The Great Store Caper. . . .

The Perpetrators in disguise.
L to R - Edna, Delores, Ina, Theresa,
Martha


The unsuspecting parents with
their children (David not pictured)


James and Lois cutting their cake
in celebration of 50 Golden Years.




Some of the innocent children
Back - Les, Matt,Felicia, Gordon, Susan,
Thea
Front - Rhonda, Shane, Lisa

Dad and Mom with the
Hostess and Host, Kathy and Leo



In 1967, the family of James Allen and Lois Stewart Wadsworth gathered in Panaca to help them celebrate their 50th Wedding anniversary. It was a beautiful, festive, and emotional celebration. The Open House was held at the old home, "The Castle", Leo and Kathy's home. Joined by his six siblings, they served as the hosts and hostesses for the event. The people of Lincoln County, other parts of Nevada, Utah and California, came to pay their respects to our parents. Letters and cards arrived from the State Capitol and from the legislative offices in Washington D. C. It made me realize what an important part of the history of Lincoln County and the State of Nevada this wonderful, stalwart couple were. Mom and Dad accepted all of the accolades and attention in their usual sweet and humble manner, but you could tell they were very touched by all that was happening in their honor.

At some point, before and after the festivities, their five daughters, Theresa, Edna, Martha, Ina, and Delores, found time to talk about the subjects close to our hearts. Under the spell that Panaca and the old home always held for us, we found ourselves talking about our love for all things Panaca and how life wasn't always fair. When our grandfather, Nephi John died, he had left no will and so his estate went into probate. He had a large family and it took a long time for it to be justly settled. The more we talked about it, the more unfair that "justly settled" seemed.

We were sad and dismayed at the condition of the wonderful little store that had been so much a part of the history of Panaca and the George Allen Wadsworth family. It had been boarded up for years and had been subjected to vandalism and other indignities. It had fallen into disrepair and neglect. Even though it had been operated as a family business by Nephi John and some of his children, eventually our father, James, became the sole proprietor and ran it for almost 20 years with the help of our mother and eldest sister, Theresa. Therefore, we reasoned, when the estate was settled, it should have gone to our father. It didn't, Dad's sister, Jennie Culverwell (older than Dad) who lived in Caliente, was deeded the store building and the lot on which it stood. It was never operated as a business again. It was boarded up with a treasure trove of wonderful antiques inside, many dating from the first days of the store's existence. It had continued to decay during those years. The sign, which had so proudly proclaimed it a part of the Wadsworth Family legacy and the history of Panaca, was hanging by a few nails on one side and part of it had fallen off and was heavily damaged. Aunt Jennie had died years ago.

You have heard the saying,, "Beware the wrath of a woman scorned!" We are talking five woman here. That is scary! And so, we plotted and planned. We were going to save some of those wonderful treasures before the thieves and vandals removed, or destroyed, what was left of them. We were going to save that wonderful sign. The first thing we needed to do was to gain entry to the store and see what was there.

We were each assigned a role to play. True to our reputations, Martha and I were appointed to be the "Cat Burglars". Our first assignment. . . .case the joint. The next day, at dinner time when we reasoned that most of the town's residents would be inside and Main Street would be virtually deserted, Martha and I donned our old clothes and sturdy shoes. We meandered aimlessly to the store, acting nonchalant and lazy. We were unable to gain entry through the door at the back of the store and were forced to go to the window on the side of the building, making us more vulnerable to being seen. This worried us a little, but we forged ahead. We were able to remove some boards and slither inside. Our first act, while there would be few people out and about, was to remove the sign and lower it to the ground. We made our way up to the attic and from the small window over the covered porch, attempted to gain access to the sign. Almost immediately, we hit our first snag. Two boys appeared in front of the store, standing in the middle of Main Street. To our horror, we saw that it was Matt and Paul. "Hey", yelled Matt, "Whatcha doin'?" "Can we come up?", hollered Paul. We shushed them and shooed them away, breathed a sigh of relief, and went about our business. We were carefully unhooking the sign and preparing to lower what was left of it to the ground, when the call came loud and clear from Paul, "We're going to come up and help with whatever you are doing!" "Or else", threatened Matt, "give us some money so we can go to the store before it closes!" We threw a few quarters down, lowered the sign to the side of the building, no easy feat for sure, did a quick look over the rest of the interior, and beat a hasty retreat before our nemesis made another appearance.

George's truck with an overhead camper, was going to serve as our get-away vehicle. We returned to the camper and called our sisters together. We told them what we had discovered in the store and related our experience in lowering what was left of the sign to the ground, where it was leaning against the side of the store by the window. We formulated our plan for the heist; Martha and I would continue our role as the cat burglars. Delores was designated as the driver of the get-away vehicle. Theresa was assigned as lookout number one and Edna as lookout number two. After dark, we would all get into the camper and Delores would drive us to the store, using a diversionary route. We would be dropped off on the street running along the side of the building. Delores would circle the block with her lights out, relying on what light was available from the street lights, and park just up Main Street on the same side as the store. Martha and I would immediately go to the side of the store where we had simplified our entry by leaving the window unbarred and open. Theresa and Edna were given flashlights, but cautioned about using them. They would be positioned in the empty field behind the store. Theresa would be at the back of the store and close to the street, midway down the field, and Edna would be close to the street at the end of the field. Their job. . . .watch for the "law" who, with all of the extra people in town, would be stepping up their patrols. In this case, the law was the notorious Sheriff Bicknell.

The teens and older preteens who would be in town in larger numbers, delighted in making mischief. They went out of their way to "outsmart" old Bicknell, as they called him, and were ingenious in their methods. Some of our own were included in that horde of mischievous juveniles. It would be embarrassing if any of them were up to no good while we were planning our own hiest. We had to be very careful that we were crossing all of our T's and dotting all of our I's.

If the coast was clear, the lookout's job was for Edna to hoot like an owl, one long drawn out hoot. Theresa, being closer to the store, would then hoot once to relay the signal to Martha and I, and loud enough for Delores to hear. If either of the lookouts detected anything suspicious, they would hoot twice and after a decent interval, two hoots would be relayed to us. If the law was spotted, the spotter would give three quick hoots. I want to say here that they had been practicing their hoots all day, and though Martha and I had not heard them, assured us they were confident their hooting was mastered to perfection.

All seemed to be progressing smoothly. Martha and I had covertly moved the sign closer to the street and were inside getting ready to set some of the antiques outside of the window. Then, Martha decided she wanted the wonderful old cash register and we lost precious time trying to move it. It was securely fastened to the counter which is undoubtedly why the previous thieves and vandals had been unable to abscond with it. (Thieves and vandals, I might add, who had no right to it??) Suddenly, we heard a hoot, and then two hoots, and then three hoots, and then four hoots. . . .four hoots?. . . .and then a virtual chorus of continuous hoots, sounding increasingly more frantic and wild. . . .What were those owls doing? We didn't have time to try and figure it out, but literally jumped out of the window, running before our feet touched the ground. We heard running and mad hooting behind us, which was accompanied by a weird sloshing sound. It seems, unbeknownst to our lookouts, that it was time for the field to be irrigated. The ditch at the end of the field where Edna was stationed, was full to overflowing, as was the ditch running along the street. The overflow was covering the field. It was dark and our lookouts were doing as they had been instructed, leaving their flashlights off. Edna stumbled into the ditch. Flaying wildly, she climbed out of it and plowed through the muddy field. Theresa started running toward Edna, then realized what she was doing, made an abrupt turn around, and sloshed through the ditch at the side of the street. They were wet and muddy almost to their waist, which explained the sloshing sound that was madly pursuing us.

At the same time that she saw a flashing light coming down Main Street, our get-away driver heard wild hooting and the pounding and sloshing of running feet. She quickly opened the passenger side door, started the truck and gunned the engine. As preplanned, the back door into the camper had been left open. Still hooting and with water and mud flying everywhere, the lookouts jumped into the cab of the truck. The burglars were racing to the back of the camper. Delores already had the truck in motion, leaving me to wonder if she had never heard that marvelous pledge, "No man Left Behind!" Martha jumped onto the bumper and with a mighty heave, Ina shoved her in, and with one foot on the bumper and Martha with a death grip on her hands, swung perilously back and forth as Delores tromped on the gas and took off. As we roared up the street, we heard Delores say, "I think you can stop with the hooting now".

Bicknell didn't catch us, if those flashing lights were even him, and two dirty, disgruntled and empty handed thieves, two tired, panicked, wet and muddy lookouts, and one frenzied, fired up and manically giggling get-away driver, were forced to abort their "Great Store Caper. It was such a perfect plan. . . .Where did we go wrong?

George wasn't too angry. It only took him two days to get all of the mud and water out of the truck and fix the door to the camper, and after he wrung a confession from us, he laughingly said, "Well, that was quite a "hoot", to say the least!" We still weren't done, though, as Martha and I had to sneak back to the store and make sure the window was closed and boarded up once again. Needless to say, we then laid low, kept our mouths shut (now, there is something to brag about) and didn't share the story of this "Caper Gone Wrong" with our families for quite some time.

The Amazing Pinion Pine Tree And The Equally Amazing Nut It Bears. . . .

Justin Paul Wimsatt


Thanks for the Pine Nuts
and the "Trip Down Memory Lane!"




A Pinion Pine Tree of the species that grows
on the Panaca Summit.

A close up picture of an open pine cone.



About ten days ago, I had a telephone call from Justin. He said, "Hey Grandma, I'm mailing you
some pine nuts. I'll be putting them in the mail tomorrow and you should receive them Friday or Saturday.' I was so excited when they arrived. They were very large pine nuts in the most beautiful deep brown and mahogany shades. I say "were" because I have already eaten all but a small hand full, and there were three very full zip lock bags.

When I was "Growing Up Ina" in the beautiful little town of Panaca, pine nuts were a normal part of my life. As a child, I don't think I realized what an amazing tree the pinion pine tree is, or what a delicacy the pine nut that it bears is considered. We just always had access to them. Referred to as "The Manna of the Mountains", in the history of the Southwest, the pinion pine tree (also called pinon or pinyon), grew in wild profusion on the summit going out of Panaca into Southern Utah. The species that grows there prefers elevations of 4,000 to 7,000 feet and likes a dry, rocky, alkaline soil. They are drought tolerant and can withstand fluctuations in the temperature. Among this species, a tree that reaches 35 feet can be often be found but generally they are much shorter, from 10 to 20 feet. They have a gnarled trunk and branches with bark that is irregularly furrowed and scaly. The pine nut is an important food source to many birds, especially the Pine Jay. Many animals, some large like the mule deer and black bear, forage for them. They are a healthy treat for humans, having more protein than any other nut. I have written in several of my stories of the pine nut's importance to the Indians of the American Southwest, as a means of sustenance and revenue.

Each year, Mom eagerly awaited the pine nut season. She had an uncanny sense of whether or not it was going to be a "good" pine nut harvesting year. In the spring when the trees started to bloom, she would ride to the summit and look at the trees. She could easily tell which were the male trees and which were the female, by the color of the blossoms. She would actually stake out areas where there were more of the male and female trees in close proximity.

When she deemed the time was right to start the harvest, we would rise early in the morning. Mom would have packed a substantial and delicious picnic lunch and would have plenty of water. We would have gloves, gunny sacks and tarps. Long sleeved shirts, long pants, and sturdy shoes, were worn to protect arms and legs from scratches and the sticky sap (pitch) of the trees. We seldom picked the cones. Mom preferred to harvest the nuts by gathering those that had fallen to the ground under the trees. From her previous scouting excursions, she knew which trees would have released the most pine nuts. It was a more painstaking chore to pick them up this way but you knew they were mature and you were leaving cones on the tree to assure that all of the pine nuts ripened. Plus, you avoided a lot of the sticky sap. Before picking up the nuts from the ground, we would spread a tarp under a tree and gently shake it. The cones that were mature and were open, would release many of the nuts that had not already fallen onto the ground. We would transfer them from the tarp to a gunny sack and then pick up those that were on the ground.

These were fun, joyous excursions. Often, Aunt Theresa would come from Alamo with our cousins. She would also have packed a picnic lunch and between the two there were many different and delicious foods to eat. Sometimes our Panaca cousins, Janice and Joyce Mathews, would join us. There was lots of love and laughter shared as we sorted the pine nuts under the shade of the pinion pine trees and huge boulders. We loved to watch the lizards and horned toads basking in the sun while the pocket mice, squirrels, chipmunks, and birds were busily doing their own harvesting around us. We would often see a family of owls nesting in one of the trees.

After we returned home with our harvest, one of the most delightful perks of our excursion took place as Mom roasted the pine nuts; the heavenly smell of pine and the outdoors which permeated our home as they roasted. Some of the nuts were stored raw for future roasting.

When I was in my teens, the "Pine Nut Bandits" were operating in large numbers. They decimated the pinion pine forest, destroying the trees and terrain. The BLM and local law enforcement agencies, working together with law enforcement from Southern Utah, did all they could to catch them and halt the destruction. It proved to be almost impossible. They would strike after dark, arriving in trucks and armed with chain saws. They would drive their trucks under a tree and cut off the entire top to get as many cones as they could, many of them not yet mature. Thus, trees were destroyed and pine nuts taken while they were far from being ready to harvest, with hundreds of pounds wasted. Large fines were levied if they were caught, but as most of these bandits came from out of state, few were. We watched large sections of the pinion forest destroyed and die before our eyes. It was so sad.

After I married and moved away, I eagerly checked my mail each day during the pine nut season. I knew that one day when I opened my mailbox, there would be a package from Mom containing a heavenly cache of pine nuts. Thanksgiving and Christmas always brought us pine nuts, suet pudding and lemon sauce, fruit cake, and peach melon and plum preserves. Those were the most precious of gifts; gathered, prepared, baked, and sent with love, by Mom.

AN ITEM OF INTEREST. . . .

I was looking through some of the old James Wadsworth Tribal Gazettes the other day for a piece of information I needed. While browsing the November 10, 1965 edition, I read this in Mom's news: "I have gone pine nutting some. Have picked up thirty-five pounds . I don't have that many left because I keep cooking some. I am going out today at noon for the first time this week. (Roxie Clay, Rachel, and I.)"

I am sure some of those thirty-five pounds were sent to us in California for Christmas.

ROASTING PINE NUTS THE LOIE WADSWORTH WAY. . . .

I have always roasted pine nuts the way Mom taught me; Preheat oven to 325 degrees. Spread a layer of pine nuts on the bottom of a cast iron skillet. Add water to come just to the top of the nuts. Add 1/8 to 1/4 cup of sea salt (personal preference). Place in oven and cook 15 to 30 minutes, size, thickness of shell and how done you want them, determining the cooking time. Check frequently, taking a nut from the center and checking to see if it is done to your preference. I like mine to be cooked to just seconds after the meat becomes translucent. Remove from oven and rinse with cool water to stop the cooking process. Drain and spread out on paper towels to absorb moisture. You can then place them back in the cooking vessel and return to the oven for a very few minutes to draw moisture from the shell (not long enough to further cook them). I like my meat soft. Some prefer to cook them to various shades of butterscotch. You will have more hard nuts at this point.

Talking to Paul the day I was roasting the pine nuts, he said he likes to go to the oven several times while they are cooking and open it, which lets that heavenly smell permeate the room. I agreed with him that it is a lovely thing to do.

HOW TO EAT A PINE NUT THE INA WIMSATT WAY. . . .

Throughout my 77 and a half years of life, I think I have become an expert on how to successfully eat a pine nut. If you watch George and I eat them, you will see that he does not have near the expertise in this field that I do (finally, something I do better than him!)

Here are my instructions of how to eat a pine nut; Grasp a pine nut by the small end between your thumb and forefinger. Insert nut into mouth. Fix your teeth a little below the half way point of the nut. Gently bite to crack the shell. Pull to remove the portion of shell held between your fingers. With you tongue, flip over the nut, allowing you to remove the remaining piece of shell while savoring the meat of the nut for a few heartbeats, until slowly and with complete joy, you chew and swallow. Often, with Brinton in mind (but that is another story), happily humming as you do so. If you have cooked them properly, this is a seldom fail experience.

I do have one fetish connected with eating pine nuts. I can't stand to waste one. If I accidentally bite too hard and cut the nut in half, rather than discard it, I find myself using my fingernails to open each half to get the meat out. Tedious, but I think each pine nut, regardless of how lowly, deserves their moment of martyrdom.

A GREENHORN'S PINE NUT EATING EXPERIENCE. . . .

I will end with this humorous story; After George got out of the navy, we were living in Garden Grove, California. George was working for his brother Jack, installing carpet. Jack and his wife Lee, were our nearest immediate family and we spent a lot of time at their home. We raved about pine nuts to them. They had never eaten them. One day, after a package containing pine nuts arrived from Mom, I excitedly showed them the nuts. Before we could stop him, Jack grabbed a hand full and popped the unroasted nuts, shell and all, into his mouth. He chewed and chewed while a slide show of expressions moved across his face. Finally, as we watched in awe, he gave a great gulp and swallowed. He grimaced and announced, "Well, I don't see what is so great about pine nuts. Eating them is not what I would call a pleasant experience!"

Thank you, Justin, for this "Trip Down Memory Lane".

Muggles and Grady. . . .BFF

The beautiful dog shown here with Muggles and I at Quail Run Dog Park is Grady, a Harlequin Great Dane.

Grady and Jillian, the young woman who owned him from the time he was a tiny puppy, always went to the park early in the morning. Since Muggles and I also go early in the morning, they soon became friends.

Grady was always a perfect gentlemen. He was gentle and well behaved. He was very old for a Great Dane, almost eleven, which is past the average life span for a Great Dane. One day I asked Gillian, "How old is Grady?" She looked at me and whispered, "He is almost eleven but we don't tell him that."

It was so much fun to see Grady and Muggles playing together. Their size and coloring were such a beautiful contrast. Gillian would throw a ball for Grady and Muggles would wait her chance to grab it and then just try getting it away from her, it was now her ball. Tease that she is, she would pretend she was going to give it back, but when we would make a move toward it, she would give a little growl, grab it and dash away. Gillian and several other people at the park, began to bring an extra ball so when Muggles grabbed one and ran, there would still be a ball for the other dogs to play with. Grady was very patient with Muggles. He acted like he didn't notice her running under his belly and in out of his legs. . . . it was her own personal obstacle course.

Sadly, Grady passed away a few months ago. But when it happened, he was doing what he loved the most; playing at the dog park with Gillian and the rest of his friends. He was so happy and there was no pain, but I was glad that Muggles and I were not at the park that day.

George printed these pictures for me today and I decided I would post them as a tribute to Grady and thank him for being mine and Muggles' friend.

Love Is In The Air. . . .Sweet, Sweet Love. . . .#3

The picture of Delores and I was taken in December of 1950 in front of our house. Oh No!, We're standing by Ollie's new Oldsmobile.

The picture of George was taken in 1948. What a hunk! You could drown in those eyes! We started dating soon after the picture was taken.

In Chapter 2, writing of my romance with George Wimsatt, upon the advise of my sweet sister Theresa, I had ignored the "take a hike" letter he had written me in February from Washington D.C. and replied with a friendly, "How are you?" I told him I would be returning to Panaca in a week. I did, and once again found myself waiting, with butterflies in my stomach, for his letter to arrive.

I settled in at the job I had waiting for me. I would be taking care of two little boys five days a week while their mother, Margaret Jones, worked. It wasn't a bad job and as I had been interviewed and hired as secretary to Esther Rollins, the Lincoln County Clerk, I knew it was only going to be for a few weeks.

I was glad to be home and soon settled into a routine; up every morning at 6:00 and to work by 7:15. My days were filled with all of the activities necessary to keep two little boys entertained and happy; food, play, food, reading endless stories, food, putting shoes and stockings back on several times an hour, food. . . . .Would nap time never come?

The highlight of each day was our walk after lunch to the post office where I eagerly looked into P.O. Box 72 for a letter postmarked Washington D.C. Each day was the same, no letter from George, making the walk home with two little boys dripping ice cream down the front of their shirts, unbearably long. I didn't give up, though. I mean, how could he possibly be so dumb? I never doubted (well, maybe just a little) that soon he would come to his senses.

One cold, windy February day , I had just put the little boys down for their nap, when I heard knocking at the door. I opened it, and to my heart racing surprise, Gino and George were standing there. We very politely exchanged hellos and a subdued "I didn't know you were back." Then Gino said, "We came to see if Wanda was here." Yeah sure, as if Gino, who had written Wanda every few days from D.C. didn't know that she was working in Caliente. I felt a sense of triumph when George, who had barely spoken to me, blandly asked, "Are you going to Las Vegas to the regional basketball finals this weekend?" With ideas already spinning in my head, I replied, also in a bland way, "Yes, I am." They left and I started formulating my master plan.

The previous December, I had sent some beautiful red and green velvet material home from Salt Lake City with a picture of a jumper, asking mom if she could make it for Delores and I for Christmas. I also sent some luxurious white satin and told her I wanted a blouse with long full sleeves to wear with it. I had purchased gold metal link belts and black suede duck bill shoes to complete our outfits (see above picture). I loved the finished product and felt very feminine and pretty when I wore it.

I wore my beautiful outfit to the game. I was with a group of friends and was very aware of George sitting in the bleachers several rows above me. I could feel him watching me and it took all of my will power not to turn and look up at him. I knew I looked good and was trying very hard to show him what a great time I was having and that I was not even aware he was there.

The game was exciting and intense. At half time, with our Lincoln County Lynx hanging on to a slim lead, I was exhausted from the frenzy and tension of the game and the effort of all of my dramatics (for George's benefit). I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned and George was standing there. He said, "Can I come and see you Tuesday?" I said, "Yes." He walked away and feeling as if I was going to faint, I turned back to my friends.

I guess the second half of the game was as exciting and intense as the first half had been, but I was hardly aware of what was happening around me. There was a roaring in my ears that could not have been attributed to the excitement and frenzy of the crowd. It was taking all of my willpower to stay focused. I desperately wanted to turn and see if George was still there. When the game ended with the Lynx victorious, I finally turned to see George laughing and talking with Gino and several other friends. He looked at me and smiled.

With dramatics forgotten, I smiled back and prepared to return to Panaca where, with butterflies in my stomach, I would wait for Tuesday to arrive.

To be continued. . . .