by Bob Johnson
Many people today have short attention spans, which explains why news reports on television rarely last more than 30 seconds. Give us a “Breaking News” banner accompanied by a dramatic sound effect, pop in some video with a voiceover to quickly tell us about it and move on to the next thing. Then repeat. There’s precious little time to provide any perspective, and there’s rarely any effort to follow up on the story once it has evolved or been resolved.
The lack of follow-up in the world of journalism has long been a personal pet peeve. Too often, the media would rather be initially wrong as news is breaking than take the time to fill in the blanks on a previously reported story.
Admittedly, a look in the mirror reveals a journalist who is guilty of a lack of follow-up in his own reporting. Today, we right that wrong by providing updates on the first 10 of the 22 columns I have written for the Huckleberry Press.
Column No. 1 detailed the many reasons we native Californians didn’t miss Las Vegas, where we’d lived for six years before moving to the Inland Northwest, even one little bit. We provided 13 reasons, including this one: “When driving on two-lane roads, the drivers of cars coming from the opposite direction often wave at us. In Las Vegas, if anybody waved at all, they did so with just one finger.”
Update: While driving on Highway 41 one morning in early August, the car ahead of us coasted to a stop in an area where the speed limit was 45-mph, so we did the same. We caught a glimpse of a mama wild turkey walking four or five babies across the highway. A moment later, we saw a truck coming from the opposite direction speed up and hit a few of the birds, one of which was thrust into our windshield and over the top of our vehicle, leaving a trickle of blood on the windshield. Honestly, it was a bit jolting. About a mile ahead, each side of the road opened to two lanes, where an elderly woman made a mad dash around our car, rolled down her window, and started yelling obscenities at us. She was so wound up that we couldn’t understand her. To me it sounded like, “Bleep, bleep, bleep, turkeys, bleep.” We sat there dumbfounded. What had we done, other than stop behind a car that had stopped ahead of us? We understand wild turkeys are an invasive species here, but is that any reason for a driver to speed up to kill them, especially if they’re going to be knocked into other cars? And why the bleep (to speak her language) was the little old lady yelling at us?
Column No. 2 dealt with my misspent youth – okay, one summer of it – when I did way too much “tanning,” relegating me to a later-in-life series of Mohs skin cancer surgeries. The column described the most recent surgery. “When Mohs Monday arrived, I was mentally prepared. With nary a tear trickled, I endured the sting of the numbing needle, the scrape of the small scalpel, the heat of the electrocauterization and the ‘click-click-click’ of 10 surgical staples. Two weeks later, I returned to have the staples removed, also exhibiting amazing bravery. This time around, the greatest pain had been caused by the invasive medical procedure known as the co-pay.”
Update: The ladies (mostly) who check in folks at medical offices love me because, unlike so many other patients, I come prepared. I have my license and insurance card out, and immediately after stating my name, without pausing, I add my date of birth. I pay so many co-pays these days that I feel as if my last name has become my middle name and my new last name is my DOB.
Column No. 3 touched on the differences between what we hear here compared to a big city: “Even given its breathtaking natural beauty no matter which direction one cares to look and no matter the season, the best thing about the Inland Northwest may well be its soundtrack, one that evolves from season to season, yet never assaults the senses.”
Update: From my home office, I can hear several different species of birds throughout the day. From our bedroom, the lovely Michelle and I are lulled to sleep by birds chirping, dogs barking and, depending on the time of year, other animals — what’s the phrase? — hooking up.
Column No. 4 looked at my first surgery here in the Inland Northwest and a pre-surgery visit from a pastor. “As I lounged on the gurney before surgery, the pastor stopped in to pray with and for us. As he stepped through the door, I spotted a shiner under his right eye. Pastor or not, I asked, ‘What did you do to tick off your wife?’ Without missing a beat he replied, ‘I brought her the wrong drink. I got her a Coke Zero and she wanted a regular Coca-Cola.’”
Update: The same pastor, this time without a shiner, visited me before my second surgery here and offered basically the same prayer. Afterward, I thanked him and said that I was glad his shiner had cleared up, adding, “Looks like you’ve been behaving.” To which he responded, “I thought I recognized you.” I figured it couldn’t be bad to have a pastor on my side, but he was a no-show for a prayer before my recent third surgery. Could he have brought his wife a Coke Zero again?
Column No. 5 was all about snow: “During my first snow season in the Inland Northwest, I noticed that the smiles of wonder gradually morphed into frowns of frustration as the snow would fall, stick and seemingly dig in, much like a burrowing groundhog. How could something so welcome one month be so loathed only a few months later? Why was there this love/hate relationship with the white stuff?”
Update: We’ve been here for two full winters now, and I’m told they were mild by Inland Northwest standards. When things get back to normal, I suspect my opinion on snow may change. But embracing the first day of snowfall won’t.
Column No. 6 dealt with the perils of the drive-through: “Almost all fast-food tacos come with some sort of mouth-burning ingredient, be it a sauce, a salsa, or a spice. This requires asking whether the item is spicy so you’ll know what to have left off. We’ve found that when we ask that question and the answer is along the lines of, ‘Oh, it’s not very spicy at all,’ what it actually means is, ‘Better stop for a pack of Tums on the way home.’”
Update: A couple new-to-the-area drive-throughs have since opened, one specializing in chicken strips and the other in burgers. Both have plenty of menu items that do not involve spice. They provide reminders of the place we left behind, but in good ways for a change.
In column No. 7, we recounted experiences with people that cemented our standing as official residents of the Inland Northwest, both of which ended with us asserting, “They must be from California.”
Update: That five-word phrase has become our official family utterance anytime we see someone do something – what’s the word for the opposite of smart?
Column No. 8 dealt with OFS, a condition many people acquire as they get older.
Update: I’m happy to report that old fart syndrome is one affliction I’ve been able to shake. It’s much easier – not to mention better for my health – to stop judging and opining on every little thing when there’s so much magic in this part of the world. Instead, we calmly utter our favorite five-word phrase.
Column 9 was all about gratitude – or, to be more accurate, the lack of it. We had attended a wonderful little festival devoted to lavender in Deer Park, and as we were leaving, a mother and daughter approached the entrance. That’s when we heard the mother say in a disdainful tone, “Well, this certainly isn’t worth $13.” How could she possibly know that?
Update: Gratitude remains the greatest gift anyone can possess, even when being cussed out by a little old lady. In that case, had our car been moving at a high speed when the guy in the truck decided to go turkey hunting, the outcome could have been much different.
Our 10th column for the Huckleberry Press consisted of 80 questions – and zero answers. Several of the questions focused on coffee, including: “Isn’t the coffee culture in Europe a good way to compare the general culture there with the general culture in America? Don’t the Europeans sit, sip and savor their morning espresso or cappuccino, whereas we Americans embrace the fast-paced grab-and-go nature of mobile ordering?”
Update: We’ve been fortunate to experience both cultures, and there’s definitely something special and even spiritual about slowing down to smell the coffee. The good news is we’ve discovered there are plenty of places to do that in the Inland Northwest. We simply need to seek them out.
And with that, we leave you with the words of the late, great Paul Harvey, who followed up on more stories than most during his legendary career in radio news: “Now you know the rest of the story.”
Bob and Michelle Johnson love nothing more than traversing the backroads of eastern Washington and northern Idaho, and sharing their experiences in words and (occasionally) pictures with Huckleberry Press readers. Reach Bob at [email protected].
