Trena Eiden

I love summer and I know you’ll find this hard to believe, but in summer I rarely whine. Clarifying, I rarely whine about mosquitos. Some places, like Jackson, don’t have mosquitos, but they’re green-thinking so they don’t give out trade secrets. Do they put pellets in the water? They aren’t saying. They aren’t even hinting. But we know they’re doing something because the Teton County old timers reminisce about the days of hordes of mosquitos. We, on the other hand are living the old days. We have biting pests galore, forcing us to bundle up, for flower watering, to turn on a garden hose or sit on the veranda. I still love summer.  

We try to stay home during our warm months since our summers are so short with so few really warm days, but sometimes we end up traveling to see one or more of our offspring in the hot South.  You’ve never really felt heat until you’re in Texas, on pavement in August.  

Our Texas kids live a couple of miles from the ocean on the Gulf Coast. One afternoon it was over 90 degrees with a 100% humidity. I was dumb enough to be outside sweeping the patio and sweating like it was my only job, except I wasn’t being paid. Earlier, the girls, Pen and Avy, at age 5, helped me move their toys, then wisely disappeared under the trees’ shady canopy, to airily swing in the relative coolness. As I worked, they quietly watched and possibly wondered how they got stuck with a Grammy who, since she was working in the sweltering temperatures, was quite possibly the dimmest person to come down the pike. In fact, I’m certain this was their thought because their Great Granny Yvonnie came out, took note of the situation and admonished the twins, “Girls, Grammy is working so hard and it’s hot.” The little girls, still gently swinging, nodded in the affirmative. Not the slightest ashamed or embarrassed, Pen agreed, “Ya, we’re not working cause it’s hot.” Duh Grammy. Catch a clue.  

Our Colorado kids came to stay for a few days and when any of the grands come, I always ask what they want to eat. This time Dane asked for sourdough pancakes and could he take some starter home. My starter goes back to the days of my summer just after high school graduation. Ray Lewis was a sweet old man working for the Forest Service and putting up with my shenanigans. We built fence and planted trees and he made sourdoughs every morning. I was too lazy to get out of bed at sunrise, so he’d make mine, put butter on them and a sprinkle of sugar and roll them up in a paper towel. When I finally made it up, he’d have them by the wood stove staying warm. My starter came from his starter which makes it ancient, but I’ve been telling the kids I’m only 39. I have offspring older than me. And they’d tell you they’re aware.  

Dane’s little sister, Quinn, asked for a strawberry pie, even though, according to her mom, she’d never had strawberry pie cross her lips. We compromised and had a strawberry pound cake, whipped cream trifle. Quinn didn’t know the difference, and I didn’t have to work very hard so it was a win.   

Then our daughter, Lunny, came and we camped. I’d say we relaxed, but only I relaxed. She climbed a mountain to 10,000 feet in a little over an hour with a 45-degree vertical. I’m only guessing, because to be accurate I’d have to use trigonometry and we all know where that would get us.  

As for Lunny, why does she feel the need to make me look bad? Probably because it’s easy since I was content to sit eating s’mores. I fixed her wagon. I arranged chilly weather. It was freezing mountain mornings and daily highs in the 60’s. Then she got me back when we left the house at 3 a.m. to have her at the airport for her 6 a.m. flight. The things we do for those we love. That’s the mantra the kids use whenever they come for a visit.  

It’s interesting, people often say, “Lunny looks just like you.” Please, she has no wrinkles. And she’s nice.  

Then I snapped a few photos around the campfire when smoke got in her eyes.  As she squinted, scowled and grimaced, I realized she does resemble me-judgmental, inflexible, doubting and snarky. A chip off the ole block.