by Norma Gene Young

A good friend visited here last week. Zorabelle Rowden Plaisance of Denver hadn't been to Boise City in a long time, but she wanted her daughter, Denise, and grandson, Dillon, to see where she grew up.

We had a great visit. Zora has cancer and is facing more chemo soon, but she is in very good spirits and wants to be remembered to old friends.

April is a good month to skip, if we could just manage it. It was on April 14, 1935, that we lived through Black Sunday, the first completely black dust storm. For those of us who remember it— it was a horrible day. But thankfully we are not likely to have a rerun of that event.

April, however, is one month we relive another event every year, when the first millers come alive again. Last year they first showed up on April 20. Just thinking about those nasty things on the verge of bursting out again makes me shudder.

Please—somebody—come up with something that will kill millers! Raid doesn't do it. Another new fly swatter won't help much. Sitting in the dark is annoying. We should have a small version of a flame thrower, since fire is about the only thing that touches those things. I have stocked up on a new supply of candles. But what a boring cure. They always swirl around my head before being drawn by the candles.

Do they have millers in the Bahamas? We could choose up and organize a two-week cruise down there while those darned things are dying a lonely death up here.

I read a book last week by J. A. Jance in which a fellow who had been a fisherman in Alaska told a wild story that sounded familiar.

Several young sailors with nothing much to do on land found a bunch of old tires and carried them up the side of Mount Edgecumbe to the crater, then set fire to them and took off. Everybody (but the culprits) was sure the volcano was going to blow again. Eventually a volunteer with a helicopter flew over the mountain to check it out and discovered the problem. Authorities were never able to learn who did the rotten deed.

Seems that I've heard that story before, except that it was Mount Capulin in New Mexico, instead of Edgecumbe in Alaska, and a bunch of cowboys instead of fishermen. But there was no helicopter in those days to fly over it.

Strong young guys are about the same everywhere, I guess.