An Introduction
Scott Mclean
Coyote Canyon Winery
Until I was 7 we lived on Cox road which became Beffa as soon as you crossed Rosenkranz. Country street names are sometimes confusing. Our house came from my Grandpa Sorenson and the original part was actually made of logs. There was the smaller house about 50 yards away that had been built for my Aunt Wanda (Honey) and Uncle Stan. The place was 10 acres and those were the only houses on that stretch so we had room to roam. There was even a hill in the pasture which made a safe backdrop for target shooting. Wild game was a big part of our diet so shooting well was important.
We, like a lot of houses at the time, had a cistern instead of a well. When I think back to my Dad and Uncle cleaning it and pouring in chlorine it seems kind of gross. We knew nothing else at the time so it was normal.
My Grandma Sorenson died when I was about 4 so my 2 younger siblings had no memories of her. I remember walking into her house and saying I smell pie. She always had some apple pies in the freezer and before you knew it the smell would be real.
My Grandpa did the refrigeration and mechanical for what was Blue Ribbon then and later became Snokist. Their house was on the warehouse property. I would do temperature checks of the cold storage rooms with Grandpa and he always bought me a pop. They had one of the old chest type machines in which the bottles hung by the caps. You would slide the bottle you wanted to the opening and it would be released when you put in your money. I liked the Noel creme soda. It had no label and a blue cap. The pop was yellow and Grandpa always said it looked like horse piss with the foam farted off.
I’m going to backtrack a little here so bear with me. As I said before, hunting was an important part of my family makeup. Occasionally, my Mom and Aunt Wanda would meet my Dad and my two uncles to bring them some lunch. My Dad had the exceptional luck to manage getting his deer or elk close to the Jeep. I guess I was about two when my Mom and aunt met them for lunch.
The three already had a fire going so Mom could brew some coffee. She had a big granite wear pot that I think was older than her. For those of you who have not experienced it, mountain or as some call it, cowboy coffee was made like this.
- The water in the pot was brought to a boil
- Handfuls, yes I said handfuls of coffee were thrown in.
- When it brewed enough you took it off the fire and put a little cold water in to settle the grounds.
Not elegant but a welcome drink when you’re in the mountains on a cold day.
I studied everything my dad did and figured out how things worked. Because they had seen deer sign around the men had their rifles loaded and leaning against a tree. Two year old me walked over to dad’s .270, flipped off the safety, and pulled the trigger. It’s probably an exaggeration but I was told my uncle jumped clear over the fire. Dad said I got a shocked look then started clapping my hands and laughing.
Needless to say, rifles were not left loaded and unattended in my presence after that.
Around the same time, Dad bought our first Jeep. It was a 1946 Willys with a metal top. It was painted a terrible mixture of pink and blue with what looked like house paint. *I still have my 47 flat fender Jeep. Dad had a 57 Ford station wagon and was adjusting the carburetor one day. I was watching what he did like usual. Mom called him into the house and when he came out I had the carburetor off and was starting to disassemble it. Not what he wanted. This curiosity eventually led to me working on anything mechanical for years.
I’ll be back!