Even with my bad shoulder, and with the Tylenol PM I took last night to help me sleep through the discomfort...I was still wide awake at five-thirty this morning. Not just sort of awake; it was that rested, happy feeling you get when you're say, going on vacation that day or something. I realized that I was excited; just like a little kid.
This event that I've spent the past month blogging about...it's here. Beginning with Snake River Dayz, and then working its way up into the frenzy that will be the Snake River Stampede. Others had warned me about this...that feeling of anticipation. Those that have lived in Nampa and have been attending the Stampede for a long time will know what I'm talking about. I was told that once upon a time, 'back in the day', because there was nothing really big going on in the summers, and a trip to Boise was a waste of gasoline and money...that the Stampede was what the locals lived for. Now here we are, modern day....and it appears that this hasn't changed. The Stampede is still looked forward to; the Stampede is still a huge deal.
None of my family could make it to the 'Dayz Festival Breakfast', so I went solo. (More for me!)
I wish I could tell you what it feels like to park along Twelfth Avenue downtown, when there's an event there. Especially in the morning. The air is cool, and there's the energy of a new day, and the history of downtown flavoring the whole atmosphere. It was about eight by the time I arrived. I could instantly smell breakfast when I got out of my car. The famous 'horse' sculpture that's across from Wells Fargo is there in the corner, in all of its bronze-like glory, with the little bandstand where the music is played every Thursday during Downtown Nampa Nights.
At the end of the road was the old train Depot, a gorgeous backdrop to the white tents that were being set up for the market that would begin in another hour. The flag, atop the Depot, was waving in the wind against the cornflower blue Idaho sky. Or, was it 'furling', as my friend Jimmie Hurley likes to put it? I like the word furling much better. It was definitely furling.
Off to the right was the breakfast. About a dozen or more round tables were set up, right on the blocked off street. This made it seem like we were getting away with something, and added an element of rebellion. I like that. How often could you have your pancakes in a leisurely manner, right in the middle of the thoroughfare? Only on special occasions, or, to be complete, most Thursday nights around here. For Downtown Nampa Nights, it gets blocked off then, too, and when it does, people park their lawn chairs, coolers, and vending booths there. And they dance in the streets together; that's my favorite part. There is actually a lot of repurposing of the streets going on downtown. I like it.
I approached the breakfast booth on wheels. I recognized a smiling lady...but where on earth did I know her from? I scanned the gray matter for clues. Oh, yeah. The bank. Connie was often my teller at the bank. When she saw me, she said the same thing; "Now, how do I know you?" We both laughed that we knew each other's faces, but were fooled when both were placed 'out of our element'. She usually saw me in a car in the drive-thru. Sometimes all it takes is for one person to know you at an event (or for you to know them), in order to feel right at home. Seeing Connie had that effect.
The lady next to her told me all about how some kids from a local High School built the mobile kitchen on wheels. It was quite the structure, with its tough countertops and sturdy sides. It had decent tires, too. I was impressed. This woman went on to tell me of all of the other breakfasts the Rotary Club did throughout the year; all for good causes, to raise money for other organizations that needed it. This one, however, was the one they did to raise money for the Club, in order to maintain and to keep the lights on. Many breakfasts for others; only one for them. That's the Rotary Club for you.
My plate was full. Sausages and pancakes, cooked to perfection. And fruit! Fresh fruit, courtesy of the Williamson Orchards. They've been around these parts for a long, long time. I grabbed a cup of orange juice and made my way to a table by myself, thinking I would just observe. That didn't work. I looked around at all of the people enjoying each other and couldn't just sit there, feeling left out. I spotted a couple that looked approachable and told them I didn't like eating alone; might I join them?
They were lovely people. Margie and her husband (didn't catch his name) were great conversationalists. We talked about everything from his employment of years and years ago, to his stint in the military where he stood in line as they assigned each soldier "Korea" or "Europe", randomly like that. He'd gone to Europe. Margie had returned to Nampa to live with her family while she was without her husband for ten months, with a small child to raise by herself for a time. It had been tough, she'd told me.
Soon Mary and her husband (whose name I also can't remember, sorry!) sat down. They knew Margie and her husband. They'd been in Nampa for about fourteen years. Mary told me she and her husband had been married for sixty-one years tomorrow. Meanwhile, Margie's husband was teasing Mary's husband, saying, "So how's those coffee-drinking friends of yours?" I don't really know what that meant, other than Mary's husband's friends drank coffee, but I found it humorous all the same.
I could have talked with those people for a long time, but we had a parade to go to, and a schedule to keep. This community festival Nampa is putting on this year moves right along...no time to waste. It's a full day packed full of family fun. I excused myself from their lively table and regretfully walked away from the Breakfast. I didn't want to leave.
I was turning to go to my car, when the Nampa Farmer's Market sucked me in. That can happen, you know. All of those white tents, the fresh produce, and the Jelly Lady. I had this dilemma with the Jelly Lady. She never gave me a sample. I've visited her booth three times, and have even said---out loud---'may I try the hot one, please?' because I like pepper jelly. But it never happens. There are often other people there, and perhaps my tone of voice is too quiet for her to hear. I even asked the person next to me if I was invisible. They said no, so I assumed I must be a mute.
Because I am a stubborn German, I've made it a goal to get some jelly out of the Jelly Lady. Twice more I visited. Twice more I gave up. No pepper jelly for me. My family began to mock me for being determined to get a jelly sample; something so silly, really. But today was my day. I could feel it in my bones. And there she was; the Jelly Lady, talking to another customer. I was going to MAKE her see me, if it was the last thing I did.
I did get some jelly. It was 13 Alarm Jalapeno Jelly. And it was so darn good. But I didn't get it from the Jelly Lady. While I was focusing my energies on sending her subliminal messages 'notice me, notice me, I need some jelly'...her assistant came right up to me and got me a sample. Does this count? I'm going to say yes. I'm also going to say that it was worth the wait...I've been quite the consumer of pepper jellies, and if it makes my eyes water, that's respectable. Sufficeth it to say; it was very respectable. No wonder she doesn't grovel to the mere sampler...her product sells itself.
This day was starting off very well, indeed. Breakfast and a jelly sample. Not bad.
Not bad at all.
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