Lefty and I loved spending time with Spratt in his bunkhouse. On Saturdays, we sat in front of a fire and ate his special scrambled eggs with cheese and onions. He was such a good baker that he could even make cherry and blueberry turnovers from scratch, which became our favorite pastry. One day when I complimented him on a delicious apple pie he made, he said, “Girl, you"re the one who picked the apples for me. I was just returning the "flavor."” We all chortled at that one.
The bunkhouse smelled delicious – like cloves and burned firewood and pine. According to Spratt, the dilapidated cabin didn"t have indoor plumbing when he first moved in. He had not only added a toilet and a shower but also a big silver potbelly stove for additional heating. There were several intriguing paintings ha
