ProletariArt, Art for Commoners

Methow Valley News publication, Feb 24, 2016

Melissa Kendrick, one of Carlton’s permanent artists-in-residence, studied at the Art Institute of Seattle and ran her studio, ProletariArt, Art for Commoners, in a Seattle neighborhood. The studio was named out of Melissa’s deep conviction that art should be accessible to everyone, regardless of income or ability.

In her Seattle studio, Melissa kept the design comfortable by including dressers and tables to create a “living room” atmosphere. During art shows, gallery-goers could enjoy the displayed art by various artists, and create their own art within the studio at stations set up with art materials.

Today, Melissa is bringing ProletariArt, Art for Commoners, to the Methow Valley by offering affordable art classes in a comfortable party atmosphere. This week, she hosted a Critter Felting class at her home in Carlton. The cost was $15 to cover materials, and guests learned how to create their own felted critter in class. We got to keep our critters, and were sent home with a small gift bag that included a felting kit.

Photos courtesy of Melissa Kendrick

Felted critters created by guests at Melissa Kendrick’s ProletariArt, Art for Commoners party in Carlton

The party kicked off with a light luncheon Melissa had expertly prepared: mini quiches, cheese and crackers, and fruit-filled pastries. We gathered around the table where Melissa had set up felting stations for each guest, and an array of project examples: sweaters with felted flower accents, a handbag with fanciful felted swirls that added color and texture, and felted puppies, birds and butterflies.

Fellow party animal Katherine Perkins confided that her crafting skills left much to be desired. “I took a knitting class, and was told my stitches were ‘not a mark of excellence.’ The only reason I was marginally successful at knitting a hat was because the circle was supposed to get smaller,” she said.

I followed up her tale of failure with one of my own from last week — an attempt at weaving a basket out of tree fronds was met with a look of pity from the instructor and a firm “non, non, non, non, non” as she declared my basket unsuitable.

Over mimosas, Melissa gave a brief introduction on how to use a felting needle. As the balls of loose fluff transformed into dense shapes on our felting blocks, she demonstrated how to add more details, such a turn in the neck, a bend in the ear, or the shape of a haunch. The final lesson was how to add patches of color to the critter.

Katherine tackled a ball of white fluff with a felting needle and within a short time a well-formed bunny took shape. It was excellent.

I tried my hand at making a felted spring robin with a patch of orange across the neck. It was easier and much more fun than wrestling tree fronds.

Anyone can host a ProletariArt party and bring art to their guests in the relaxing atmosphere of their own home. Guests keep their creations and go home with a kit so they can make more art. Melissa has a creative agenda of art ideas for birthdays, get-togethers, and showers. Her goal is to keep costs affordable and the art fun and accessible, regardless of age or abilities. She can be reached at melissaakendrick@gmail.com or (206) 604-2206.

Honey Oat Breakfast Biscuits

While vacationing in Tanzania, we indulged in dense, oat-ey, slightly sweet biscuits served with tea and cream each morning and afternoon. I remember both the biscuits and the lions with equal fondness.

Just look at those happy kitties - bellies full of breakfast biscuits...or breakfast gazelles.

So after several years, I decided to try to recreate the tea biscuits. I had several different flours on hand, and tried to use the different mixtures to get a full bodied biscuit with a pleasing flavor, and filling texture.


1 cup graham flour
1/2 cup almond flour
1/2 cup steel cut oats
1/2 cup whole wheat flour
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 egg
2 tablespoons melted butter
1/4 cup honey
1/4 cup vanilla powder (powdered sugar with vanilla flavoring. Can substitute with 1/4 cup powdered sugar and 1/2 teaspoon vanilla flavoring)

Whisk together the dry ingredients. Stir in the liquid ingredients until just combined. Turn out dough onto a well-floured surface and with a rolling pin, roll out dough to a 1/2 inch thickness. Using cookie cutter, punch out shapes in the dough and place on a cookie sheet lined with parchment paper. Back at 325 degrees for 15 minutes, cool on a wire rack.
Top oat biscuits with nutella, jam, peanut butter, or fruit.

The Invention of Babysitters in the Methow

Lower Valley News, originally published 10 February 2016 Methow Valley News
Just about everyone in the Methow Valley might be living on a piece of history. On Libby Creek, Wendy and Bill Snook live in a red cabin, next to a pair of quiet ponds and a bubbling creek. Being the curious type, Wendy searched out the story of their homestead through interviews and article research, including the archives of the Methow Valley News.
Their cabin was originally built in 1906 by Martin Bockhop, a German immigrant. Twelve years earlier, Bockhop emigrated from Germany to San Francisco. In 1898 he joined the Klondike gold rush and spent nearly a decade mining in Alaska before moving to the Methow Valley.
Bockhop built a one-room cabin along Smith Creek in the Libby Creek area. His neighbors were the Smith family. Wendy spoke with Deke Smith before he passed away about his German neighbor. Deke remembered Bockhop well. Deke called his friendly neighbor “Wooden Foot,” for his slight limp, and teased him for his German accent.
Later in life, Bockhop moved to Carlton and lived his last four years on the main street. He grew beautiful shrubs and flowers and even tried his hand at developing a black tulip variety. Martin passed away in 1938.
For a time, Deke used Bockhop’s cabin as a way station when he herded cattle. Bill Snook bought the place in the 1980s and brought the cabin into the 20th century with indoor plumbing, electricity and modern upgrades.
Today, the kitchen overlooks a warm living room with vaulted ceilings and a view of the wide porch overlooking Smith Creek and a pair of ponds.
When reading up on Deke Smith, I found another interview with him by Ron Strickland, recounted in his book, River Pigs and Cayuses: Oral Histories from the Pacific Northwest. The book can be found at the Twisp library. The introduction is picturesque: Deke standing in the doorway of his home on Smith Canyon, overlooking the mountains. Deke talked about the dwindling population of the Methow Indians, the salmon, the game and, then, the homesteaders as they lost their homes during the Depression. In Deke’s lifetime, even the language was lost. As a boy, Deke learned to speak Chinook, the region’s trade language. No one used it anymore.
He talked about the summer encampment on Libby Creek, when Methow Indians caught salmon from the creek, hunted deer, and gathered roots and berries. When winter came, the Methows would move down valley closer to the confluence of the Methow and Columbia rivers. “No Indian ever stayed here in winter. They were smarter than that. You’d never see an Indian shoveling snow,” Deke said.
Deke recalled the winter parties that the settlers threw to pass the long winter’s nights. Everyone, from babies to grandparents, would gather at a neighbor’s house and dance and feast. Hard cider and fiddlers made the long winter nights enjoyable.
On one such night, some “hooligans” decided to have some fun. Sneaking into a roomful of sleeping babies, they switched all the baby blankets. Later that night, when the temperatures were well below zero, the mothers gathered up their babies without waking them, identifying their bundles by the blankets. When the babies awoke later that morning, everyone had to drive long distances to trade babies. Perhaps this is why “babysitters” were soon invented.

Preserving a Culture and Building a Community

Originally published 10 February 2016, Methow Valley News

Photo courtesy of Wenatchee Valley Museum

The original site of the Miller-Freer Trading Post is near the radio towers on the Haran Nature Trail in Wenatchee, Washington. The trading post was moved to the Historic Museum and Pioneer Village in Cashmere.

Editor’s note: For more than 13,000 years, Native Americans have lived along the waterways of the Pacific Northwest. Columbia River tribes share the names of waterways they call home: the Entiats, the Wenatchiis, the Chelans, the Lakes, the Okanagans and the Methows.
Members of the Miller family are the longest known continuous residents of the Methow Valley. Descended from indigenous Methows, their story is told through generations by the intricacies of their artwork, their native language, their connection to the land and their dedication to building strong communities.
They generously agreed to share their story with the Methow Valley News. In a five-part series, we will share the history of the Methows through the Millers. Following is the final installment.

The Miller family’s story is intertwined with the Methow Valley’s history

By Joanna Bastian
The establishment of Wenatchee as a central Washington economic hub can be credited to the great-great-great-grandfather of the Miller family in the lower Methow Valley: Sam Miller.
Wenatchee’s first store served as a post office and bank. Operated by Miller and two of his friends, the Freer brothers, it was located at the confluence of the Columbia and Wenatchee rivers — a popular gathering spot for Northwest Native Americans.
Chos Chostq, also known as Nancy Paul, was traveling with her Methow Valley family when they rested at the river confluence. There, she met Sam Miller. The two fell in love and were soon married.

Photo courtesy of Wenatchee Valley Museum

Sam Miller with the Freer children.

Miller kept detailed records of the Miller-Freer trading post transactions. Rod Molzahn, a writer and Wenatchee historian, has studied the ledger books for years. Molzahn gives lectures and has written papers about the commerce that built Wenatchee.
The ledger includes such famous Native American names as Entiat chief Shil-Ho-Saskt and Wapato John from Lake Chelan. The records show that Native Americans paid promptly for their purchases with cash. Miners also paid up front. Chinese miners had individual accounts totaling hundreds of dollars.
White settlers had a very different relationship with the store. “They usually arrived with little or no money but with an immediate need for supplies and food staples,” Molzahn explained. “Sam gave them credit until their gardens and fields began producing.”
Miller realized that the settlers needed a labor force to haul logs, build fences and clear land. He also knew that settlers could not afford to pay workers. In the store’s ledger, it becomes apparent that he found a solution for everyone. The accounts show that he extended credit to the settlers so that they could pay Native Americans cash to help build their homes and clear the land. The settlers repaid Sam with lumber, logs, vegetables and labor hours at the store.

Back to the Methow

Miller and the store were thriving. Nancy Miller, however, grew sadder with each day. She spoke little English, and her husband only knew a few basic words of Salish. Nancy became more and more homesick with each passing month.
In a Wenatchee World interview, dated Feb. 9, 1978, Jerome Miller spoke with Bernice Gellatly Greene about his grandmother Nancy Miller.
“She stuck it out for a couple of years. She went back to the Methow where her baby was born. She named him Samuel C. Miller Jr., giving him also the Indian name Yahwhaskeent for her maternal grandfather,” Jerome Miller said. “Samuel C. Miller Jr. became my father. My grandfather took good care of them. He always saw to it that they never lacked for anything.”
Soon after Nancy left, Sam Miller’s friends and co-owners of the trading post, the Freer brothers, both passed away, leaving five young children and two young widows — who were also Native American. Sam raised the Freer children as his own, and made sure the Freer wives were provided for. The women continued to live and work at the trading post after their husbands died.
Sam lived out his life in Wenatchee, passing away in 1906 at the age of 78. The adult Freer children cared for him in his last years.
Nancy Chos Chostq lived to be almost 100 years old in the Methow Valley, at her home along the bend in the river below the bluffs at the mouth of the Methow River. She is buried in the family cemetery in the Methow Valley.
The Wenatchee Valley Museum has the original journal of the Miller-Freer Trading Post from 1872 to 1889. The site of Sam Miller’s store can be seen from the Haran Nature Trail in Wenatchee. The store itself was preserved and moved to the Pioneer Village at the historic Cashmere museum.
Sam Miller brought people together from all cultures to create and nourish a thriving community. He worked with Chief Moses to help preserve the Native American culture that had suffered war, disease and discrimination.

Photo courtesy of the Miller family

Lewis and Mary Miller at the Wenatchee Apple Blossom Parade in 2008.

Tradition matters

The Miller family continues to preserve their culture and create thriving communities. Education and community service are treasured family values.
Jerome Miller, Sam’s grandson, married Agnes Peter from the Moses Tribe. They had two children: Lewis and Mary. Lewis served on the Pateros School Board for decades, while Mary worked with Jerome to preserve the Salish language and stories by recording elders narrating their history in their native language. Jerome and Mary then transcribed those recordings, creating a phonetic dictionary of the Salish language with linguistic professors from the University of Victoria, B.C.
Lewis married Elsie Grunlose from the Entiat tribe. They had seven children: Lewis Jr., Roberta, Leon, Thomas, Cyndy, Vernon and Mark. Lewis Jr. served in the U.S. Navy as an officer and flew 235 combat missions in the Vietnam War before retiring from the military. He served as a medical rescue pilot in Utah for several decades before he retired to the Methow Valley.
Roberta worked as a cultural anthropologist and lobbyist to advance human rights. Thomas’ son Tommy recently graduated from Harvard Law School with honors and works with the Colville Confederated Tribes to advocate for Native American issues. Cyndy works to preserve traditional artistry through weaving. Mark is a physical therapist, and after the 2014 Carlton Complex Fires he is working with other community members to create a nonprofit support and resource center in Pateros.
Despite hardship and adversity, the Miller family continues to preserve its cultural history, while advocating for human rights and creating educational opportunities for future generations. “We are the Millers” is an empowering family motto that encompasses strength, perseverance and compassion for their family and community.

The Way To A Man's Heart Is Through a Braised Lamb Shank

Joe loved this one.

Two lamb shanks
Olive Oil
Sweet onion
1 quart broth
1 quart tomato sauce
1/2 bottle red wine
Tablespoon garlic powder
Tablespoon onion powder
Tablespoon celery salt
2 Tablespoons italian dried herb mix
1 bunch fresh rosemary sprigs

Sear meat on top of the stove on high heat in a dutch oven.
Remove meat, add olive oil and cook onions until brown and translucent.
Add broth, tomato sauce, wine, and seasonings. Return meat to pan, bring to a boil.
Transfer open pot to preheated oven, bake at 350 degrees for two hours.

A Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again

Original Lower Valley column published 27 January 2016, Methow Valley News

I attended Lynette Westendorf’s annual birthday concert, “A Whimsical Retrospective of My Life in Music.” It was a gift to hear her musical journey, beginning with early piano recitals, shenanigans on the organ bench in church services, road trips with the band, and all the life experiences that continue to inspire her creative compositions. Her personal stories included their move to the Methow during winter, and it reminded me of a fun thing I’ll never do again: move to the Methow in the middle of a snowstorm.

The route to our house is simple: over the river and through the woods — and up a steep hill.

Throughout the day, snow fell softly in large soft flakes. Surrounded by trees and the steady sound of the creek, the day felt magical, as if we were in a snow globe. The movers were from Southern California and had never seen snow. They were giddy with wonder, pausing to catch snowflakes on their tongues and fingertips. They talked about how their wives would love it here, and maybe they should move here too. Everything was going surprisingly well until it was the piano’s turn to come out of the moving truck.

By then, the snow was falling in heavy drifts. The men were tired and had long since stopped marveling at the weather. The last item in the truck was the baby grand piano. On this day, with her legs removed, and the soundboard swaddled tightly in quilts and shrink wrapped, she was a perfect dead weight primed for luging.

They balanced her on the long side of the soundboard and slid her from the back of the truck to the ramp. One mover clipped his weight belt to a strap around the piano. Another positioned himself in front of her, bracing as they gingerly inched her down the ramp. Snow fell thickly, coating the ramp faster than anyone could sweep it clean. The man in front of the piano lost his footing and tumbled off the ramp.

Now without a force holding her back, the piano slid down the ramp, and gained speed as she glissaded down, down, down the driveway, dragging the poor little mover behind her, still attached by his weight belt. The soundboard hummed in glee while the man screamed, “Why does God hate me so much?” I remember these words well, as he was surprisingly articulate while sledding on a piano. If I were in a similar position, being dragged by a large musical instrument, I would be capable of just one elongated syllable, certainly not a complete sentence comprised of seven words. It was impressive.

With surprising speed and agility, the other mover sprinted after them and gallantly threw himself in the path of the inebriated instrument, stopping her gallivanting escapade. The movers seemed surprisingly unfazed by the incident and had her up the hill and safely in the house in what seemed like minutes.

Moral of the story: Pianos aim to be entertaining, even when no one is sitting at the bench.