By Carla Kelly

My granddaughter, Ruby Huerta, is a handful at three-plus years. At times, Mary Ruth, her mother, has been known to call her the “evil spawn.” Ruby takes after her mother a bit. I never thought of “evil spawn,” but I recall telling Mary Ruth when she was three that I hoped she would have a daughter just like her some day.
    She did, apparently. Still, I don’t think Mary Ruth has any household appliances yet decorated with a band of gold spray paint.
    It all started with buffalo chips some 34 years ago in Torrington, Wyoming. Back then, Mormon youth organizations presented “roadshows.” Five or six wards – you’d call them congregations – would each put on a 12 to 15-minute play, complete with original script, score and music. There was a modest ceiling put on expenses, so these were frugal affairs. Part of the competition was to be original, under budget, and get that roadshow on and off the stage within the established time limit.
    Our southeast corner of Wyoming was on the Oregon/Mormon Trail, traversed by thousands and thousands of people headed West for – you name it – the goldfields, religious freedom, homesteads in the Pacific Northwest.
    If you’ll recall, in 1974 there was a big oil price bump. Remember? There were long gas lines in more populated areas than Wyoming, but we were all concerned about gasoline soaring to a record 39 cents a gallon. You know, the good old days. Conserving energy was on everyones’ minds.
    I decided to write a roadshow about a bunch of Mormons who had dragged across the desolation of southern Wyoming – it hasn’t changed much – to be informed by the Prophet Brigham Young in Salt Lake City that they were being sent on the Buffalo Chip Mission. Their mission, should they choose to accept it, was to travel back to southeast Wyoming and gather buffalo chips, a great energy source.
    Hey, I only write this stuff. In 1974, it was timely to think about energy conservation. Too bad we didn’t pay much attention then. I wrote the show, which had some singing and dancing, too, and involved many of the members of our little ward.
    Since this was about buffalo chips, I needed buffalo chips. Even southeast Wyoming in 1974 didn’t have any lying around, so we made them out of papier-mache and painted them an appropriate brown. As I’m sure you know, folks traveling the Oregon Trail gathered the chips – dried ones – and used them as cooking fuel. Brigham Young himself made some comment about the piquant flavor of meat cooked over a buffalo chip fire.
    When the roadshow was over, the buffalo chips went back to our garage, where all things gathered to die. Later on, though, we decided to present “The Golden Buffalo Chip Award” to some of the kids who had helped the most on the roadshow. I bought a can of gold spray paint, did the deed on some leftover chips, and made the presentations.
    Silly me. I left that can of gold spray paint on the back enclosed porch, which housed the freezer, washer and dryer, and filing cabinet. I hadn’t thought it was within reach of our three children, but I hadn’t reckoned on Mary Ruth, my own evil spawn.
    One Sunday afternoon when most of the Kellys were napping and I was doing something in the living room, Mary Ruth crept into that back room, found the gold spray paint and gave all my appliances a cool racing stripe. I didn’t catch her in the act, but she sprayed some of the paint on herself, and she’s not quite the hardened criminal that Ruby is. I had my culprit.
    I probably spanked her, but maybe not. What’s done is done, and nobody died. (I’m pretty forgiving for youthful capital offenses, as you can tell.) I suppose I could have taken turpentine to the gold paint, but it lingered on, instead. For several years, we had the coolest appliances in the West, courtesy of a three-year-old with an itchy trigger finger and a good eye for color.
    I think of this now because Mary Ruth turned 37 on February 13 - hah hah, gotcha, MayBoo – and now she has her own little gender-specific exasperation: Ruby, Ruby, free spirit with an equally inventive mind. I’ll have to ask Mary Ruth if she has any gold spray paint lying around.
    Happy birthday, Mary Ruth. Ruby, behave yourself.