Before we get into anything else, I must formally apologize to the county. Two weeks ago, I foolishly wrote about how we hadn’t really seen much snow. The universe responded swiftly and mercilessly, dumping a fresh layer on us and dropping the temperature to a level best described as “why do I live like this?” I have learned my lesson. I will never again tempt fate by commenting on the weather.
Now, while I was being humbled by the snow, I was also humbled in another way—by my jeep. About two weeks ago, my tire pressure dropped to 24 PSI, which seemed low but not catastrophic to me. That’s when I met Brody at Harrington Truck and Auto, who introduced me to the magic of listening for air leaks.
Here’s the trick: You coat the tire with dish soap, not to watch for bubbles (as I had incorrectly assumed), but to listen for escaping air. I have no idea how this science works, but I know for a fact that some of my readers could explain it to me in extreme detail. Brody found the hole, grabbed a rubbery tube thing, dunked it in rubber cement, plunged it into the tire, and just like that, my car was back in business. Honestly, my patched tire might be the best-working one on my vehicle now.
But perhaps the biggest highlight of my week was Saturday morning’s breakfast invite with some Davenport locals. Irene kindly invited me to her place in town for a gathering filled with coffee, desserts, and great company. As soon as I saw a couple of mugs on the dining table printed with the words “What is said here stays here,” I knew I was in for something special.
We dined on chocolate zucchini bread, peach pie, and fresh coffee—and I contributed a breakfast pizza from 6th Street in Davenport (which was a hit, by the way). The whole morning was reminiscent of the Catholic breakfast groups I grew up attending with the church—warm, familiar, and full of good conversation.
Irene reminds me every day of my late grandmother. I’ve been fortunate enough to spend some time with her; she always astonishes me with her kindness and welcomingness. I can only hope to be invited to more gatherings like this because, frankly, I’d be heartbroken if I wasn’t.
At breakfast, I also had the privilege of meeting Joyce, who I’ve heard is newer to the area. She was absolutely lovely, and I hope she feels as welcomed here as I have. I also met Stan, Stan-the-man, as Dalton calls him, a former detective who, it turns out, also makes homemade mustard. And Stan, if you’re reading this, I’m sorry, but the secret’s out—that mustard is the best homemade sauce I have ever tasted.
Beyond great food, I also got a deep dive into local true crime and county lore. We had plenty of laughs, especially as the Rancher, Dalton—yes, you know him—sat next to me. And to follow up from last week’s column, the charming rancher absolutely nailed it for Valentine’s Day. (You can’t see it, but I’m winking right now.) I would like to share what happened, but maybe some things outta stay between him and I.
Now, let me take a moment to talk about Stan’s stories. When I say I was captivated, I mean I could have listened to him talk about local cases he worked on for hours. If he ever decides to write a book on his experiences, I will be first in line at the book signing event—probably clutching a copy in each hand just in case I wear one out from reading it too much.
If you’d like to discuss snow, tire repairs, breakfast clubs, or just grab a donut, join me at the Record-Times meet and greet! We’ll be at our Odessa office (1 West First Avenue) on Thursday, February 27, from 11 a.m. to 1 p.m. There will be coffee, donuts, and good conversation. Our outstanding sales lady, Kellie Wilkie, will also be in attendance, so stop by, say hello, and let’s chat!
And if you hear me even thinking about commenting on the weather again—please stop me. I’ve learned my lesson.
— Olivia Harnack is the editor at the Lincoln County Record-Times and is learning the ropes of rural life, one hay bale and farm dog at a time. You can reach her at 509-725-0101.
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