Clover grew up in central
Maine. Her father built their log cabin using only hand tools
and dug their well by hand. Electricity and phones were unknown
luxuries. The family used kerosene lamps to see by at night.
They used a hand pump to get water from the well to the soapstone
sink. They had one wood burning stove for heat and one for
cooking. Try baking a cake in a wood burning stove. Clover
thought she was Laura Ingalls Wilder.
Each day, Clover walked a half mile to catch the school bus in
the morning and another half mile to get home at night. No
kidding! She used those old antique snowshoes to break a path
in the winter, not knowing that modern snowshoes existed. Often
she would cross-country ski the half mile. If she'd been paying closer
attention, Clover would have learned how to can and preserve
vegetables from the garden and how to butcher a moose, a deer, or
a chicken. One thing she did learn was how to plant a garden. Her
green thumb is with her today.
Throughout the years, Clover traveled quite a bit around the
United States. One trip took her through Colorado on a greyhound
bus. She gazed out the window at the snow-capped mountains
and made herself a promise that would shape her future. She promised
herself that one day, when she had the opportunity, she would come back
and play in those beautiful mountains.
After waiting tables each winter in Naples, FL and in various New England
tourist towns each summer for too many years, Clover decided that it was time
to settle down. She packed her car with her dog, Rhoda and all of her
belongings, drew a radius on the map and headed west. It was May of
1998 when Clover pulled into town, got a job at Cafe Alpine and a room
in a Warrior's Mark duplex. It was a beautiful summer filled with magnificent
hikes.
©