t it.

He still hadn’t met her, turns out. When he came to the Mule Barn’s philosophy counter, he sorta collapsed into a chair, moaned and flipped his mug to the upright position.

“Who’s going to ask him?” Doc finally said.

“Oh hey, guys,” Dewey said. “My own fault, I guess. I mean, you know I wanted to get all rigged out with new clothes for my introduction to Emily, right? So both Mrs. Doc and Anita volunteered to go shopping with me and help me with color coordination. They said it was important.”

“Oh crud,” Doc said in a whisper.

“I mean it was nice of them and all …”

Dewey stirred sugar into his coffee.

“But then we got to the necktie. Mrs. Doc insisted I get the aqua-colored one, and Anita spoke up for the one marked pastel pool. Before you know it, they were arguing, so I kinda sneaked out.”

“So did you buy a tie there?” Steve asked.

Dewey nodded.

“What color?”

“Oh yeah … got a blue one.”

Made sense.

“It really is your fault, Dewey,” Doc told our local fertilizer king. “You should’ve studied your Chinese better.”

We all looked at Doc.

Doc nodded. “Chinese. Yes, indeed. If you’d boned up on your Chinese a bit, Dew, you’d know that the Chinese symbol for trouble is two women under the same roof.”

Brought to you by Slim’s new book and great stocking stuffer “A Cowboy’s Guide to Growing Up Right.” Learn more at www.nmsantos.com/Slim/Slim.html.

Slim Randles Columnist

It wasn’t long at all before just about everyone in the valley knew about Dewey’s dream girl, Emily Stickles, she of the county office in charge of keeping an eye on things.

It wasn’t long at all because Dewey told everyone about it. Somewhere, deep inside him, was this urge to court this young lady successfully. So strong was this urge that Dewey set out to glean every scrap of advice from almost everyone he knew. It was as though he thought if he could just come up with an amalgam of methods, Emily would almost have to be his.

And a guy doesn’t rush something this important. Success, he knew, comes about when preparation meets opportunity. It was the preparation that concerned him, as he could always waylay her somewhere between her office and her home.

And all of us, his friends, fans and supporters, wanted to advise him properly. We’d seen him through disaster after disaster, and now he was the king of fertilizer here in the valley. For us, it was as if his success would be partially ours, as well.

“Dewey, are you sure, uh, Emily … it’s Emily, right? OK. Are you sure Emily is available?”

“She is, Doc. She used to have a steady boyfriend, but that was back in the city she came from. She’s not seeing anyone here at all.”

“Dewey,” Steve asked, “are you stalking this poor girl?”

“No, of course not. It’s just that I had to do my … homework a bit. I didn’t want to rush into this thing blind.”

“Hey, that goes without saying,” Herb chimed in. “Right guys?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“I’m going to buy some new clothes before I meet her,” he said.

“Talk to Anita first,” Dud said. “She has some fashion ideas for you. In fact, she’s been talking with Sarah and some of the others, and they all have suggestions.”

“Thanks! I’ll do it.”

“And Dewey,” Doc added, in a conspiratorial tone, “you won’t forget that showering thing now, right?”

“For Emily,” said our stricken swain, sultan of soil amenities, “I’d shower twice!”

“Sounds like love to me,” Steve said.

Brought to you by Slim’s new book “A Cowboy’s Guide to Growing Up Right.” Learn more at www.nmsantos.com/Slim/Slim.html.

Of love, fly fishing and other things

Dewey Decker silently shoveled cow manure into the back of his pickup, but for the first time, his heart wasn’t in it.

Slim Randles Columnist

He knew he had it to do, so he did it. Scoop, toss. Scoop toss. Then, when the bed was full, he somberly drove to town and unloaded it onto the many compost piles behind his house.

Then he drew compost from the bottom and put that in the truck. Scoop, toss. Scoop toss.

Then off he went in the pickup with the sign reading Environmental Enrichment Services and delivered the magnificent new garden amendments to one of his customers. Again … scoop, toss and spread. Scoop, toss, spread.

Normally, this would have filled his day with a sense of accomplishment, secure in the knowledge that he was making the world a little richer by his labors. But today it only warranted a sigh.

He quit work at noon, took a shower and went to the Mule Barn truck stop for lunch.

Even that didn’t help.

“Pull up a chair, Dewey,” said Dud, jovially. “We were just talking about the shellacking Ol’ Marve gave the county people.”

Partially through town support, and largely through the efforts of Dewey himself, Marvin Pincus had been allowed to continue counseling the lovelorn and tying appropriate flies for their therapy. It was the talk of the valley.

“Yes,” Dewey nodded. “That was good.”

“You feeling okay, Doo?” asked Doc.

“Sure. I’m fine.”

But he wasn’t. While his outer shell delighted in fertilizing life in the valley, his heart lay fallow. How could they understand what Emily meant to him. Oh yes, he thought of her now as Emily and not as Ms. Stickles, the county love advice coordinator.

In his mind, she walked with a graceful air, smiling that soft smile that melted his heart and changed his outlook forever.

He picked at his burger and fries and then paid his bill and left. Mindlessly he drove the fertilizer pick-up around town, eventually noticing that he kept passing Marvin Pincus’s house.

Of course. This was a problem for the Fly Tying Love Center.

He pulled up and stopped.

Brought to you by Slim’s new book “A Cowboy’s Guide to Growing Up Right.” Learn more at http://www.nmsantos.com/Slim/Slim.html.

Youth is sometimes wasted on the young

When the world dilemma think tank gathered this morning at the philosophy counter, the main topic of conversation was Marvin Pincus’ problem with the county.

The county wanted him to stop counseling people on love and tying flies to go along with it. Well, they didn’t mind the fly tying so much, but the counseling was to stop unless he had a college degree and a business license. There was general outrage and frustration there in the truck stop.

There were solutions to Marvin’s problem suggested, of course. They varied from 1. finding something else Marvin could do to enjoy his retirement (from Doc), to 5. declaring war on the county up to and including seceding (from Jasper Blankenship). Nos. 2, 3 and 4 weren’t really workable and referred generally to impossible anatomical feats to be performed by certain county employees.

“Marvin’s hearing is next week,” Doc said. “I plan to show up and give them an earful. Ol’ Marv isn’t hurting a soul.”

Dewey hadn’t said much, nursing his coffee and sweet roll. It’s like that sometimes with deep thinkers. It takes time for an idea to ripen, to blossom. Finally, the king of the valley’s one-man fertilizer distribution system smiled.

“Got an idea,” he said. “I’m willing to sacrifice some labor and profits here … for the cause.”

“What’s the idea,” Dud asked.

“What would you think if I donated an entire pickup load of product to the front door of the county building?”

When the laughing died down, Doc said, “I believe I’d bring a shovel and help out.”

“I don’t know,” Jasper said. “I’m not sure they’d think it was out of place there. If I was younger …”

“If you were younger … what?”

“Well, I believe I’d go down and rearrange some county physiognomies.”

He sighed. “But the truth is … I never was as young as I used to be.”

Brought to you by Slim’s new book “A Cowboy’s Guide to Growing Up Right.” Learn more at www.nmsantos.com/Slim/Slim.html.

But for some reason, she finds the need each winter to have some crazy promotion to peddle books. Last year, it was celebrating President James Monroe’s wedding anniversary (120 years now, and they said it wouldn’t last!) We’ve come to speculate (our No. 1 indoor sport around here) on what her promotion would be this winter. Right after that cold snap, we found out.

On a big banner taped up in the front window, we saw: “Help Celebrate Orf Day! Come in and see the specials.”

After two days of fruitless speculation, we agreed to once again send Doc into the breech.

“Orf Day, huh?” Doc said, cruising nonchalantly past the section called “Love and Other Fiction.”

“I figured it was about time we celebrated Orf, Doc. He just never gets the kind of respect and recognition he deserves.”

Doc raised an eyebrow. “Hockey player, wasn’t he?”

“That was Orr. No, he came along a long time before Bobby.”

“Oh yeah,” Doc said, nodding, “the composer. I’ve heard his stuff. ‘Carmina Burana,’ right?”

“That was Carl Orff with two f’s,” she said, smirking a little bit, “Orf was way before Carl.”

“I guess I’m not familiar with Orf, then, Sarah.”

“Granddaddy of them all, Doc,” she said. “Orf was the first reader.”

“One of those cave guys?”

“Near as we can figure,” she said, with a straight face. “You know, we don’t have a lot of written history of those times.”

“So, what did Orf read?”

“Before written words, there were cave drawings, of course, but they lacked a lot in the communication line, so that’s when the first writer tried language.”

“And the first writer was?”

“Urglia,” Sarah said. “Orf’s wife. Near as we can figure, the first writing was a note to Orf telling him to take out the cave detritus, making him an official midden manager.”

“Well, ain’t progress wonderful,” Doc said, grinning.

Brought to you by www.BoogieBeads.com. Unique, handmade jewelry for your loved ones.

One crisp, fall morning a few years back, I boarded a bus full of preschoolers on a field trip to a pumpkin patch.

On the way back, sitting across from me was a girl who was crying and jumping up and down. The bus driver and I reminded her to stay in her seat, and I asked her what was wrong. But she was inconsolable.

A co-worker leaned toward me and whispered, “Must have been a bad night.” The four words that followed shook me for weeks to come: “You know she’s homeless.”

What? This did not compute. Working for seven years in downtown Seattle, I had seen homeless men and women. Never small children.

“She’s one of our lucky kids,” my co-worker added. Every day after preschool, the girl rode a bus to a stop where her mother waited in a car. They would drive around visiting friends and were lucky because they usually ended up with a couch to sleep on.

I wondered what her days were like – and her nights. At home, I looked at my three boys’ toys, games and books. I envisioned the little girl carrying a backpack with a toothbrush, a stuffed animal and PJs.

One evening two weeks later, sending my boys to bed, I told them to go upstairs, get their pajamas on and brush their teeth. They ran to their bedroom to get their pajamas on and into their bathroom to brush their teeth. I began to sob.

My boys had run off with confidence, in a place where they felt safe, their home. Did the little girl feel safe? Did she feel comfortable to get up and brush her teeth? Did she have a place to store her stuff and change her clothes?

I never will know what she experienced once she left Encompass, but I do know that for three hours, three days a week, she had a place to go. Walking through our doors, she had routine and consistency. She played, laughed, made friends and received a nutritious meal and snack. She was treated with respect and compassion, surrounded by staff dedicated to making her life the best it could be.

Recently, one of our teachers drew a smile on a piece of paper. “I try to bring a smile to every kid, every day,” she said, “because for some of my kids that will be the only smile they see all day.”

Each year, we offer 36 free preschool spots to children who live in families in poverty. The faces are different, but the stories are similar — lives full of stress, hardship and chaos.

This time of year, Encompass seeks donations to Respectful Giving, our food and gift-card drive that supports families in crisis.

You can donate money or groceries or volunteer your time. Donations are due Dec. 15. Volunteer dates are Dec. 15-17. We also will receive contributions and hand out hot chocolate the evening of Dec. 9 in downtown North Bend. Join us!

When our Respectful Giving campaign began years ago, we provided food and gift cards to 35 families. Last year, we served 160. How many will need our help this year?

Stacey Cepeda is Community Activities manager for Encompass. To learn more, call 425-888-2777 or e-mail stacey.cepeda@encompassnw.org

Dewey joined the world dilemma think tank at the Mule Barn truck stop at seven, before the fertilizer started to fly. Well, before Dewey’s business fertilizer started to fly, anyway.

He had somehow gotten the word that, for the sake of fresh air and happy breathing, it would be best if he did his morning philosophizing and caffeining before heading out to the feed lot to load the truck with, um, soil amenities.

“New truck, Dewey?” Doc said, looking out the window.

“New to me, anyway, Doc. You like the sign I had painted on it?”

Environmental Enrichment Services. With a phone number. It replaced the original “Dewey the Fertilizer King.”

“You know,” said Dud, “I like it. Comes right to the point.”

“I disagree,” said our resident cowboy, Steve. “If it came to the point, it would say something like We shovel…”

The laughter somehow covered up the last of that suggestion.

“My girlfriend came up with the name,” Dewey said. “You don’t think it’s too high-falutin’?”

“Why no, not at all,” Herb said. “After all, you are performing double services here, by moving it from the feed lot to the family garden. In a very real way, you are enriching the environment.”

And enriching Dewey too. It was Doc who had originally suggested that Dewey Decker, our local accident-prone disaster zone, find some line of work that didn’t involve sharp objects, products that were worth more than nothing at all and that would serve some kind of purpose.

Dewey began his new career with a shovel, and he now had expanded it to include a fairly new pickup and a rake.

“Your new name needs a slogan, though,” Steve said, looking at the door of Dewey’s truck. “How about ‘From cow to cabbage?’”

“I’ve got it,” said Doc. “From bull to begonia.”

“I’ve got it, boys!” Dewey said. “How about ‘From offal to awesome?’”

It got awfully quiet. Dewey offered to spell it out for us.

“Not necessary,” said Steve. “We already know how to spell awesome.”

Home Country is sponsored by www.pearsonranch.com — farm-direct, delicious, California navel and Valencia oranges.