People put the darndest notes with their orders for books. An order today from a man in Detroit Lakes included a note which said that he especially liked my article about Fenway Park, since his father took care of the plumbing at Fenway for 35 years. This gentleman "grew up in the bleachers" at Fenway, he said, and misses the park a great deal. What a childhood that must have been!

Another wrote a long letter about saving barns, and a third told about his barbarian (his term, not mine) relatives who tore down the old buildings on his parents' farm.

AUNT EDE called today--word of the entry below about her elk steak reached her, and she just had to clarify that she has a little help with making her elk steak (hunted by Uncle Orv in the mountains of eastern Oregon, near Uncle Don and Aunt Lois' ranch) soft and tender. Al the butcher pounds the daylights out of it, she said. So, that's the secret. But Ede's spices don't do any harm, that's for sure.