EDITOR’S NOTE: The following is the 43rd in a series of stories adapted from William Kelley’s book, “Wind Socks, Grass Strips, and Tail-Draggers,” which is available for purchase at The News, 130 Park Place in downtown Alpena. Last week, Kelley pushed himself hard to land in the Lower 48.

I put away the sleeping bag and made a call to the Bentz ranch.

Loris said someone would be up to get me. While I made sure the plane was OK, the operator of the flying service came to the office. Frank Hill’s house was next to the hangar and office.

We discussed the ordeal with customs. He told me of two places that are right on the Canada-Idaho border. He mentioned a place on the Washington-Canada border, too. The airports are such that customs officials of both countries are available, because the highway crosses right there, too.

As in previous visits, the merits of the Cessna 180 were discussed. He had owned several and flown many. He felt it was one of the best all-around planes ever made, and suggested that, if I ever bought one, to get a ’59,’60, or ’61 model. I agreed, based on everything I had learned about 180s.

It was still very early, and no one could come get me for a while, so I walked into town. It is about two miles to the middle of town, but didn’t seem that far. I walked along the horse fence of the fairgrounds at Idaho County. That is where they hold the local rodeo. I had been down the streets of Grangeville. However, that was my first time afoot in that region. It was the fifth successive summer I’d had the opportunity to visit that little prairie town.

Loris, the current queen of the ranch in White Bird, and Bud, my brother-in-law, are brother and sister. There are three other girls, too. Their folks owned a restaurant in town. When I walked in to see them, they greeted me as if I was their son. We talked awhile as they prepared to face the day’s customers. I didn’t want to bother them, so I walked to a little restaurant a couple blocks along the street and had breakfast. Had they known, they would have scolded me for not letting them fix me food.

There is a three-hour time difference between Idaho and Michigan. It would be 11:00 back home, so I called my folks to tell them where I was and that everything was all right. After all, I was practically home, being only 1,600 miles away. They were just beginning to combine the wheat. It was finally dry enough, but some of the grain was sprouted and shrunken.

Each year I visited the West, I made it a point to buy Levis. I had been wearing 501s since my introduction to them my first year in Idaho. I bought three pair. It was my intention to buy a pair of Justin cowboy boots, but the $25 spent on entering the country had zapped my resources. I didn’t want to spend so much I couldn’t get back home. I did buy a pair of boots the following year, but they were then $5 more. I had to pay $45 for them.

When finished making my purchases, I returned to the restaurant and waited for Bud’s two youngest sisters to come get me. We talked of farming and ranching, two of my favorite subjects. The whole family had grown up on the prairie or river. The girls were staying on the ranch much of the summer.

They talked with their parents a while. Then we headed down the Whitebird Hill switchbacks to the ranch.

If the walk into Grangeville was like a trip home, the drive into the ranch yard was like going to my room. During the past summers, I had spent several days on the ranch. From my first visit, I felt as if I belonged to the ranch.

The ranch never ceased to give me pleasure when I visited. Bruce and Loris and Jerry and Pat Bentz ran the ranch. Chase and his wife, Erna, Bruce and Jerry’s parents, ran it for many years, but were retired, its operation being turned over to Bruce and Jerry and their families. The folks lived just over the hill.

A visit accentuates the good, overlooks the bad or uncomfortable. For that reason, some on the ranch felt I didn’t have a true picture of what took place. As far as hard work went, however, I had done my share on the farm to make a practical comparison. When I was a kid on the farm, we didn’t have much money, so sparseness wasn’t foreign to me.

The emotion I have for the ranch is more like a love affair, one made of dreams, where everything is perfect, the bad things overlooked.

To many people, a description of the area and ranch is dull. Others wonder how I could enjoy such a moisture-deprived area. There isn’t much water in the area, as far as precipitation. Non-irrigated grass and other vegetation is only green in the spring. It turns brown in summer and fall. The area is surrounded by tall mountains, but, the way it is situated, on the leeward side of some tall peaks, the precipitation pattern is more representative of a desert area. In winter, the valley is warmer than the surrounding area and is referred to as the “Banana Belt.”

The buildings on the ranch are old, having been built toward the early part of the 20th century. The only trees are in valleys, near a spring or seep, or in people’s yards. The surrounding hills look like pictures of the moon, barren and desolate, save for conifers in many higher areas. Those places are inaccessible areas or on government land. Compared to a well-groomed suburb someplace in the cramped spaces near a city, it looks depressed.

However, it is the openness and spaciousness of the area that attracts me. There is room to move, a freedom to roam.

Check The News next week for the next installment. William Kelley was a teacher for 32 years and has been a pilot since 1966. He lives in Herron on the family farm where he was born and raised.