Smol Is Relative

I love reading stuff like this:

Small, remember, is relative.

Chicago, for the United States, is not small. The city itself is home to more than 2.7 million people, with a metro area population pushing 10 million. It’s the third-largest city, on its own, in the United States.

But are Austin and Nashville really “small”?

Relatively speaking, I suppose.

But relatively speaking, not really.

Here’s the tally:

Austin, Texas. Population of the city alone is 964,254. It’s the 11th-largest city in the country. Its metro area is home to 2.1 million people.

Nashville, Tennessee. Population of the city alone is 669,053. It’s the 24th-largest city in the country. Its metro area is home to 1.9 million people.

I currently live in a city of just over 15,000, nestled next to a city of about 60,000. I lived for ten years in a city of just 1,242. Those are all on the smol end of small, compared to a vast majority of places. They don’t even hit the smol radar of the Chicago Tribune.

So small is relative. Keep that in mind, Chicago Tribune.

ADDENDUM: I had a thought that maybe the Tribune was referring to city surface area in comparing Chicago to the "smaller" cities. Makes sense, considering the article is about pedal transportation (some motorized).

So here are the surface areas of each city:

Chicago, 234 square miles. The "big" city I live near -- Idaho Falls -- has an area of 22 square miles. Smol.

But . .  .

Austin, Texas: 271 square miles.

And Nashville, 526 square miles.

Not smol at all.

Back to that Fence

A while back, I bragged about finishing that back fence.

Of course, the fence itself was done. The woody part. But now I have to stain it. And time is running out.

So with the stain I had left over from the previous fence project, my daughter (who is earning the Painting Merit Badge in Scouts BSA) got just over four of the panels done. Now I have to go to Home Cheapo and hope they have the same kind of stain. Online, it appears they have it in the one-gallon buckets, but I need this in bulk, at least five gallons or so. So maybe on the way home from work tonight, I’ll swing by and see what they’ve got. Before the season is over.

What we’ve got done looks good, though, and confirms that the stain on the older section of fence is just as vibrant as what we’ve put on the new fence. Maybe with a little hard water staining on the older section. But that’s a no nevermind, at least for now.

Will I get to the siding this year?

Possibly. The fence, unstained, and in need of at least two coats, is the priority. We’ll also have to talk to the new neighbors about getting their side stained too. I’m willing to do the work so the wood is preserved, but we’ll talk with them to see if they’re willing to do it. Either case, it’s got to be done before the snow flies. Two coats. And a coat again next summer.

And maybe I can get that little bit of fence between Karl’s house and ours done this fall, including the staining. It would sure make things look better on that side of the house.

Back to that siding. Maybe if I delay it until next spring, I could wrangle a few window replacements into the mix as well. We’re already talking about removing the garage window and just walling it up so I have more space for shop shelves – we need shelves, as the amount of camping gear we’re collecting continues to rise. Right now, we’d ordinarily have it stored in the camper for the winter, but we’ve loaned the camper to our former neighbors who are building a house and living on the property as they do so. (They have a tent camper and a few ramshackle outbuildings to live in, but our dinky camper will give them some more space.)

And I think I have at least two tents I need to give away or throw out. That would simplify things a bit.

Bridges. We Need More Bridges.

East Idaho need more ways to cross the Snake River.

Last weekend we were on our way home from Island Park Scout Camp and hit the construction zone on Highway 20 at the Snake River bridge. Because most East Idaho drivers don’t know how to zipper merge as the construction forced traffic down to one lane each way, traffic was backed up to the Thornton interchange, and moving slow.

We thought we’d get off at the interchange and head west, to try to find an alternate river crossing.
That was a rookie mistake because in that area, there is no other way to cross the river.

In fact, between Interstate 15 and Heise, there are only five Snake River crossings, and you can’t really count the Heise crossing as the only way to get to it from the north and west is to follow a really long dirt road.

When traffic bottlenecks at the Lorenzo Bridge on Highway 20, there just aren’t any good alternatives.

Alternatives, yes. But good ones? No.

Take, for example, the 3600 East crossing. To go from Rexburg to Idaho Falls, here’s the route:

Almost 36 miles, or 48 minutes of travel. I know, not the end of the world.

But note if you decide you want to use this route, you have to hit State Highway 33 in Rexburg. If you don’t you’re trapped in this nifty little wedge of land where the best crossing is Highway 20, because to go west or south after Highway 33 means you hit the obstacles of the Henry’s Fork and the South Fork of the Snake River, without any crossings to be found.

If there were no blockages on Highway 20, the route is a lot faster:

Nine miles shorter. And about thirteen minutes faster.

Here’s the only other route you can take:

A bit shorter than the first route at almost 34 miles, but longer in time – 49 minutes.

We’ve seen this route closed before, as flooding knocked out the Twin Bridges over the river on this route, just as the Highway 20 bridge construction is messing with it now.

For the sake of argument, let’s see what it would take for us to go all the way to the Interstate (not a happy prospect, towing our camper which starts to wobble at 60 mph):

Not very appealing, and even at interstate speeds, slow. Even slower for us camper-tuggers.
And here’s the way via Heise:

That time, though. More than an hour. Nobody wants that, with the route via Ririe. That way’s only 8 miles shorter, but 13 minutes shorter.

I know this is serious White Man Problem territory. But having an additional Snake River crossing that somewhat parallels Highway 20 seems to make a lot of sense, traffic flow-wise.

Here are two possible spots for a new crossing:

McGarry Ranches.

This crossing would require a new road connecting 5000 South in Madison County to 4000 East in Jefferson County. This is where we ended up trying to find a Snake River crossing last weekend, until we dead-ended at the river. This crossing would provide another link between Rigby and the farms to the north.

Texas Slough.

This crossing would require a new road connecting the Archer Highway in Madison County to 4400 East in Jefferson County, providing a straight shot from Rexburg to the Idaho Falls area, rather than the longer route through Ririe.

This would be a more complicated route, because to make that straight shot, you’d also need a bridge to cross the Dry Bed Canal.

The route would also provide a more direct connection between southeastern Madison County and State Highway 48.

And while we’re dreaming, here’s a spot for a crossing of the Henry’s Fork, in the Menan Buttes area:

This route would connect West 4000 South to East Butte Road with a river crossing, giving an alternative east-west route that would take advantage of the 3600 East crossing. And it looks like it bight be a straighter shot to connect with 3800 South rather than 4000 South.

Not the Beatles

“Boone?”

“Yeah?”

“Where are we again?”

I felt through my pockets for the crumpled piece of paper and tossed it to Jerry.

I heard Jerry fumble for the paper, sending an empty beer bottle gloing-gloinging along the linoleum. I heard the sound of paper unfolding. Of Jerry turning the paper over.

“Boone?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s today?”

I opened my eyes. “Give me the paper.”

Jerry slowly folded the paper and tossed it. For a drummer, he had weak arms, as the bit of paper I’d managed to toss to his feet barely made it out of the circle of influence Jerry maintained around his skin and bones.

“Boone?”

“Yeah, Jerry?” I said as I got out of my chair to retrieve the paper.

“Where are we again?”

I picked up the paper and stuffed it into my pocket. A water cooler in the corner. I filled a paper cup, drained it, filled it again and chased an aspirin down with its contents.

I unfolded the paper.

“September 13th, Tuesday. Rochester.”

“Where’s that?”

“New York.”

“Can we see the Statue of Liberty out the window?” Jerry got out of his chair and strained to see through the blinds and grease.

“Upstate New York, Jerry. Not New York City.”

Jerry sighed. “Damn Yanks.”

He sat down again, found his drumsticks, drummed the air in time to the sound of the band playing onstage.

“This drummer’s rubbish,” Jerry said after a moment.

“So are we, Jerry. So are we.”

Still, we were in upstate New York, far from the liquorice-reeking warehouse where we started in Pontefract.

Onstage, the drummer crashed into the hi-hat.

“He’s knocked it over,” Jerry said, grinning. “Such rubbish.”

And the audience screamed.

Not as loud as when They performed. But show them a little long hair, a few guitar riffs, a drummer with a modicum of skill and a big nose, and they screamed. Even louder when you stopped singing and spoke the Queen’s English. After each session with the dialogue coach was also repaired our amplifiers, the screams got louder.

And we got paid.

Not in liquorice, either.

The coach said we’d probably get louder screams, if Jerry’s nose were bigger. He wanted Jerry to sleep with a drumstick up each nostril to see if he could stretch it out. But Jerry refused.

Typical.

But I should talk.

I should – like a bloody Liverpuldian. That’s what coach says. But I’m not that drowsy. “I know they’re popular,” I said to coach. “I know they’re why we’re here and not playing the pubs in Ponty and getting stones thrown at us. But I am me.”

“That attitude, you always will be,” coach snorted.

I hated his tiny guts. But he was right.

The onstage band rattled and twanged and crashed to a halt and the screams from the audience made the mirror on the wall rattle.

“Boone?”

I sighed. “Yeah, Jerry?”

“Where are we tomorrow?”

A fist banged twice on the door. “Three minutes!”

“Doesn’t matter. Get ready.”

“Yeah,” he said. He remained still in his chair, drumsticks clutched in his left hand like a pair of schoolboy pencils. He stared at the floor.

“Boone?”

“Yeah,” I snapped.

“I want to go home.”

“Yeah.”

That’s him. Mediocre drummer quiet, nervous, moody before a performance. And after, a mediocre drummer always, but then a bit hungry and ready for a laugh.

There were the others. I forget their names. “Four acts is where it’s at, particularly with that accent,” the booking agent said. Boone and I were a duo, so he threw us together with another soppy pair. We practiced for a few hours together on a rolling night bus and figured our sounds were probably similar enough – through the screams – that it didn’t matter if we practiced any further. We swapped singing lead or backup, depending on whose Liverpuldian was better each given day.

“Let’s get out there.”

“We’re not The Beatles, Boone,” he said. “We’re not even the ‘-les.’ We’re awful.”

I opened the door and a wave of screaming poured through like sunlight.

“Doesn’t appear to matter, Jer.”

Boys' Life and the Tripods Trilogy

Recently, a friend of mine sent me (not his fault; I had to know what he was talking about) on a wild Internet goose chase involving a quote wrapped around a Swiss Army knife and someone cutting sardines and onions with it.

I should have known it was a quote from MASH, but in the searching, I discovered this:

If you either squint just right, or better yet download the photo and enlarge it, you can see there are two advertisements in which Google Books found my hot words: Swiss Army knife and MASH. (I like that it's a SWISS ARMY type KNIFE in the advertisement.

This brought back so many memories. It's one of the many, many back pages of a 1984 copy of Boys' Life magazine, which I read religiously as a teenager and Boy Scout. Not that I read much of the front matter. I always went back to the comics and the Gifts and Gimmicks.

But oh, the comics. Searching for an obscure MASH quote brought me to the Boys' Life version of John Christopher's Tripods trilogy, for which I kick myself that I did not keep the magazines because of their serialized comic:

So now late at night, I'm going to be re-reading the comic book series.

Here's a sample: I just have to figure out when the serialization started.

Girls *CAN* Do Scout Camp

It’s taken me longer than I’d hoped to write this post. I’ve learned that following up a week of Scout camp with a week of being on staff for cub scout training is not the best way to get things done in a hurry.

But we did learn this: Girls can certainly do Scout Camp.

Not that there was any doubt in my mind they could, of course.

Troop 1010 took four girls to Island Park Scout Camp this year, along with a member of Troop 154 from Shelley. Thanks for coming with us!

The best part for this pseudo-Scoutmaster (for Troop 1010, I’m the Troop Committee Chair and unofficial Assistant Scoutmaster) came when two of our more reluctant swimmers passed the Beginner and Swimmer tests in Pete’s Puddle’s 61-degree water. (Even this old guy passed once again.) Watching those smiles as the swimmers closed in on their final lap was precious.

And note, I’ve seen the same smiles on boys as they reached that milestone.

Combined, the five girls all earned their Tenderfoot Rank and took big leaps forward in completing Second Class and First Class. They also earned an average of six merit badges each.

More importantly, our Senior Patrol Leader showed her colors as a great leader of Scouts, with our Assistant Senior Patrol Leader stepping in and doing well when tasks were delegated to her. Our visiting Scout also caught the vision of what Scouting can be like in a group setting, and says she’s thinking about putting her name in the hat when her troop selects their new Senior Patrol Leader in the not-too-distant future.

All of our Scouts earned the First Aid, Environmental Science, Soil and Water Conservation and Orienteering merit badges, with others earning Indian Lore, Art, Climbing, and Wood Carving. They also got partials on the likes of Astronomy, Emergency Preparedness, and Rifle and Shotgun Shooting. I wish I’d been able to watch the two who earned their Climbing merit badges, but I was busy in other areas of camp, helping out with the essential Trail to Eagle. We’ve already got two girls who have received extensions to earn their Eagles, but they don’t want to waste any time doing so. Getting a number of merit badges under their belts will help – we just need to get them through Second Class and First Class now so they can start the clock on time served for the higher ranks. I’m confident we’ll get them there.

Note: An extension does not equal a watered-down program. The requirements to earn Eagle, the merit badges, and the other ranks haven’t changed a whit. These girls are just being given the time they need to finish the waiting periods required for the higher ranks. And it’ll be a squeeze to get them done. They’ll have to show a lot of motivation and ambition to get things done before the deadline passes.

There was some irony and laughter when we noted we stayed at the Chick Creek campsite at Island Park Scout Camp – not intentionally in any way. I got a good laugh out of the camp director teasing him about the assignment. But there would have been an irony in staying at our originally-assigned campsite – Cache – as some in the Scouting movement might want girls within it hidden away.

Ours was one of two girl troops to attend Island Park Scout Camp this summer. I heard a few querulous statements of “They’re GIRLS?!” from the boys at camp and had a few positive conversations with other Scout leaders about their presence there. One expressed a little sadness that his own girls weren’t all that interested in Scouting. He was ready to help them and others in their area start a girl troop when the opportunity opened but seeing his girls’ disinterest kind of quelled his enthusiasm. I felt bad for him. I didn’t hear any negative comments from adult leaders there. That doesn’t mean they weren’t said, but I sure didn’t hear them. Because Scouts are friendly, courteous, and kind.

Some might leap on this and say, “Aha! Girls aren’t meant for Scouting then, if they’re not interested!” Well, those girls weren’t. But the five we brought up certainly are, and remain so, enthused further by their camp experience. I’ve had boys who were less-than-happy about their Scouting participation. It’s due to temperament and other interests, issues that cross the gender line, to show that Scouting isn’t for certain youth. And while I earned my Eagle, I was at best a lukewarm Scout, one who finished his Eagle paperwork a week before my 18th birthday.

But we have two sons who are Eagle Scouts, and our three children – daughter included, who was one of the Red Cross Certified lifeguards at camp this summer – have worked at Scout camp for years. And my wife, who was the driving force in getting our kids to camp and on staff for eight years now, was awarded the Silver Beaver this year.

I’m calling this year’s Scout camp a success. Our goal is to have our girls through First Class by the end of August, something I think we can accomplish easily.

A side note: On our way home from camp this past weekend, we stopped to visit some old neighbors who recently moved from our neighborhood – we shared a fence line with them – and are building a home in the Ashton, Idaho area. They’re also a die-hard Scouting family, whose children have been to summer Scout camp year after year. It’s practice that’s serving them well as they camp out on their property, using two old outbuildings and a camp trailer as shelter, as they build their house. Their Scouting experience will serve them well as they’re temporarily camped out as they build their house. I’m not sure I could do what they’re doing, but I admire them for the effort they’re putting in. Their Scouting experience is paying off for the entire family.

*DOING* Something. Government Need Not Apply.

In light of the most recent mass shootings in the United States (El Paso, Texas; Dayton, Ohio) I posted on social media a lament that these shootings will pass without anyone really doing anything to prevent future incidents.

I had a good conversation with a Facebook friend about gun control, which most equate with “doing something” in these instances.

But then I got to thinking: Gun control might possibly “solve” a portion of the problem, but as people who want guns can still very likely get them illegally or legally, gun control, to me, seems like putting a concrete cap on a volcano as it’s in the act of erupting.

Let’s look at a CNN story on the Dayton, Ohio, shooting as an example.

The story says the gunman “took a deep interest in violence.”

He kept a “hit list” of people he wanted to kill or rape, including the names of “female students who . . . turned him down for dates.”

He was a member of a “pornogrind” band that sang “extremely graphic, violent lyrics.”

Authorities searching his home “found writings that expressed an interest in killing people.”

His Twitter feed was littered with “extreme left-wing and anti-police posts, as well as tweets supporting Antifa,” including one retweet that read “Millennials have a message for the Joe Biden generation: hurry up and die.”

The gunman “often simulated shooting other students and threatened to kill himself and others on several occasions.”

He also enjoyed guns, shooting guns, and teaching others to shoot.

It’s important that this last statement not be taken in a vacuum.

I have family members, friends, and neighbors who enjoy guns, shooting guns, and teaching others to shoot. What they don’t have in common with this particular gunman – and with a lot of similar mass shooters – is that long list of other negative behavior, warnings, cries for help, whatever you choose to call them. I just came back from a week at Island Park Scout Camp, where Scouts can learn to shoot .22 rifles and are taught by people who enjoy guns, shooting guns, and teaching others to shoot.

Do I think that people should have access to high-caliber rifles and ammunition drums capable of letting them shoot 41 bullets in less than 30 seconds? Signs point to no, if I were to use a Magic 8 Ball. But I can’[t compute the fact that every person who enjoys guns, shooting guns, and teaching others to shoot is going to take such weaponry and turn them on family or the general populace.

The other indicators just aren’t in place.

It’s hard to pour concrete on a volcano that’s blowing up. Or does little to stop a volcano that’s about to blow.

Who saw these indicators in this poor soul’s life and did nothing, or laughed them off as harmless? O figured it wasn’t their business, or that singing pornographic and violent lyrics is just a game, just who he is, or protected speech?  Who lets a friend keep ongoing “hit lists,” when that person knows that friend also enjoyed simulated killings of others, or had harbored suicidal thoughts? Who laughed at Walmart when they said they’d take down displays promoting violent video games, but allow gun sales to continue? (No mention whether they’ll still sell the violent video games, a band-aid being a band-aid.)

Hell, I don’t like it if my kids are playing Minecraft and are killing each other in that little world. They brought something more violent into the house, I’d probably pop a blood vessel.

I don’t know if this guy was getting the mental health care he needed. Maybe he was getting it in spades. But I have to conclude, given the current evidence, that little was being done, that these thoughts and actions were a deep subset of who this young man is, and that all along the line while there may have been people caring and concerned for him, there were also many who look at what he did and did nothing.

That’s the kind of “doing something” I’d like to advocate. Help the hurting before he becomes harmful.

And maybe this is a stupid argument.

But we panic when nations suddenly reveal they are nuclear powers but do little or only lip service when those same nations are showing signs of developing nuclear weapons technology. It’s hypocritical to act surprised when they’ve suddenly got The Bomb.



I hope I’m wrong about this guy. Maybe gun control would have lessened the toll. Or maybe not. Maybe he needed a lot more love and care and attention before he decided to pick up something that far many more use as a harmless hobby and say, “Today, I use this to kill people.”

So what am I doing?

I’m watching my own sons. I’m involved in Scouting, where we work to instill values of friendship, honesty, and virtue, no matter how much the world may snigger or point out that I’m “in cahoots” with an organization that is being nearly litigated to death over allegations of sexual abuse. I’m involved in my church, in a nation where the church of which I’m a member is still regarded as a cult, or too controlling, or misogynistic, or out of touch, led by old men, teaching outdated dogma preached by a charlatan and a neat little Hebrew guy who may not even exist. I’m trying to pay attention to what my kids are doing and saying online, who their friends are, so I can be that jerk of a parent to pull the plug on behaviors or friendships that may be leading my own onto dark paths.

I’m being an asshole, matter of fact, in beating back the worldly influences that would get my kids, my neighbors’ kids, into those other habits and indicators that show up on the Dayton killer’s list. I’m the narc who watches the Scout trailers stored at the church, ready to call the cops when I see kids hanging out there, dealing in drugs.

I’m the meanie calling out my sons when they’re caught looking at naughty pictures on the Internet. The jerk reminding our daughter that boyfriends are great, but not perfect.

I hope the Dayton shooter has such influences in his life. I’m sure they’re hurting now. But all indicators are he sure could have used a hell of  lot more controlling, fusspotting assholes in his life than what he got.