Deadman's Basin Reservoir

We took the weekend off and headed two hours north of our place to Deadman's Basin Reservoir for some fishing and camping with Jon's sister and family. Approaching Deadman's is like any typical drive in the country until you turn down a dirt road and crest a hill to find a giant lake nestled in between farm houses.


We thought we had the place to ourselves but on Saturday morning, we acquired neighbors on both sides. On our right, the jet skiers who insisted on riding directly on top of our fishing lines - thanks! On our left, the drunks with a boat. They were piss drunk at 9:00 am when they pulled up. I was expecting high entertainment, and hoping for no fatalities. There were neither.

When we returned, nobody asked if we had fun. They only asked, "Was it windy?" This particular reservoir is notorious for wicked storms that whip out of nowhere, capsizing boats and not too infrequently, drowning people.

The answer? I'll let you judge for yourselves.



On Saturday night, a storm did roll through. We hastily gathered everything in camp, stashed the chairs, weighted down our camper awning with massive logs, and took shelter.


We fished for salmon and trout, but caught a fair share of suckers and carp, which are junk fish.



We learned that Gus is fanatical about going after your fish as you reel it in. That dog has a serious chasing issue: squirrels, mice, rabbits, horses, sheep, cows, and now fish. Thankfully, he leaves the neighbors' cats alone.

Every time someone got a bite, he raced over and plowed into the water to attack the flailing fish. This is fine unless you like teeth marks in your dinner and digging fish hooks out of your dog's paw - which did not deter him, I might add. I only had one bite the whole weekend and I lost the fish because Gus tore the line as I was reeling it in.

For most of the weekend, Gus stood a few feet offshore waiting for a catch.


The Falcons brought their canoe and did a good bit of trolling in it. Taya, my niece who has the entire family wrapped around her five year old fingers, caught more fish than any of us! Not wanting to miss out on anything, she would yell, "ARE YOU GOING ON A BOAT RIDE?!?!" anytime we came within 20 feet of the canoe.

Quiet Struggle

This past week has been a tough one for me, more on that later. It followed an eight-day vacation and visit with my brother, sister-in-law, niece and nephew which was fun, followed by fun, rounded out by fun. This was their first visit to Boise and Jon and I reveled in the opportunity to share our city.

Although having two extra adults and two toddlers in the house with our current count of three dogs led to a certain degree of chaos, it was welcome, especially now that they have gone. I won't try to pull the wool over your eyes by saying that there weren't mornings I awoke to a crying, okay occasionally screaming, child. There were battles over watching television and chocolate milk versus juice. There were disciplinary events highlighted by warnings such as, "Do not sit on your sister!"

My nephew, who is three and a half, discovered the joys of peeing outside while on a recent camping trip back home. He has not, however, learned the subtleties of when it is appropriate to pee outside. On several occasions, we lost track of him in the backyard, only to find him in various corners with his pants around his ankles.

It was fun to see the world through kid-eyes again. We turned over rocks everywhere to look for earwigs and roly poly bugs, visited three different playgrounds, and he learned how to fish with his new Spider-Man fishing rod. Every moment of silence was broken by, "Can I go outside and go fishing?" and "Where is my fishing rod?" After several days of practice while we camped on the Middle Fork of the Payette, he was casting like a champ. Thing is, he kept catching the same red plastic fish!

We caught lots of trout on our camping trip. My brother and Jon renewed their vows with fishing and we could barely peel them away from that river. I myself caught three fish and my brother commented that fishing is like gambling: "just one more cast." The fish were cooked and enjoyed especially by the kids who gobbled them down without hesitation.

After they left, the house was q-u-i-e-t and Jon and I had several "what do we do now" moments. But we settled back in and geared up for the school and work week.

On Tuesday, September 2nd, the search warrants in Nancy's case were unsealed.

I've kept a pretty tight check in the last few weeks on how much I delve into the media and my emotions; some might say too tight, but I felt like I needed a break. But on Tuesday, I poured over all of the available documentation; old and new scenarios danced in my head. On Thursday, I received a completely unexpected call from the detective on the case. The rest of the week was a grief-ridden spiral.

Things are a little better now, but I heard someone say on a radio show last night that grief is not a process. The word process implies a beginning and an end and belies the life-altering proportions of death. I have yet to know how my life will be irrevocably changed by this event, and that unknowing scares me.