Windy Ridge

By JC Wilson

Saint Charles is a small community in Bear Lake Valley. The town sits on the Idaho-Utah border just off Highway 89 and is the inspiration for our fantastical place called Windy Ridge.

The story takes place in the fifties. An American family with Scottish roots built their homes in a mountain valley at the top of Jacob's Canyon Road. There are six houses: Mountain House, Grandma and Grandpa's cottage named Kings X by the kids, Castle Rock, River Rock Place, Glass Tower, and Lutz Lake House.

There are six main characters who are close cousins: Chrystal, Alex, Reigny, Glitter, Windy, Snowy, and Ismond, commonly known as the Ridge Kids.

Most of their adventures start or end on Windy Ridge. The mountain loves the family and provides for it. Summer has boating on the blue, blue water of Bear Lake; autumn brings the dancing scarecrow and fireworks; winter has skiing, snowshoeing, skating, and mystery; and spring brings reflection and redemption.

Windy Ridge is the beloved home of their collective youth. They find love and security there as well as adventure and danger as they choose to travel forbidden roads.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Dec 5, 2023
• ISBN: 9798886545852

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Windy Ridge

JC Wilson

Copyright © 2023 JC Wilson

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2023

ISBN 979-8-88654-580-7 (pbk)

ISBN 979-8-88654-585-2 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1 One

Chapter 2 Two

Chapter 3 Three

Chapter 4 Four

Chapter 5 Five

Chapter 6 Six

Chapter 7 Seven

Chapter 8 Eight

Chapter 9 Nine

Chapter 10 Ten

Chapter 11 Eleven

Chapter 12 Twelve

Chapter 13 Thirteen

Chapter 14 Fourteen

Chapter 15 Fifteen

Chapter 16 Sixteen

Chapter 17 Seventeen

Chapter 18 Eighteen

Chapter 19 Nineteen

Chapter 20 Twenty

Prologue

It's the summer of 2008. The month is June. Our family is spending the week at Bear Lake, a pristine valley located on the Utah–Idaho border, just off Highway 89.

We are staying in a little white house that belongs to the Milne family. Our daughter, Kristen, married Chad Milne, the youngest Milne son. It is with Kristen's encouragement and the Milne family's generosity that our family will experience a week filled with love and magic.

I'm standing in Penny Milne's kitchen. It is small, very clean, and well-organized, a place for everything and everything in its place. The walls are white stucco, and the curtains are café-style green gingham. A large green area rug with an apple orchard woven into it covers the old polished hardwood floor. Hanging on the clean white wall over the stove are shiny red and green ceramic dancing apple plaques. The salt and pepper shakers on the stove—you guessed it, ceramic apples.

The Milne family bought the home several years ago; it was run-down to the point of decay. The Milnes joined together in love, laughter, and hard work to rebuild what would become their summer home. They affectionately call the little white house the Farm, and so do we.

The sun is sending a dusty beam through the curtains. We have just finished a hearty breakfast of ham, bacon, eggs, and hot scones topped with honey butter. The smell of warm bread still lingers. The kids have all gone out to play. The adults are hustling around, getting the coolers packed and the boat ready for a day at the lake.

We are the Child family, and like the Milnes, we are many. Big families are not common these days, but we have been blessed. My husband, Jeff, and I have five children, who insisted on growing up. My grandma Wilson used to say, Raising your babies are your happy days.

I'm afraid that might be true. Yet life goes on with its many changes, and I'm finding that I need to change with it.

While it's true they all grew up and left us for a short time, they have all returned bringing with them new life experiences. Experiences of happiness and some pain but mostly happiness. I've come to accept the cycles of life and have come to understand that I wouldn't want it any other way. Still, change is hard.

When our youngest daughter, Leslie, married and left home, I felt like an empty nester. A term used in our neighborhood describing older couples who fill their time collectively with adult neighborhood gatherings. Their kids, for one reason or another, have chosen to stay away.

Perhaps in a small way these elderly couples may not want their adult children to come around too often, as they guard their quiet time and orderly lives.

Jeff and I didn't suffer the empty nester syndrome for long. Well, long enough for me to remodel my house, but that's okay. They've all come back to visit frequently, bringing their spouses with them. We now have ten adult children instead of five because we love our in-law kids that much.

One becomes two, two become three, four, and five. Each new grandchild expands our ability to love, bringing new delights and challenges to our world. Sometimes my husband laments, This family thing just keeps getting bigger and bigger.

As I begin this journal of sorts, we have eleven grandchildren, with two more on the way, giving us seven girls and six boys by the end of 2008.

The boat is almost ready. I feel pleased and accomplished as I watch my four daughters bustle around, working to get their little ones in swim gear and sun hats. They are making sure everyone has enough water and sunscreen. Each daughter looks after her own children as well as nieces and nephews.

Traci, Kristen, and Leslie were all Colorado River guides before they settled down to family life. They are hoping the water is just right today so they can jump the wake. Bear Lake is very moody; it can be calm as glass one minute, windy and treacherous the next, making it hard to predict.

My daughter Melanie is more conservative than her sisters; she seems only slightly worried as she listens to her brothers-in-law and husband, Brett, say they expect to get Duncan and Tori, our first two grandchildren, up on the wakeboard.

Duncan is nine and a good sport. He is anxious, even though he is almost a black belt in karate and plays pretty good soccer. Uncle Chad is teasing him about being a wimp.

Duncan apprehensively laughs and retorts, Well, the problem with me is I sleep with dolls.

Everyone laughs because Duncan does still sleep with dolls. He has just coined a family phrase. When someone gets nervous and out of their comfort zone, we now say, The problem with you is you sleep with dolls. The Milnes say it too. Uncle Chad, not being a soft-spoken person, says loudly that he plans to sneak the video he took last night of Dunc snuggling Baby and Baby Brother into Duncan's wedding video. That turned out to be an empty threat, but it's a cute video.

Tori isn't afraid; she is just excited. She says the night before her family leaves for the lake her tummy feels funny, like it does on Christmas Eve. Duncan and Tori are a little over a year apart in age and about the same height.

Tori is a good girl. She tries hard to please everyone; she wants more than anything her families' love and acceptance. Tori was born with beautiful blue eyes that can't see very well. We must be careful with her because she has a genetic condition that makes it easy for her retinas to detach. A fall or a bump to the head could take away what precious sight she has.

Her parents have a lot of faith and want her to have as normal a life as she can. I, being the grandmother, would like to wrap her protectively in Bubble Wrap to keep her safe. So I mentally prepare for her to go out on the water. Tori is very true and brave. On this day, with her uncle Chad protectively behind her, she will ride on top of the water, feeling the cold, wet wind on her face. She will hear the cheers of the family who love and support her, as we all celebrate her victory. As for Duncan, turns out he will have to wait until next year to ride the waves.

Berrie is our only daughter-in-law; she is married to our only son, Jeff. She seems content to mostly tan on the beach. Berrie and Jeff are the parents of our twins, Max and Olivia. Jeff is the only family member missing our little family retreat. He has not been feeling well. I think he is, as he puts it, out chasing demons, whatever that means.

A few days into our family retreat, he decided to surprise us and drove up late one night on his motorcycle. Driving the dark two-way roads of Monty Cristco Canyon, he narrowly missed a head-on collision. He was attempting to pass an old stubborn farmer who was driving too slow. The farmer sped up as Jeff tried to pass him, trapping him on the wrong side of the road with an oncoming car. He made a split-second decision to fly off a small cliff rather than hit the oncoming headlights.

Always having good timing, he let go of the handlebars of the bike, letting it leap ahead of him in the night. He tucked and rolled down the mountain. God and his guardian angels were with him, and he survived the crash with only stitches on the inside of his lip.

The young couple in the oncoming car stopped and helped him; the old farmer just drove off. He spent the night in the hospital. The next day, he showed up on the beach, where he knew we would be having lunch, in a gray rented SUV.

Today I'm hoping and praying wherever he roams, he'll be safe. Darlene, my husband's mother, once told me, As parents, you are only as happy as your saddest child. I am learning this is true.

My husband is excited today because we have just purchased twenty acres of land up Jacobs Canyon with two of our sons-in-law. The land is part of a small mountain ridge two miles up from the Milne farmhouse. I don't know how soon we can start building this family cabin—if not next year, the next. It will depend on the economy, and the economy is uncertain right now.

The three families who are going in on this investment have different tastes, interests, and budgets. It will be fun to see how our project progresses. I worry though (because worry is what I do best) about conflict over things like what colors we use, where the cabin will be placed, who will get the master bedroom, will there be a master, or will it simply be a Thoreau cabin. I don't care, as long as we are all together. Being the very wise matriarch that I am, if you don't ask my son or my in-law sons, I warn them, Big problems bring families together. Little problems tear them apart. Maybe someday when I'm gone one of my kids will quote me.

The property is remote, and the wind blows all the time, but it will be fun. I'm looking forward to the cabin because my husband is not much of a recreator. He is a hard worker, a leader at his job and in the community. I'm a very private person, a bit of a recluse who doesn't want to be the leader of anything. I will enjoy having him to myself in our cabin on the windy ridge.

I dry the last breakfast dish and look for its assigned place in Penny's shiny white cupboard, the cups and glasses all lined up like soldiers. I am thinking while I work that Jeff and I are not going to look too stylin in our ten-year-old swimsuits. We are in the autumn of our lives, and winter is fast approaching. We are both slightly overweight, and Hallie has just asked me why my teeth are so big and yellow. I will need to get out those whitening trays when I get home.

The screen door flies open, and seven red-faced, wrinkled-brow grandchildren of various ages come flying in and surround me. Max is the protagonist, which is often the case; he is four, almost five. He has had a plastic sword at his side since he could walk. Like Duncan sleeps with dolls, Maxwell sleeps with swords. He is always playing make believe. Every villain in every movie is his hero: Papin Hook, Emperor Zurg—he loves them all. His dad explains to him, Son, the villain never gets the girl, you know. But Max doesn't care; he's only four.

Uncle John refers to Max as an angry little man because he seems to be mad all the time. But he really is very sweet under all that bluster.

Muga, tell them theou can only be one pwinthess and that's Hallie, because she is the pwetty one, Max says without the use of the letter R.

Several of my grandkids call me Muga. Somehow, Grandma sounded like Muga to Livy when she first started to talk. Sometimes they just call me Mugs.

Right now, I have five little girls looking at me, waiting for a pronouncement as to which is the true princess. They are all beautiful! Brown eyes, blue eyes, brown hair, blond hair, short hair, long hair; tall, lean, and sturdy; short, cuddly, fragile, and petite.

Well. I pause and ponder for effect. Can there be more than one princess?

Yes. Duncan takes over in his matter-of-fact, intelligent sort of way, sounding like a professor. Because I'm the good prince and Max is the bad prince. Well, kind of, because I don't always want to be good and Max isn't always bad. He emphasizes the word always. But being the good and bad prince makes two princes, so that means there could be more than one princess.

I notice how big his gesturing hands are getting; they are starting to look like his dad's, and he wears a watch.

Oh, I see. Well, that makes perfect sense. I start to tease.

Chad says I like to stir the pot. I'm not sure what that means. I continue. But Max thinks there can only be one princess.

Yes! Max stands his ground, pointing his sword at Hallie. And that would be Hallie because she's the pwetty one.

Now Livy, Sammie, and Tori are all speaking at once, telling me it's not fair for Max to be the judge.

Yeah, he hates me cause I'm his twin! Livy sulks.

That's not true, Liv, Max doesn't hate you, I counter.

Yes, I do, Max says matter-of-factly, as he scowls at me.

Livy is getting teary-eyed. Sammie looks at the floor and begins sniffing. I can hardly see Sammie's eyes through the thick dirty lenses of her glasses that never leave her face, even when she sleeps. Sammie has the same genetics as her sister. Sticklers is the seemingly harmless name of the condition they will fight to keep their vision.

Tori puts her arm around Sammie and says, I think we are all princesses, even if Max and Duncan don't! She glares down her long, sharp nose at the boys.

The two sisters hug. One is tall, with long thick blond hair, and one is short, with long thick dark hair. I instinctively reach out and take Sammie's pink-framed glasses from her face.

Grandma, I can't see! Sammie says, a little panicky.

I swish the glasses under the kitchen tap and dry them on my T-shirt for the third morning in a row.

I know, baby, I say a little too sadly. I put them back on her nose and look into her sensitive dark-blue eyes, silently wishing with all my heart that I could do something more than just clean the glass she strains to see her world through.

Hallie is standing quietly, sweet and beautiful. She doesn't know if there can be more than one princess. I know she would like to be a princess, but she will accept unquestionably my answer.

Maren is in the back of the group. Her blue eyes are fluorescent, her hair the color of sunshine. Her nickname is May. She has an angelic look that doesn't match her spunk. May doesn't care if she is a princess or not; she is just happy to be with her cousins.

Leslie comes through the screen door and stands next to Maren; Leslie is Maren's mama. She has overheard the conversation and, being the family mediator, joins with me to solve the princess problem.

What do you think, Mama Les? I ask my daughter's opinion, as I do many times in family situations.

She shrugs and smiles, letting me know I've got this one. The cousins are all close in age. My daughters enjoy sharing their lives with each other. They are so close the kids address their aunts, at times, as Mama Trace, Mama Mel, Mama Kris, and Mama Les, and I get Muga.

Sammie is beginning to cry. She is the most dramatic of the bunch. Her head drops, and her shoulders are beginning to tremble. Sweet Mama Les kneels in front of her and lifts her sweet little heart-shaped face.

What kind of a princess would you be if you were a princess? she asks Sammie.

I would be funny and cute, and people would laugh at me because they like me so much. She sniffs, wiping her runny nose with her arm.

You are cute and funny, and we all do love you, Leslie says, giving her chubby little niece a hug.

But I'm not a princess! Sammie wails loudly, and glares at Maxwell.

You are too a princess! I look into her eyes, large and magnified through the clean lenses, searching inside my Muga heart to find imagination.

Princess, I go on. Let's see…I know, Princess Snowflake because you are one of a kind. You are cute and little, and everyone loves a snowflake. Your gown is white satin, and you wear frozen dewdrops in your shiny dark hair.

Tori, you are the oldest, you are in charge. My imagination has thankfully kicked in. You always choose the right, and you are always a good example.

Muga, I do try to be a good example, but sometimes, I'm a little sad, Tori says in her Eeyore voice. Tori always is a little sad. I am hoping on this trip she will come to know how important she is to all of us.

Well, then, I continue, you shall be Princess Reigny because you reign, and sometimes, you feel a little rainy. Your gown will be midnight-blue velvet, with black satin sashes, and you shall wear a crown of blue sapphires in your golden hair.

I look to Livy next. She has her back turned stubbornly toward Max, her little nose defiantly in the air. Her given name is Olivia; we call her Livy. She has short reddish-blond hair, and she looks like a little pixie. Her hair is extra short because she recently took scissors to it.

Livy often has bouts with her independence; she can be somewhat defiant when she wants. Her hair is uneven and sticks out all over; the look is adorably Livy. She has her daddy's green eyes in her mama's face. She is tall, lean, strong, and feminine. When she runs, she leaps, her feet gliding in midair, barely touching the ground. I notice that her chopped hair happens to be covered in glitter of various colors. She has clearly been into the craft box again, even though she has been told in no uncertain terms to stay out of it. Crafts are tonight's activity, I inwardly sigh, and wonder if the Minnetonka Cave Market sells glitter. Probably not.

Livy, you are Princess Glitter. Your gown is made of rainbow pastel, chiffon. It will be a gypsy-pixie dress, unique, just like you. Rainbow jewel dust will sparkle in your hair.

Next, a trusting pair of soft golden-brown eyes, framed with thick black eyelashes. Hallie is the little princess Maxwell thinks she is. She has her mama's hair: fine, sun bleached, brown, and wispy. Her lips are the color of pink rosebuds, and she has beautiful little elf ears that she is a little sensitive about.

Once while I was telling Hallie and Livy just how beautiful I thought they both were, my daughter Traci stepped regally up to us and in her teaching tone said, Hallie, tell Grandma what's more important than being pretty.

The correct answer, of course, was Being nice, but before Hallie could answer, Livy piped in.

Being the prettiest! Olivia will never lack confidence.

Hallie, you are Princess Chrystal because you are so clear about what's important in life, I say. You glow from within. Your gown will be golden like your eyes and will be trimmed with soft pink to match your cheeks. A crystal tiara will crown your head, and sunlight will shine through the stones, tossing rainbow sparkles everywhere you go.

Next, I turn to Maren. What kind of a princess does May want to be?

Maren is only three. She is silent most of the time. The rest of the kids wait to see if she answers. She doesn't.

A summer breeze blows through the kitchen screen door, opening it slightly, like an invisible guest has just entered the house. The playful breeze catches Maren's baby-blond hair and lightly wisps it across her face. The morning sun shines a hallo around her. She looks enchanted. You are Princess Windy, I say.

Your gown is the color of the wind, and you wear nothing in your golden hair but the shimmering glow of sunbeams. I now pronounce you two princes and five princesses, I say, smiling down at my beautiful little people. Now go play!

I turn Maxwell around and gently swat his little fanny and shoo them all out the door.

And that is the true story of how our fantasy was born.

*****

Mom, aren't you ready? Kristen hustles through the kitchen to check the picnic coolers. It's almost time to go. Are you sure you packed the ketchup? She double-checks the coolers. "Dad isn't going to eat the hot dogs if we don't have ketchup. Can you make sure we have the garbage bags? We forgot the garbage bags last time. I don't want to forget garbage bags again.

Penny would just die! I hope everyone likes Sun Chips. I don't think Hunter likes Sun Chips. She doesn't wait for an answer; she doesn't expect one.

The bathroom is free! I quickly change into my swimsuit. Yep, I look like a beached whale. I wonder if Penny might have a robe I can hide under. I need more than this silly skirt that is sewed around the bottom of my suit. Oh well, Jeff isn't going to look any better. Next year, for sure, we're each going to lose twenty pounds. I'm ready as I'm going to be. Maybe I can help the girls with something.

Traci has been watching the four babies: Kacie, Mitch, Taylor, and Jason. They are eighteen months old down to five months. Taylor and Mitch are fighting again; vinegar and oil, those two. Traci picks each of them up by the back of their rompers, like a couple of naughty kittens.

Are you kidding me? Even as young as they are, they know Mama Traci means business!

We are ready! Kristen, Chad, and Mitch have already pulled out with the boat. John and Traci are pulling out behind them. They have stopped; apparently, they have decided to let Hallie ride in the motor home with us after all. Traci is always a little anxious for her kids (don't know where she gets that from). The motor home is old and doesn't have seat belts, let alone car seats. The tires are worn but not quite to the tread. We haven't a long way to go though, and it's all dirt country road down to the beach.

It's a little tough rounding up all the princes and princesses. Mel places her two little fingers to her lips and blows and makes a noise like a screeching fire alarm. They all come running, except for May. I swiftly glance around the yard looking for her, my Muga radar out. I spot her up by the fence having a confrontation with Tilly, the neighborhood farmyard dog. I take off in a sprint.

Tilly! Don't bite Maren! she shouts.

When I get to her, she is frightened but mostly angry. At three, Maren is a brave little girl. Tilly has snapped at her; the old dog is growling softly and showing his canines. Princess Windy is holding her ground; she is trembling, but she doesn't run.

I pick her up and feel wet tears on my cheek as she lays her warm little head on my shoulder. Yelling loud enough that it hurts my ear, she yells, Shoo, Tilly!

The old dog stops growling and points himself to wherever home is.

The appropriate words, All In, are painted in black on the side of the old white-and-red-paneled motor home. All the kids are now on board. The old motor begins to rumble up, sputtering and popping, like an old man with a morning cough. We start out chugging up the dirt drive—false start. Papa stomps on the breaks, a few adjustments made under the rusty old hood, and we are on our way. I'm glad my husband is a good mechanic.

We will drive down the road, bumping as we go. Duncan, Max, Tori, Sammie, Hallie, and May are on the top bunk. Uncle Brett sits up front; he is Papa's copilot. Livy sits on Berrie's lap, looking like her mama's American Girl doll. Jason is on Mel's lap. Taylor sits between Jon and Les, and I stand next to the top bunk so I can throw the kids back up as they bounce off. (Don't tell Traci.)

We sing How much is that doggie in the window? Woof, woof, the one with the waggly tail, woof, woof. How much is that doggie in the window? I do hope that doggy's for sale about a hundred times. Every time we say Woof, woof in loud unison, Jason laughs. That sound of sweet baby laughter will always be a treasured memory.

Berrie, who generally doesn't say much, silences the kids by starting an AC/DC hard rock tune from the nineties. Jon and Brett join in. The three of them know every word, chorus, and verse. When the choir finishes their song of youthful rebellion, they all laugh and smile, a bonding of the in-laws.

*****

As I begin this tale of fantasy, I want my uniquely beautiful family to know that my characters are based on each of us. Some characters are a combination of people I have loved and lost, as well as the people I love now, all rolled into one.

My primary purpose of this story has been to entertain my grandkids and share in their youth and maybe encourage talents. It has been an exciting undertaking now that youth is past tense for me. I have enjoyed many late-night hours revisiting the past, reliving precious memories, inventing new stories, and sorting out life experiences, some of them painful. The story has healed some of that pain. For those of you with imaginations, we have put down on paper many wonderful family memories and have embellished and invented plots.

If you recognize yourself in the characters and you are too mean, too strange, too good, too bad or even a little crazy, too noble, or not noble enough, or if I use one character more than another, remember it's only Muga's imagination running amok, and you all know Muga likes to exaggerate.

Love you all!

Grandpa (Billy)

Livingston

Emery Temperton

(Philippine Mother)

Grandpa

Livingston

(Adyia)

John (Jack) Thomas

Hill

(Merta Hendry)

Chance

(Out of Wedlock)

Louise

Ardella*

Cal

(Sherry)

Maeve

(Hunter)

Christina

(Buck Milne)

Melodie

(Will Lutz)

Ruby

(Paul Lowrance)

Minnow Louise

Avery Grace

Lila May

(Emery Temperton)

Emery Temperton III

(EJ)

Walter

(Unknown)

Reigny

Alex

Jason

Snowflake

Ismond

Glitter

Walter Jr.

Windy

Rocky

Kcub

Rosie

Chrystal

Key

(Gray) = Spouse

* = Deceased

Chapter 1 One

Turn, Turn, Turn

The road had been recently repaved. The freshly painted yellow lines were so hypnotizing I'd almost failed to notice the old sun-faded sign hanging on a tilted rusty pole just off the graveled shoulder. Almost there. A tinge of excitement mingled with apprehension was replacing the tired numbness of the drive.

Town of Windy Ridge

Where everyone is a neighbor

And every neighbor a friend

Established 1850

Elevation 6,068 ft

Population 1,000

The town motto was barely visible behind the vines of morning glory making their way up the pole and consuming the bottom half of the sign. My attention drifted back to the yellow lines, and I realized that the words irritated me. Their substance was hollow and acrid, bereft of meaning, like a eulogy uttered for a stranger.

It was late morning by the time I made the sharp left turn off the main road and