I must be in a sentimental mood today as I don't recall submitting two stories, on the same day, in this format before. Yesterday I inadvertently learned of the death of a second cousin, Donald Lester Slater, in Oregon. He was the youngest son of my Grandpa Slater's younger brother Charles Donald Slater. Uncle Don was of a special nature and always fun to be around. They had moved from Tacoma to the Medford, Oregon area, when I was practically a newborn, so I never really got to know his two sons: Ronnie and Donnie. I was doing some family genealogy searching when I discovered that Donnie had passed after a short battle with cancer on March, 12, 2014. This news really saddened me and made me feel quite guilty for not, in my lifetime, making an effort to get to know this important man in our family. I suppose these feelings have a great deal to do with the sentimental mood I find myself burdened with today. Since my childhood days, I've had many exciting days in the Great Outdoors. I thank God for being born American and I thank my parents for bringing me up in the Great expansive West. Both parents instilled , within me, a love for nature and it's creatures. Other than living on five acres in Brookdale, Washington, near Spanaway Lake, my first memories of the open spaces occurred during various family outings. Dad and Mom took my sisters and I several times to Mount Ranier, Long Lake, and to the beach. Dad (and Mom) kept busy with his poultry business and leisure time was not often an option. (I think Grandpa & Grandma Slater often encouraged them to take a "time-out".) We kids learned to fish, row a boat, and hunt for nightcrawlers. On the beach we dug clams, ran barefoot on the beach, searched for sea shells, and sometimes got the sunburn of our lives. At Mount Ranier, we would go sledding, pelt each other with snowballs, hope to see a bear or some deer, and explore snow caves. Whenever we went to Long Lake, it was always a family affair-a planned group event. We always rented a cabin. It was so much fun. We would always take the dog with us, too. There, I got to really know many of my cousins and extended family. At Long Lake we kids learned the excitement in trying to catch a fish through a knothole on the dock, using simply a spool of leader, a sinker, and a worm on a hook. Sometimes the fish was too big to pass through the hole, adding more excitement. As to family, I remember my Grandpa Slater's Uncle Charley and Aunt Addie. They loved an evening challenge of Canasta pooled against my grandparents. Grandma Slater taught all of us kids how the game played and thusly, Canasta has always remained my most memorable card game. Uncle Charley loved to poke at us kids, sound like a wild Scandinavian, and tell goofy stories. He would stand tall, puff out his chest, and roar like a mad Swede. Each morning, at the lake, the men would rise early trying to beat other fisherman to the favorite fishing holes. Once they got very far out on the lake you would lose sight of them for the morning fog. It was always quite cool and crisp. While Dad and the others were out, we kids would either fish the banks or off the dock hoping to catch a bigger fish than the men out in the boats. We would also go exploring in the woods. There were endless things to do and our imaginations and curiosities would go wild. These traits have carried with us all of our lives and we can thank our parents and families for allowing us such freedoms. Many times, in the afternoon, Dad would take us one-on-one for a boat ride and let us take a hand at the oars. I remember how cool it was to slice through the lily pads and cruise close to the banks of the lake. Sometimes he would let us drop anchor and fish a little using a red-n-white plastic bobber or one made of cork and a stick. It was always so peaceful. Much later in our family history, Dad and Mom moved us to Arizona. I hated leaving Montana, but eventually learned to love the desert too. Here we were taken to beautiful man-made lakes named Saguaro, Canyon, and Apache. I didn't water-ski but my sisters did. We enjoyed these lakes so much that, later while in high school, Frances and I would occasionally ditch school to head for one of these lakes with fellow classmate chums. Sometimes we would go "tubing" on the Salt or the Verde Rivers. (Usually never with permission.) Heck, that was half of the fun! Dad would try to teach us caution, but he never tried to stymie our spirit of adventure. Of course, many of these excursions, that we made, (as far as we know), he never found out about. Dad, too, was inherently cast with adventurous veins, so who was he to judge us too severely. Thanks Dad and Mom for being tough with us but not too tough. It is a fine line.