Separate names with a comma.
Discussion in 'Places I Have Lived' started by Frank Sanoica, Mar 29, 2016.
Definitely a nice size lake, but appears like a small marina on the left. Nice lake though.
That is probably the city beach and marina that you are seeing in this photo, @Cody Fousnaugh . This lake is famous for its Kamloops Rainbow trout, and in some places it is so deep that they have not found the bottom, from what I have been told. There are marinas all up and down the length of this lake because of the fishing and boating.
The old Farragut Naval base is at the far south end of this lake, and they have been testing submarines in the lake at least since I was a kid in the 1950’s.
I can remember watching for subs when we went across the long bridge, and occasionally , we would spot one.
The first bridge was a wooden one, and at that time, it was the longest wooden bridge in the world. Where the bridge crosses is the dividing line between the lake and the river.
Here is a picture of the first bridge, probably in the early 20’s or 30’s. By the time I remember crossing the bridge, they had built the second one, still a wooden bridge, and over 2 miles long. The bridge must have been originally built before there were many cars because it was called “the wagon bridge”. Further downriver there were ferry landings that you could use to get across the river, and that was probably the only way before they built the long bridge at Sandpoint.
I can remember crossing over on one of the old ferry’s when I went with my dad in the line truck. I couldn’t find a picture of the actual ferry we rode on, but here is a picture of one that was very similar.
I grew up in the suburbs of a large midwestern city. I attended the same school for twelve years. At the time, I thought it was the most boring city on the face of the earth, but now I realize it was a pretty good place to grow up.
I grew up in Paterson New Jersey during WW2 just a few houses away from Lou Costello (remember him?] and 20 miles from NYC.
I just viewed Paterson on YOU TUBE and it brought back lots of mem0ries.
I grew up in a north central Texas community, Wichita Falls. Wichita Falls was the hub of our living. Went to school there until about a month into the fourth grade when we moved to San Antonio where dad worked rebuilding Randolph Field and Kelly Field into wartime bases after which we moved back to Wichita Falls and I reentered fourth grade for a month then we moved to Hobbs, NM where dad worked at the Hobbs Army Air base and I finished the fourth grade. We moved to Lovington, NM which is nearby Hobbs. I finished the fifth grade in Lovington. It was in the fifth grade that War 2 ended. I remember the announcement over the PA system and my teacher crying. Her husband was a soldier in Europe and would be coming home. My uncle was a POW in Germany and I hoped he would come home. We eventually moved back to Wichita Falls where I finished my schooling and entered the military. I voluntared for airborne duty then asked to be shipped to Korea where I served in 25th Infantry., during which time I was assigned to a Porto Rician detachment to assist with their training and later to a Turkish brigade for the same reason. I was TDYed To 3rd Infantry and later to 2 Infantry for special training and moved to a unit servicing South Koreans living in underground bunkers south of Chorion, North Korea. I had a Korean soldier assigned to me as an interpiter and to get the same experience I was getting. I went back to the hospital in England for a couple of months then back to Korea where I served a total of fourteen months which seemed like a lifetime. I have had some interesting jobs, met some interersting people but unfortunately none of it rubbed off on me. Now here I is, a life well lived, and all done in, waiting for the next chapter. In the meantime I sit at my computer and watch the leaves fall and cover my yard, watch the birds scramble for the bird seed the leaves have covered, and in my bones feel the cold front that is moving through the area, and think 'how lucky we are.'
I grew up in a small, unincorporated town (dot on the map) known as Wallace, Michigan, between Menominee and Stephenson, where I went to high school.
There is no picture of the house where I grew up. It no longer exist. Growing up we flooded every year in the spring time and sometime again in the summer. A few years ago I went by my old neighborhood to have a look at the old place after all these years. I wanted to see how my cellar had survived, the one I had dug when I was fourteen years old, the one where my daddy on a Sunday afternoon took me outside in the back yard, picked up a stick and with it marked an X mark on the ground and said, "when I come back next weekend I want to see a cellar right here." I build us a storm cellar and I wanted to see it. I lived in it, it was my room, until I went into the service.
Someone had determined the whole neighborhood was in the flood plain and the city bulldozed the entire neighborhood and allowed it to return to nature.
Same here, only the house I grew up in burned, along with any pictures of it we may have had. I could draw a floor plan, but I haven't seen a photo of it. There is a house standing where ours was, but it's a prefabricated one that my Dad had replaced the old house with and, other than during visits, I've never lived in it. The last time I was there, the old barn was still being used, however. Someone else owns the place now.
Frank Sanoica, my husband was born in Berwyn in 1941. I'm not sure of the street but I could find out. He attended the Lutheran school there but moved to Wilmont Wi when he was still in grade school. Most of his family continued to live there and may still.
Growing up in Wallace, I couldn't imagine why anyone would want to move. I knew pretty much everyone, and was related to most of them. My family originally settled the place, and it was a great place to grow up or to raise children.
When my cousins would talk about how they couldn't wait to get old enough to move, I would feel offended. Why? Why would they want to move? I didn't want to move, and even when I graduated from high school, I had no intention of moving far away.
But then, during one of several forays hitchhiking to Southern California, I fell into a job, and then there were better and better jobs after that. Then I adopted a boy, and never again lived in Wallace, Michigan. In fact, I have rarely even visited.
Since I was seventeen, I have lived thousands of miles away from my home town, and mostly out of the way of anyone who might even be traveling through. Ironically, except for one cousin who elected to remain in Germany after being discharged from the Army, most of my childhood friends, who couldn't wait to get old enough to move, are still living in or near Wallace. One of them is still living in the house that he grew up in, I think.
I sometimes regret not having stayed, as there is something to be said for having roots.
As it often happens when this question is asked, I wonder what it would be like
to grow up in just one town/city.
To never be told you were moving away from your friends and the house you just got
Because of my life choice, I couldn't do anything for my oldest son, but vowed
when I retired that I'd find a town that our youngest could start 1st grade up to high school graduation.
It happened and I never regretted my choice.
Oh well, can't go back and change my life. I did get to see some great places.