Red Feather: Worth A Return

Here's the deal.

I love food, I really do. Maybe it seems gluttonous to write that I think about food nearly non-stop.

When it comes to dining, however, there are layers involved.

In order to fully enjoy any dining I'm doing, the necessary elements need to be in place. Not just sights, sounds, or the aroma. For me, it goes much deeper than that.

#1. I need to feel at ease with my fellow diners.
Foodies Deb McGrath, Sarah Nash and I were accidental friends. I wanted a foodie handle on Twitter that was relatively clever and descriptive. I chose @EatingIdaho, then later discovered that was Deb's Twittername. I tweeted to her to apologize for the accidental imitation, and told her I was changing mine out. On a whim, I tweeted that since we were both food lovers, we should perhaps have lunch and write our own reviews.  @IdahoFoodie Sarah Nash spotted this correspondence and amiably asked if she could join us. The Culinary Club was born. What I thought would be a one-time lunch thing has now turned into regular food reviews and friendship, going strong now for about a year. Not only am I at my total ease with these interesting and at times comedic two, I look forward to our gatherings for weeks, and ponder on the food and conversation for weeks afterward.

#2. Any history involved will kick it up several notches.
Sarah is our group's historian and trivia maven, and is the owner of Nash Historical Research. From our first meeting, she told us of Red Feather's oatmeal souffle (which we're planning to try during an upcoming brunch), and of their unique cellar. Having frequented Eighth Street often in the past, returning to the village-y area is always a treat for me. Knowing that the building we were dining in was around 100 years old got the senses on high history the alert. I adore the smell of old wood and the detailed craftsmanship of yesteryear.

#3. I have to put my brain into 'relax' mode.
I'm slightly OCD. I'm German. I have three kids and a type A husband. My 'chill' button is often nowhere to be found, so for me this is a very conscious effort, this relaxation thing. I have to force my shoulders to come back down off my ears (ask my chiropractor, he'll tell you). Deep breaths and some inner self-talk help. Once I'm there, I'm good, but backsliding is always a danger. The full effect happens by the time I'm seated at the table with the other two Foodies. One more deep breath, and I'm ready for a couple of hours of food and fantastic-ness.

Kitty-corner and down the street from Fork, the Club's first meeting place (I think we all like Eighth Street, but who doesn't?) sits the Bittercreek Alehouse and Red Feather. Those who'd entered the busy Red Feather behind me all had the same anticipatory looks, as if they knew they were in for a special treat and knew they deserved it and were going to get it, too.

After being seated, I realized that another factor this time was going to be that Sarah loved the Red Feather. My own enjoyment is doubled when a friend is in their element. When she told us unabashedly that this was 'her place', a happy grin crept onto my visage and stayed there for the rest of the evening. There's a light that comes on in people when they love their location.

Being in the two-story loft overlooking the happy diners below (both inside and out on the patio), combined with soft, dimmed lights provided a contented energy. Looking upward at exposed antique wooden beams got me musing about the yesteryears. I tried to describe what I felt to the Foodies.

"An old building has a different energy. Like when someone's been shouting or music's been playing and then all suddenly stops...it's that echo or faint ring that you can still hear. You can almost feel the memories."

Which of course led to an entire discussion about ghosts, spirits, and history. There couldn't  have been a better setting.

History was the theme of the night, as I shared with my Foodie friends that I'd just learned my grandfather had owned a Bavarian Deli in New York in the 1950s, and that he'd been a cheese-maker. I've always loved cheese, but knowing it was in my blood increased my curiosity of the curd. While Deb ordered the Halloumi appetizer tray (I pretended to know what that was, for fear of appearing naive), I ordered a sampler cheese tray also. If we were going to talk about my German grandfather in this historic, old-vibe-y building, it would have been wrong not to.

A smokey, strong white cheddar lit up taste buds like the fourth of July, and in a good way. I couldn't get enough, watching the tray like a hawk yet lacking the boldness to say, "Does anyone else want the rest?" I politely waited a few seconds, then selfishly put my fork into the remaining slice to rest it safely upon my plate. "Mine."

The last three times the CClub has dined together, I've surprised myself by getting the fish. Tonight, good as that looked, I would force myself to get something different. That wasn't hard. Even though I've- strangely enough- ordered fish consistently, my first true love is beef. I even have an 'I Love Beef' t-shirt that I've worn around the house, courtesy of the Idaho Beef Council. My least favorite meat is chicken, due to the fact that my husband could eat a chicken breast each and every day of his life. We've owned entire freezer-fulls of them. I used to be okay with it, but I think I've reached my lifetime quota early. I'll seldom order the chicken, but my heart leaps at the sight of good beef on the menu. Homestead Natural beef, in fact.

My order was practically smiling up at me from its plate, like an old friend. Iron, protein, packed with flavor, and the ideal texture. Soulmates. I shared a portion of my medium rare steak with the other two, who generously shared portions of their dishes. This is tradition. We get to try three or more dishes each time, a definite plus. While Deb's Idaho sturgeon and Sarah's herb-roasted pork were delicious. I personally felt I'd gotten the best pick, but that could've just been my beef-love talking.

Downtown Boise restaurants have recently converted me over to two things, one of them (shockingly) being wilted kale. Smoky, buttery, and with a deep, rich flavor (do they marinate it?) I'm hooked. Another unexpected was the golden triangle that patiently waited for me to finish everything else on my plate before addressing it. Polenta, where have you been all my life? I'd tried  you before, but not when you were perfectly crunchy, seasoned and full of inner joy. If I'd been relaxed at 80%, polenta sent me to the 100%. It made me envision being in my most comfortable flannel jammies on the couch with a roaring fire before me. Polenta was like coming home. I believe I might need an 'I Love Polenta' tee to go with my beef one.

The Red Feather was filled with customers, but with the way walls and booths were situated, we had no trouble hearing or conversing. The walking flow in both entering and exiting the building were not technical, even on a busy Friday night. How the Red Feather pulled this off, I have no idea, but I believe there was some detailed thought involved with their layout.

Overall I was impressed, and would return. I'm anxious to try the long-discussed oatmeal souffle and to see how the building's deep vibes affect me during daylight hours.

The Red Feather is worth a return.

 *For more adventures in Idaho, (with recipes between the stories!) get the "Appetite for Idaho" book here.

And visit the Appetite for Idaho Facebook page, with new stuff to do posted every weekday!

Epi's: Epic.

I was in downtown Boise, spending a little quality time with my daughter. We stopped for a rather filling slice of pizza, then planned to take a walk along the river on the Greenbelt.

We eased the car out of the parking slot and drove through the busy city streets. As we did, we passed the restaurant Fork on our left.

"That's where the Foodies and I went the first time we met, the food was so..." and then I'm sure I did something that looked like a violent spasm.

"Arrrggghh!" I emitted. Memory loss is now a very real possibility, probably PTSD from having to work for a living, my childhood, you name it.

"I can't believe I FORGOT," I moaned, and then: "Do you want to go to Meridian for...dinner?"

We had just had our dinner, but we were about to have another one. The three members of the Culinary Club had been planning to review Epi's Basque Restaurant for at least six weeks. I couldn't not show.

By 5:15 pm, my daughter and I approached Epi's, the house-turned-restaurant on Meridian's main road, right across from the post office. We had reservations, but I had a few of my own...I was just a tiny person, and one trying to watch her waistline at that. How was I ever going to pull off two meals? Usually when I dined with the CC, I ate lightly all day in preparation. I prayed there'd be room for at least some decent sampling, but I had my doubts. I was not hungry in the least.

Epi's front porch had been cleverly made into a private dining area, with a curtain closing off its long, banquet-style table. I liked that, and made a note in my mind or more of a goal, really, to get a large group together and eat out there one of these days.

For a person with zero appetite, I had to admit that the wafting aromas were pleasant, if not even a little tempting.

Immediately we were met by our server, who had a friendly yet non-intrusive way about him. That I appreciated. Owner Chris, on the other hand, didn't bother with being subtle. She beamed her bright personality down upon our little table, to everyone's delight, making us feel as if we were at a very special event and she was our hostess. She chatted with us about her family, about Basque food, and was keenly interested in what we were planning on ordering.

I had double trouble. Not only was I not hungry, but it shocked me once more to realize that for the third time in a row, I was leaning towards the fish. My other alternative was lamb. I hadn't had lamb for quite some time.

Upon hearing that I was wavering between the two, Chris told us that fish was the more authentic food in the Old Country. This lamb thing, she said, had only sprung up since they'd come to America, having been sheepherders. This was something I never had supposed.

"Fish is way more authentic Basque," she told us. That settled it for me. I was going for the fish once more. Halibut, to be exact.

Once more, the conversation between Foodies was more than fun. My daughter, who was greeted warmly, ("The more the merrier," Sarah had said), commented later, "You're all so different!"

That's an accurate assessment. A Mompreneur, an educator, and a recent graduate. The chances of us gravitating towards each other in real life were average; I think we'd have found each other's intellect intriguing. However, we have Twitter to thank for our friendship. Had I not 'stolen' Deb's EatingIdaho username, we might never have met. I apologized to her once more for that, having quickly changed my username to 'Appetite4Idaho', once I realized my error. She just laughed, the same as she'd done the other two times before when I'd asked forgiveness. Sarah, meanwhile, kept us mentally stimulated with her vast knowledge of history and trivia. "She's like a walking encyclopedia," my daughter observed. To keep a sixteen year old interested for as long as Sarah did suggests a knack for conversation, which Sarah clearly has.


Bearing in mind that not only did I have no appetite, but that the thought of more food nearly sent my head reeling...to say that the fish looked good, smelled great, and tasted superb is really saying something.

My encrusted Halibut with the creamy white sauce was to die for...and at that point, I was deciding that death by overeating was actually worth the risk. It was that good. In a mild state of shock, I was becoming aware of the fact that I could hardly keep from repeating the fork-to-mouth process. If I stopped momentarily, I would crave the flavor, the texture of both fish and the light crust...and need more.

I wondered what it would have been like, had I arrived with a hearty need for food. I wondered if, had I not eaten previously, there would have been any semblance of self-control. Of this I am unsure.

My figurative hat goes off to Epi's, who even got someone who had no compulsion to eat that night...to eat compulsively.

Epic.


Sarah's review can be found at: http://idahofoodie.wordpress.com/2012/03/24/restaurant-review-epis-in-meridian/

Deb's will be posted as soon as I get it.





 *For more adventures in Idaho, (with recipes between the stories!) get the "Appetite for Idaho" book here.

And visit the Appetite for Idaho Facebook page, with new stuff to do posted every weekday!

Brick 29 Bistro: Intense.

I'd been to the Brick 29 Bistro a few times before, but only for lunch.

They had it in the bag for this wannabe food critic; this wasn't exactly going to be a tough sell. Not only do I love Brick 29's culinary style, location and moody decor, but I've also tried their B29 Streatery's fare once and have been dreaming of it ever since. I've never seen anyone put together what they called a simple 'grilled cheese' sandwich with marinated pulled pork, specialty bread and jalapeno aoli. And I might have been mistaken, but that was no ordinary cheese they were using...it was exquisite.

For someone like me who loves a powerful punch of flavor, I don't think you can go wrong closing your eyes and pointing at just about anything on the menu. You'll get your flavor and then some.

I chose the Hagerman Trout this time. (That's twice while dining with the Foodies that I've surprised myself and selected seafood. One might think I'm a big fish person, although I've never considered myself as such). In a word....YUM.

Diced butternut-apple hash and mashed red potatoes were tucked underneath a seriously grande piece of gorgeous-colored trout. There was no hesitation of the fork; I dove right in. What I got was sweet, salty...and...could this be....spicy? That last part kicked me over the happiness edge; I was in my own private heaven, being a pepper-a-holic. I suspected it was cayenne but would have to check in with the chef to be sure.

The cool thing about dining with Foodie friends is that they're open to sharing whatever they order. I shared my calamari (on which I swear the crunchy, slightly salty crust also had some cinnamon or nutmeg in it, which I found curious and satisfying both at the same time), while Deb shared her Niman Ranch skirt steak and Sarah dished up a rather large pumpkin ravioli square on a side plate for me. None of it disappointed.

Since I tend to be a somewhat dramatic, colorful person, I like my food the same way. Nothing was too over-the-top for this gal, but in discussing it with the other Foodies, we talked about there being merit in the subtle, too. How does a chef know when to punch it up, or when to put on the brakes and allow a sub-layer flavor to do the talking? That's not for me to know, but certainly something for me to think about. Because of my nature, Brick 29's food appealed to me in a big way. To me, it was reminiscent of my trip to Donelly and the Buffalo Gal restaurant. I think to say they're in the same quality and style bracket wouldn't be too much of a stretch...both being excellent eateries.

I'm sorry to say that I was a little disappointed with the creme brulee. I'd had it once before for lunch and unless my memory isn't serving me well, at that time it was infused with some grated orange peel with several deep red raspberries riding on the burnt sugar's crusty surface. The heavy cream, back in that day, could easily be discerned, not to mention a quality vanilla bean extract or even shavings of the actual bean itself. Not so this time. It was good; just not what I'd been craving ever since I got my fork on the first one.

It's been repeatedly said that people from the far East of Boise (Columbia Village and beyond)are happy to drive to downtown Nampa for this carnival of culinary delight. Intensity would be the word for the flavor, atmosphere, and vibe at this flavorfest.

If you like it intense, you'll like the Brick 29 Bistro, but make sure your wallet is feeling just as healthy. Including the tip, I spent around $43 for the calamari appetizer, a cup of (divine) lobster bisque, a couple of sodas and my entree.





 *For more adventures in Idaho, (with recipes between the stories!) get the "Appetite for Idaho" book here.

And visit the Appetite for Idaho Facebook page, with new stuff to do posted every weekday!

Crawdads At The Blue Canoe

Spontaneous?

That's me.

I wanted to spend some time with my teenage son; a technical thing when they get older, get driving, and get a social life.

I thought of the perfect thing. This guy was the kid that at age ten asked to be taken out for sushi for the first time. When the restaurant server placed the platter before us, we advised him to go for something mild to start off with. He went straight for the purple slice of octupus, little white suction cups and all. Popped it in his mouth and chewed like it was candy.

On a busy Saturday afternoon, I invited my son to pencil in some time with me for something he'd been dying to try: crawdads.

I knew just the place. Hadn't I seen a Crawdad Feed advertised at the Blue Canoe? Just our luck, we'd missed it. But I was betting they had a few left for us.

My son and I drove up Highway 45 south of Nampa past Walter's Ferry, then kept left for the road that veered toward Murphy. We were at our destination in no time; it's really not that far out of the way.

We were met by Al, or Alan (take your pick), the restaurant's co-owner. He was a card from the start. He asked my son all about his life, life plans, and love life. Then he gave us a riddle:

"What days of the week besides Tuesday and Thursday start with the letter T?"

We thought he was just messing with us, but he asked the question and then disappeared around the corner to get our food, leaving us in suspense. We could figure this out, I thought. My son is a brainiac and I'm a writer, good with words.

Aha. Today and Tomorrow. I'm sure that was an old one, but we'd never heard it. When Al returned, we were ready with our answer.

"Did your mom tell you that?" Al asked when Jared responded with the solving of the riddle. We told him it was very much a joint effort. Al's cheerful grin never faded as he spoke with us.

Crisp salads with homemade dressing (delish, by the way), and warm fresh-baked mini-loaves of bread with chilled butter pats where placed before us. We both relaxed a little more into the booth's padded seats and settled into our role of happy diners.

Marinated stuffed mushrooms were brought out next. It's not often that I can't place the flavors; I'm a pretty good spice and taste detector. I couldn't place these. Savory variants were blended so well, it was hard to make a distinction. Deb (who was concocting in the kitchen) told me later that the diced stems and some bacon were involved. That explained the filling's intricate texture.

Crawdads at last. I'd once had them while I was (interestingly enough) expecting this particular son. A friend had pulled them out of the Boise river and had presented them to me, knowing that I was having a serious seafood craving at the time. If I recall, a serious amount of garlic butter was a part of that memory.

But these bad boys...they were bigger than anything I'd seen out of the River. Red and with large black eyes that seemed to say, "I dare ya."

"Can you eat the brains like they do in New Orleans?" my son asked Al. This from the boy who enjoys devouring fried shrimp heads with his uncle at an undisclosed place in Boise.

"Well...you can," began Al, "But you're better off eating them like we do here in Idaho. We only eat the good stuff."

Al then gave a tutorial on proper crawdad handling and consuming.

"How you eat them after this is up to you, but this is how we do it around these parts," he said.

A word of caution from one who now knows; avoid the 'mud vein' at all costs. It really and truly tastes like mud. Regrets.

The little guys tasted so much like lobster it was amazing. The claw meat seemed to be the sweetest and the best. My verdict? A lot of work for so little meat, but the meat was very tasty, especially when dipped into melted butter and accompanied by a side of mouth-watering garlic mashed potatoes and delicately steamed veggies.

Everybody won that day. I got time with my son, my son got to experience crawdads, and we both got a wonderful jaunt out into the early Autumn Idaho countryside. Everybody won...everybody, that is, but the crawdads. Sorry little guys: sometimes you just have to take one for the team.




 *For more adventures in Idaho, (with recipes between the stories!) get the "Appetite for Idaho" book here.

And visit the Appetite for Idaho Facebook page, with new stuff to do posted every weekday!

Second Chances

It’s always a privilege when someone gives you a glimpse of their life, of where they’ve come from. Ruth Story gave me such a gift.

First of all, I have to come clean and admit that I’d never been in her store. That’s been remedied. Being a writer, the first words that popped into my head after walking through the glass doors were ‘eye’ and ‘candy’. There is bling, ruffles, brilliant colors and textures galore. Everything girlie inside me was standing up and cheering. If you want to look like a real woman, this is your new home.

Right away I noticed the bin of stuffed animals and other items for the Hope’s Door shelter. I was aware from my research that Ruth keeps a list of things needed at the shelter right out in the open where people can see it, then donate. Toilet paper, paper towels and diapers are always on that list.

After warmly greeting me, Ruth immediately offered a beverage and led me to the back of the store where there were comfy couches, great lighting, some fun album covers framed and hung on the wall behind us, and a peaceful water feature. Upbeat music was playing on the surround sound.

“If this were Tuesday, I’d have cookies for you,” she told me. I made a mental note to return on a Tuesday.

Peppy and sporting sassy red hair, Ruth’s slim frame was dressed from head to toe with the latest in fashion. To say that she was fashionable would be an understatement. Her fashion was mixed in with a lot of class. How are strong women like this created? What drives her? I wanted to find out.

“Hope House does weekly tours to get people involved with the shelter. At one of the tours recently, I actually opened the meeting. Here, for the first time, I actually verbalized to a group of people my background of abuse, and what it had done to me. How from childhood it went into adulthood. All the wrong decisions; how I felt I deserved everything I got. It took me years to go ‘Wait a minute! No, no, no!’

Years ago, Ruth took her first tour of Hope’s Door.

“It changed my life right then and there, on the spot,” she says, “I was so hooked; I just knew that this was what I was supposed to do. I had a second chance; God gave me a second chance. I had a store at the Coast, but because of an abusive relationship I had to sell it and flee. I figured I at least had my dream once. But God chose to give it back, so when He did, I knew that there was something I was supposed to do. When you keep your eyes and ears open to Him, He’ll tell you…if you’re listening.”

Ruth is currently a Hope’s Door board member. When people bring clothing in, sometimes they’re not interested in consignment and just donate the items to Story&Co. Ruth puts Hope’s Door on those tags and gives the entire amount to the shelter.

“On Wednesday, I gave them a check for $265,” Ruth told me, “It’s a little, but it adds up, and it was empowering to me.”

Last summer, Ruth helped to organized the Canyon County Music Festival. When I found this out, I thought to myself, ‘This woman is a marvel.’ Then she tipped the scales by saying:

“I’m working on some other possible fundraisers. For the store’s second anniversary I did a Ladies’ Night Out here, where we did a silent auction and raised $1800 in one night, just like that. It was awesome!” she told me, eyes twinkling.

“Good morning!” Ruth suddenly called out, “I’m back here, honey!” Store owners often have a sensitive ear for the front doors.

When Ruth returned, she added, “Anytime people need a silent auction or anything, I just do it.”

Events at Indian Creek have brought her new business.

“Last year about 100 people came through my door for the first time during the Festival. This year, we did something fun; we put all the summer clothes out on the street and marked them at two or three dollars. At the very end, we handed everyone a brown bag and told them ‘five bucks, you stuff it!’ They loved it! The ladies that stuffed those five dollars bags are addicted to the store now. The Salvation Army also had a booth out front; they hauled away everything we didn’t sell.”

Ruth openly credits God for her store’s success.

“This year I’m up by about $2000 a month since last year. It’s been increasing every year. Business has basically doubled since I opened.”

I very pointedly asked her what she was doing that gained her so many loyal clientele.

“When people come in here,” she answered, “They are acknowledged. I try to make them feel like they’re the only person in the store. I try to learn their names, and help them pick outfits. I give them good prices and good customer service. That’s what brings people back. I also like to stay on top of fashion, doing one-day fly-ups to Seattle, bringing back suitcases full of items. You can’t go anywhere else and find these things for less. My prices are always less.”

“I have new items mixed in with consignment items; I took the high-end feel and infused it into a new/consignment store. I almost over-killed it, though. When I initially put the gold lettering on the windows, many people thought it was a really expensive store and were scared to death to come in here. Now I have them coming from Boise, Ontario, Baker City and beyond.”

Returning back to the topic of Hope’s Door, Ruth waxed unusually solemn.

“One of the things that’s really tough on the Board is when,” she paused, getting emotional, “…you hear that because the economy is so bad, we have a waiting list. We have women out there that could DIE because we don’t have enough beds to put them in. We should NEVER have a waiting list, that’s what drives me to go out and make money wherever I can.”

One of Hope’s Door’s slogans is ‘one is too many.’

“God puts you in a place,” Ruth said, “And if you listen, if you open your ears, He allows you to help.”

At Story&Co. in Caldwell, it’s way more than just about the clothes. If you’re put in a place where you can help, you’re going to look great while doing it with an updated wardrobe that has much deeper meaning than just an upscale, inexpensive outfit.

At Story&Co, it’s about second chances.





 *For more adventures in Idaho, (with recipes between the stories!) get the "Appetite for Idaho" book here.

And visit the Appetite for Idaho Facebook page, with new stuff to do posted every weekday!

Treasury of Memories

Interest piqued, I returned once again to the Warhawk Air Museum (a place I thought once upon a time I’d never go) to interview Director Sue Paul. I thought a good intro would be to ask her which items spoke to her, given my experience during my last visit. I should have guessed the answer:

“The whole museum speaks to me. Everything in here has meaning to me. I know the history of all of them. These are someone’s memories.”

Sue and her husband John are the co-founders. He’d been restoring WWII airplanes for years. When they moved from the Bay Area to Idaho in 1986 they brought two restored fighter planes and a P-51 Mustang that was in pieces along with them. They opened their manufacturing company and then built a small hangar at the Caldwell airport.

They were promptly overwhelmed by the amount of interest from people wanting to see the planes, unaware at the time of the Valley’s military history with Mountain Home AFB. Many people started coming to the Caldwell airport to see the planes and to talk about them. Boxes of uniforms or WWII memorabilia were left at the door with notes saying, ‘I don’t know what to do with these; would you like to put them with your airplanes?’

The Pauls were disturbed by this; these were precious pieces of peoples’ histories. Sue knew the items must be preserved and saw the need for a museum. She researched how to form a non-profit museum and in 1989 the Warhawk Air Museum, a non-proft 501c3, was born. It had taken a full year to put it all together.

“From there, it just exploded,” says Sue. “We had a board of directors and all kinds of dreams for the future. By the year 2000 we’d completely outgrown the 7000 square foot Caldwell hangar and knew we needed something bigger and centrally located. I also wanted a program where children could come for field trips and learn about history.”

John and Sue felt fortunate to have had their planes used in the movie Pearl Harbor with Ben Affleck. The various actors went in and out of each plane during the filming. John and Sue went to Hawaii for six weeks during production. The planes were flown down to the Naval Base at Coronado Beach, then put on a barge, pulled by a little tugboat across the ocean, which was worrisome to the owners, even though Disney had the planes insured for millions. If the planes were lost, they’d most likely never be able to replace them, since there are only around 20-25 of the P-40s left in the entire world, and only four of that particular type of Mustang.

As soon as the public was aware of the 20,000 square foot building, everything started coming in. During the next five years people brought in their collections, one after the other. Systems of cabinets were needed to create a space for it all. Volunteers appeared and started helping wherever they could. The Museum is always open for more, too. Those that volunteer are given a chance to find their own passion and niche. One archivist, Lou Bauman, who started out doing field trips now puts all of the displays and binders together.

“He loves it. He does a brilliant job,” said Sue, “Many others started off doing one thing and then found something else they had a passion for, so that’s what they get to do.”

Sue quit her ‘paying job’ in 2001 and is now the full-time volunteer director. She’s at the museum full time.

‘---Because that’s what it takes,’ she told me.

In August of 2010 the new 18,000 square foot Cold War Era wing was opened, where you can walk through a Berlin Wall replica into a very different sense of American history.

“As you walk into the second section, you’ll have a whole different feel of the fifties and sixties. The last section was an era where America was engaged in the war. Man, woman and child. Everybody was involved. We knew who our enemy was. There was a beginning to the conflict and there was a definite end. We knew we won. We knew exactly who our foes were; we knew who our friends were. Then the war ended and we went into the Cold War Era with the fear of communism, fear of ideologies. Not solid. There weren’t boundaries. The wars of the Cold War became something like trying to put your arms around a cloud. Americans were not engaged this time in that. You didn’t see them out there with flags; you didn’t see the patriotic posters. People in America were trying to move on with their lives. The GI bill was huge. For the first time in American history, anyone could get an education, and they did.”

“The GI bill educated America. Our doctors, lawyers, businessmen during that time all came from the Bill. People wanted to build homes and move to the suburbs. They didn’t want or understand why when the Korean War started. We were in one country as advisors; it wasn’t clear cut. Vietnam was the same thing.”

This was the section representing the jet age. Bomb shelter information is coming soon. The build up of Communism and the feeling of the fear of Communism lingers. Visitors can see that the technology vastly changed from one era to another as the TV entered homes during the 50s and 60s. The media had a big portion of the control when it came to how America viewed Vietnam.

Kiosks house information about Cold War history where different stories are told. The tales are there for those that choose to stand and listen for a while.

“We hear people telling us all the time that this is the most personal experience they’ve ever had in a museum,” Sue told me, “That means so much to us. You can go to a lot of museums and see things without knowing the history of it. Take this Huey, here…it wound up in a junkyard in Sacramento. We found it and brought it here, having no idea that we’d also find all of the last of the crew that fought in this exact aircraft. They’ve all been here, and it was a very emotional experience for them. They lost thirty-four men while fighting in this Huey. For the first time they were able to hold a Missing Man Ceremony to honor those men here, with this Huey. It’s about the stories; it’s about the people.”

“Visitors are shocked not only at what they find, but over the amount of time they want to spend here. They want to come back again and again because we’re always adding more. This is not a stagnant museum.”

A dad, a grandfather, an uncle will bring their collection, wanting their loved ones’ memories preserved because they like what the Museum has done.

On the first Tuesday of every month from 10am-12 is the Kilroy Coffee Klatch, free for veterans. It’s a connection thing. The group has grown from a mere fifteen to twenty to the current 125-150. Men who’d served on the same ship at the same time yet had never met each other swap stories. Two men found each other and discovered that one’s man’s wife had been another man’s girlfriend sixty years prior.

Another program is the Veteran’s History Project. Partnering with the Library of Congress, the Museum has preserved over 700 personal histories on film. They keep one copy, give one to the interviewee, and one goes to the Library of Congress. Families get to hear stories they’ve never heard for the very first time, directly from the person they care about.

“We do get emotional during the interviews,” Sue says, “We can turn off the camera at any point. We hear some real hard stuff, but a lot of joyful things too. It’s just very personal. There’s a sense of trust here; they open up. One veteran, although he’s not the only one this happens to, had never talked about his experiences. He was involved in the firebombing over Japan. When we finished the interview he was like a teenager, he just had this relief. He ordered seventy-five copies of the dvd!”

Sue recalled having a man approach her at a luncheon, saying, “You probably don’t remember me, but I’ve just got to tell you that my family and I spent Christmas morning with you.” He then went on to tell her that she’d interviewed his grandfather, who’d died just two months later. On Christmas morning, his parents gave them each a copy of the dvd, and they all watched it together.

“You have no idea what that means to our family to have my grandfather who we all loved so much sitting there telling his own story,” he said.

“To me,” said Sue, “The greatest joy is not just preserving the stories, but the fact that the families have these stories now.”

“What a treasure,” I commented.

Sue looked me right in the eye and said earnestly:

“That’s what the whole museum is. It is a treasure.”

Flight Path Corrected- A Visit To The Warhawk Air Museum

I never had a thing for planes. My father did; he dragged the four of us to the airport to sit and watch them take off and land, take off and land over and over again on a regular basis. We weren’t allowed to fuss or make any noise while he was revering the winged craft. Thus, I never had a thing for planes.

Perhaps that was how I could live in Nampa for the better part of my life without ever once visiting the Warhawk Air Museum. What would I want with airplanes? I’d had more than enough of them while growing up, or so I thought.

Curiosity eventually overruled my aversion. I found myself stepping through the Warhawk’s doors on a bright Saturday afternoon in October. We entered and walked into a non-imposing gift shop, where I came face to face with my idol; Rosie the Riveter. This could be something after all.

Dallas, who’s been with the museum for years, immediately welcomed us. He said that he’s been able to get to know many veterans that frequent the place, and how once they know you, they treat you like family. He talked about how hard it is to lose some of them as they get older. Dallas’ family is military and so he’d been involved in that life for ages and understood it well.

Dallas led us through the door into the actual museum and showed us the system. The Warhawk is a self-guided tour; you grab a pamphlet from the front table and since each item is numbered, there are explanations for almost every piece.

Twenty-thousand square feet of history was before me. Planes and cars and era music and Bob Hope telling jokes in the background. All of that, and all I could think about was what was right in front of me; the journals. Long tables full of the journals of servicemen that had lived, loved and sometimes lost. It was as if they were all speaking to me at once.

I instantly knew that this was a place where I could spend days reading. The men and women of World War II seemed to be trying to speak to me, and I wished mightily that I had time to read what they’d taken the time to write in their heartfelt, young language. That would sadly have to wait for another day.

I’d never been in the same space with planes like I was in the museum, yet while the planes loomed I was drawn to the smaller things. A nurse’s uniform. An ad for a tailor for those men who’d left home skinny and returned home with ‘huskier’ frames. Posters everywhere that encouraged any good citizen to support the war, honor rations and donate their metal, even if that metal came in the shape of a toy car. It was their American duty, and everyone those days did their duty. They were, after all, a team and indivisible at that. I had to wonder what that might feel like. The closest thing I’d ever experienced to unity was probably on and after September 11th, 2001.

While my husband looked at the machinery and artillery, I was looking still at the photographs of fresh-faced soldiers, some who’d probably never left their hometowns before the war. Some had Hawaiian ladies posing in the pictures with them. Some looked hardly old enough to shave.

Of the many binders, one caught my eye. It was off to itself at the end of a cabinet and had a poem inscribed on the outside, which was what had attracted me. It read:

“Through the years we have watched ships head to sea
with no more hazards to encounter than storms and raging seas.

But today, for those who sail towards the setting sun
Danger lurks in a form more ruthless and sinister than nature ever conjured.

Death and destruction at the hands of human wolves may be theirs.”

Those sobering words stopped me in my tracks. I had to know who this soldier was. Looking beyond the poem’s page I found the intended cover with a boy’s face on it; that of a Mr. Homer Dellinger, who by all accounts was quite the poet. I found pages and pages in his book, “People and Thoughts”, dated 12-7-41 through 8/45. If I’d only had the time to read them all.

I couldn’t resist jotting down just one more of Homer’s gems:

“If all be true that I do think
There are five reasons we should drink:

Good wine, a friend, or being dry,
---or lest we should be, by and by

Or any other reason why.”

Classic.

Surrounded by the items of the time, it was brought home to me so clearly:

The had lives.
They had wives.

They’ve had reunions and adventures well beyond the Armed Forces by now.

At one time, these men meant everything to each other. They had dreams, girls they were sweet on, hopes for their future.

How appropriate to hear a plane flying overhead at that exact moment, as Bob Hope played on the TV in the corner and cooing music played out of the surround sound. Bob Hope’s, performing in front of countless soldiers said, “What an island. No women anywhere. I say we just let ‘em take it.”

This followed by good-natured laughter.

Then his co-host lady friend spoke, “I was practicing shooting targets for a half hour today with one of the guys. He had his arm around me, showing me how. We’re gonna try it again tomorrow with a rifle!”

Bob Hope mentioned their many accomplishments and quipped, “Isn’t it wonderful what you can do on Spam, huh?”

He said sincerely in closing, “We tried to entertain as many guys and gals as we could.”

More to see. Stars on the planes that equaled the number of confirmed kills. Themes of how a man’s girl was everything to them. Their girl equaled hope and home. The music seemed to back up that sentiment.

“Hot-diggity, dog-diggity, what you do to me…when you’re holding me tight.”

Freedom, family, and protecting the homefront was what it was all about in that day. I was glad I’d had the chance to touch history if only for an hour or two. Even though World War II was a mighty tough time for our country, it was also a time where its population pulled together, worked together and whole-heartedly supported each other.

It’s awfully good to re-visit that every once in a while, and hopefully bring some of that back out the door with us to spread far and wide.

When you understand fully where you’ve come from, you better understand who you are.