Copyright 2019 - Custom text here

Scotty's Blog

 

   So yesterday I had the opportunity to participate in another rite of passage with my oldest son Marcus. He turned 18 back in June and November 7th, 2017 will go down in history as a very special day.

 

When I first moved to Idaho I had no intentions of staying here. I only came out to move my mom and sister here, then I was headed back the first chance I got. I was a young 19 year old Oklahoma boy back in May of 1995 and wanted nothing to do with Idaho.  Here is why I stayed.

 

   I have always loved harvest time. I only really started to understand what harvest was all about when I went to work for the Searle family driving truck. I drove a “Ten Wheeler” hauling the potatoes and sugar beets from the field to either the cellar for potatoes or the beet dump for the beets. It was this experience that helped me to understand why I could feel a

 

    I started this day off in a not so stellar manner. I woke up, got ready, hopped in my Suburban and pulled out of the lane. After I made it down the road about a hundred yards I noticed that my Suburban was not handling like it should.

 

   I recently had an experience that shook my culinary foundations. More specifically my love of pies. It came in the form of a cinnamon influenced trance.

 

 

   Yesterday I was talking with a great friend of mine. He has lived here in South Central Idaho all of his life and is well steeped in the colloquialisms of this area. These bits of local lingo are what I wish to discuss today.

 

   During our conversation there was a reoccurring phrase that kept popping up.