Item From the Past: A Boy Who Could Pet Bees

July 13, 1989.

Sometime after noon we went to the Warm Springs Resort in Idaho City, which has a pool and showers fed by hot springs. Warm water, hot sun, kids, mothers, an inflatable Shamu float-toy -- the place had some charm. We swam and hit a ball around for a while, but later I got out of the sun and did nothing for a while. How often does one have that opportunity?

Later in the afternoon, we visited the Boise County Pioneer Cemetery, which is set amid rolling hills and trees and brambles, with little sign of upkeep. Many of the graves were unmarked except for old wooden fencing around the spot, a tiny corral for the dead. Several Woodsmen of the World are buried here, and, among the 19th-century graves, people from England, Scotland, Ireland, France, Belgium and Germany. Though called a "pioneer" cemetery, it's still in use -- I saw a grave filled only last year. One from 1984, of a boy who died at age 10, had a number of lines carved in it, a sort of a poem. The second-to-last line described him as "a boy who could pet bees."

[Note, 2008: Amazingly -- or not so amazingly -- there's a photo on line of the very stone I saw 19 years ago. His name, which I didn't write down then, was Damien Ryan Parlor.]

After an early dinner, we returned to the cabin, but before long I had the idea of sitting on the hill behind the cabin, in my reading chair, and consulting my star guide to get ready for the clear night ahead. Most of the way up, I heard a hissing unlike any I've heard before, coming from further up. I set the chair down and continued on, and all at once, I'm eyeball-to-eyeball with a huge coiled rattlesnake. Actually, he was several yards away, and not that large, but he was so menacing he seemed closer and bigger. I frozen instantly and then backed off slowly, which is probably what the snake had in mind, since he slithered away.

As it turned out, snakes were no further worry sitting on the hill, trying to read. Some of God's smaller critters were. Such as ticks. The odd thing was, they seemed interested in my book, alighting and crawling all over it. This naturally makes reading hard. I returned to the cabin and pursued more of doing nothing.