After seeing the report on weather nationwide tonight, I guess we were pretty lucky this weekend. There was rain Saturday morning, Sunday night and this morning but it could certainly have been worse. We ate every meal outside except Saturday breakfast and the last half of Sunday night supper.  Yesterday, Harriet and I got in a nice walk along the lakeshore, and of course we had two fine road trips.

There was a downside, however. First, while we were gone yesterday to the BBQ contest, apparently a young girl was careening down the camp road from the entrance on her bike, tried to turn at our road, hit a hole at the edge of road, and was thrown toward the back end of our trailer hard enough to break the taillight. As far as we know, no one actually saw it happen but the man who told us about it was camped two rows up the hill and heard her hit. He thought she injured her arm but we never found out who she was, where they were camped, or how she is now.

In addition, we had some technical malfunctions. Saturday night our water pump gave up the ghost. So we had to make do with a couple jugs of water for dishes, etc., three gallon jugs for drinking and cooking, and the campground shower facilities. Almost like REALLY camping. Also our new wireless speaker, a gift from son Pat, produced nothing but static. And Ken and Harriet's shower ran hot and cold--literally. The faucet didn't seem to want to blend so just switched back and forth.

Quite a memorable Memorial Day weekend.

The barbecue contest in Valley Junction Sunday was sanctioned by the Kansas City Barbecue Society and hence followed very strict rules. It is amazing to wander down Main Street checking out the rigs of the 36 competitors. These range from a portable smoker pulled on a small open trailer with an Escape to outdoor kitchens containing more than one smoker and/or grill; tents, canopies or trailers to work in; and clever names displayed through matching paint jobs and graphics on tow vehicle, camper, and equipment trailers.

The aromas floating down the street of course are wonderful. The actual competition goes for two hours, with samples of four different entries--chicken, pork, ribs, and brisket--being delivered to the judges every half hour. Each sample is carefully prepared by the contestant and a specified number of pieces arranged in a carry-out container, often on a bed of parsley or similar garnish. Judges are sequestered but they sit at tables of six and sample and rate different contestant's entries every round.

While the judging is going on and our traveling companions were thus occupied, we explored  the quaint shops and galleries of Valley Junction. Butch asked how much the 12-foot fiberglass chicken was at The Atomic Garage and was told "Fifty-nine cents a pound." I think she's been asked before.

Of particular interest to us is that the judges and table captains can take their samples with them after the contest, so at night after one of these contests, we feast on excellent barbecue. Sometimes, pieces have a bite out of them, but hey, we're all family, right?

If you're under 10, that is. Yesterday, the rain stopped about 9:00 am and from inside the closed trailer, I could hear the cacophony of dozens of kids voices suddenly being ejected from their tents, popups and campers by their parents or bursting out on their own, ready to end their boredom.

It was still cool and a little drizzly, so my entertainment was watching  them race by in a variety of attire that would do a Hollywood costume designer proud. One kid in a slicker carried a nerf machine gun, but would have looked more menacing in something other than the light blue Disney flannel pajama bottoms. My favorite was a boy in ingenious rain gear made from a large black garbage bag, complete with a peaked hood and belted at the waist. It went to the ground and he looked like one of the Sand People from Star Wars, especially wielding his Nerf gun as he stalked the drainage dish alongside the road and peered into culverts on the hunt for terrorists or aliens. A little girl spent the day in what looked like winter boots, black tights, a lime green flouncy net skirt, and a pink windbreaker. Several kids zoomed by on bikes or chased each other, their shoes and pants soaked to the knees. I'm surprised Mattell hasn't found a way to market puddles.

We took a little road trip (dressed more conservatively) in the afternoon and checked out West End Architectural Salvage, a fascinating array of junk and cool stuff made from junk filling four floors of an old warehouse in Des Moines. It is also the subject of a TV series on HGTV or DIY. And we capped our stressful day back at the campground with grilled salmon, sauteed Brussels sprouts, two rice dishes, coleslaw, homemade sourdough bread, banana cake and ice cream.

It's cloudy and cool this morning but not raining. We'll hope that holds for the barbecue contest this afternoon in Valley Junction where Ken and Harriet are judging. I have to go pick out my outfit. I wonder if we brought garbage bags>

It is Memorial Day weekend. We have had these sites reserved at Lake Ahquabi State Park south of Des Moines since the ninety day window opened in February. TV ads the last few weeks have shown people outside in bright sun, grilling, swimming, and partying, enjoying the holiday weekend.

It is raining. A solid, steady rain for a while and then it rains harder. Pounds on the roof of the camper relentlessly until it can't possibly rain any harder. And then it rains harder. Vehicles occasionally leave the campground, probably in search of a dry breakfast somewhere. Thunder rumbles, not crashing or threatening--just a reminder that all the checklists in the world don't let you control the weather.

It's cozy inside. Little lights glow around me like the candles and lanterns of yesteryear, but this is the electronic age, after all. A red light on the wall indicates the water pump is on, an orange one on the percolator tells us the coffee is ready, a yellowish nightlight in the shape of a Coleman lantern cozies up a corner, and a green light means the Kindle is done charging. I realize we're not roughing it, but this morning I'm glad not to be in a tent.

I think there will be sausage and corn fritters for breakfast--when I get so inspired. For now a little reading, wrapped in a fleece blanket. It is very peaceful.

A little late, but I want to honor the memory of three of the strongest women I have ever known. Today, when it sometimes seems that the pendulum of women's rights and equality gets caught on the ever-annoying Barbie image and the priorities of appearance, rail-thinness, and long high-maintenance hairdos whipping in the wind, I think of the example set by these three (among many others, I grant) at a time when such behavior was much more of a struggle. I  am sorry that my daughter did not ever get to know her grandmother better, and that Mother's other granddaughters, Leslie, Natalie, and Hayley, really didn't know her at all. Her great granddaughters, Brooke, Jessi and Sophie never had a chance to know her because her life was cut short at a very young 64. Even my sisters had very little contact with their grandmothers before their deaths.

My mother, Eleanor Jensen Musser, struggled her whole life, cheated by the Depression out of the opportunity to become a nurse, and found herself at 42 divorced with five children still at home, no child support, and no marketable skills. She worked two jobs until she had proved her skill at managing a clothing store and was promoted to manager. She became a respected business woman who was also active in several organizations. She could make a meal for six out of practically nothing, a prom dress out of rummage sale remnants, and a Christmas out of tinsel. Later in life she became a huge Iowa Hawkeye fan as well as of Iowa State wrestling. I think her greatest hope was to sometime have a quiet, well-behaved meal with her children and grandchildren. It never happened. She was especially tickled in the early 80s to call me and tell me that two college boys took her out for lunch--our son, who was at UNI and a friend. Even though they "took her out," I'm pretty sure she picked up the tab.

Selma Hermanson Jensen, my maternal grandmother, was a second-generation Norwegian -American who grew up in southern Minnesota. I don't know that she ever traveled out of the Midwest. Family legend says that when she married my grandfather, a Danish immigrant, his family in Denmark were quite wary and disapproving of the marriage, because she was, after all, Norwegian. But when she wrote them letters and Grandpa didn't, they reconsidered and decided she mush be a hard worker and therefore acceptable. She was a marvelous cook; she made angel food cakes that made today's box versions seem like styrofoam, and she whipped the egg whites by hand in a copper bowl. Her cinnamon rolls ruined me for every one I've tasted since. She gardened, canned, kept an immaculate house, was very involved in church work, and doted on her grandchildren. In the rare moments she sat down, she crocheted items that could have stretched to the moon and hand-sewed lace on slips and dresses for baby granddaughters. Her life, too, was cut short at 62 by a freak infection contracted during what was supposed to be a routine surgery.

Elizabeth Thompson Musser, my paternal grandmother, grew up in Grand Island, Nebraska, the youngest of five, and lost her mother shortly after she was born. During her childhood, she sometimes traveled with her father, a circuit court judge, and did her schoolwork at the judge's bench during court. She spent summers with cousins in the Sand Hills who lived in a sod house. Most amazing to me, after high school she enrolled in the engineering program at the University of Colorado. She got married and didn't finish, but she must have been one of the first to even try it. Grandma Betty lived in Seattle; Jersey City, NJ; Manhattan; and Iowa before she and my grandfather settled in southern Minnesota. Later, after Pa Ben, our grandfather, died, she traveled extensively, hitting all lower 48 states and Europe several times. Shortly before she died, she tried and failed to get a visa to go to Russia. She worked to get a public library in her small town, was in the League of Women Voters, a state Republican committeewoman (back when Republicans were still moderates), and instrumental in getting a black gospel choir in from Minneapolis to perform. She painted, gardened, and had a very unique decorating style. She collected antiques when few people did, had one of three sets of yellow Wedgewood china in the United States, and made bedroom curtains out of surplus parachutes.

We were also fortunate to have several wonderful aunts as examples. They all had high expectations of my generation and didn't hesitate to let us know. In my entire childhood, I do not remember a racial or ethnic joke or slur used at any family gatherings, with the exception of a few about the Norwegians and the Danes exchanged at the Jensen house. I know these women had their faults and weaknesses; but this Mother's Day I wish to pay tribute to three tough cookies who went beyond the expectations of their time.

Since the weather has not been camping-conducive, (although we did sneak in a trip to the Coralville Reservoir a couple of weeks ago), our little core camping group capped off a garage sale day Saturday night with a practice supper. Ken fixed wonderful smoked chickens and fresh green beans, Letha brought fresh asparagus with sun dried tomatoes, and I made fresh rhubarb-pineapple crisp, and tried a slow cooker potato dish that was voted a keeper. We are ready!

For months, Pam Schnittjer, Faye Petersen, and I have been slogging through years of main street history to produce a walking tour booklet in honor of West Liberty's 175 anniversary. This is an Aquarius Club project and we innocently volunteered early last fall--how hard could a little brochure be, right?

Little did we know that the city forefathers felt no compunction about changing address numbers when it suited, that buildings had been moved and even split, or that some businesses had changed names under the same owner and some stores retained the same name under several owners. All of this created a tangle worthy of a Greek myth, and all in a small four or five block area. For example, who would have thought that someone would drag a skating rink through the middle of a block and make it a furniture store?

But with Pam and Faye's expertise and me asking dumb questions, we have produced an 80-page booklet chock full of interesting tidbits about the transitions in a small town business district. It is available for sale at the West Liberty Depot and on line from Amazon. Proceeds go to community projects. Be sure and read the disclaimers at the beginning!

Exciting little boost today to have a review of The Blue Coyote on CozyMysteryBookReviews. com: http://cozymysterybookreviews.com/
It's up on their home page--don't know for how long but it's my first web site review.