The mystery of Paul Spear continues—and grows even darker. In Part One, we met the hardworking, one-eyed lumberjack who vanished from his Cocolalla farm sometime before World War II. His companion, Bruce Anderson, claimed Paul had taken a train to Oregon, yet Paul left behind his new automobile and was never seen again.

Part Two follows Anderson into Washington, where he was arrested while using another missing man’s identity and attempting to claim his money and property. The resulting murder investigation led authorities from a Spokane-area chicken ranch to the smoldering remains of a hay barn near Athol, Idaho. A burned body, an engraved belt buckle, a revealing diary, and Anderson’s contradictory confession eventually sent him to the gallows.

But did Bruce Anderson also murder Paul Spear?

Years later, the old Cocolalla farm produced still more questions: a message hidden inside a Mason jar beneath concrete, stories of a haunted house, and an alleged human skeleton buried beneath manure in the chicken house.

Some details are documented. Others survive only as recollections, rumors, and folklore. Nearly ninety years later, Paul’s fate remains unknown. We can examine the evidence, consider the possibilities, and remember the man—but all we can finally do is wonder.

Years before World War II, a hardworking, one-eyed lumberjack named Paul Spear lived on a small farm near Cocolalla, Idaho. Neighbors remembered him as pleasant, sober, and dependable—a man who tended his orchard and beehives when he wasn’t working in distant logging camps.

Then Paul disappeared.

His friend and farmhand, Bruce Anderson, claimed Paul had taken a train to Oregon for a new job. Letters bearing Oregon postmarks seemed to support his story. But no one remembered seeing Paul board the train, and troubling questions soon emerged. Why had he left his new automobile behind? Why was Anderson driving it? And what should people make of the disturbing rumors beginning to circulate around the valley?

Then Anderson disappeared too.

In Part 1 of this 2 Part North Idaho mystery, we follow the unanswered questions surrounding Paul Spear—until a familiar face appears in a newspaper and the story takes a chilling turn.

After a week away from the microphone, Ted returns to explain how a stubborn head cold interrupted his podcasting plans—and how his generosity passed that cold to someone else in the household.

Once recovered, he resumed resealing the driveway, only to have a North Idaho rainstorm wash away part of the fresh sealer.

The experience offers a reminder that forecasts fail, circumstances change, and our plans must be held with an open hand.

Ted also hints at stories exploring the Inland Northwest, beginning Wednesday with the mysterious disappearance of a one-eyed Cocolalla lumberjack. Did he just leave town—or was he murdered?

Playing tennis in the rain seemed perfectly reasonable at the time—especially since the other three players were women and I was not about to quit first.

By the next morning, however, I was battling a sore throat, sneezing, coughing and the annual question: Is it a cold, allergies or both?

Then a gummy vitamin intended to improve my health removed my dental bridge on a Friday morning.

With soup suddenly serving both medical and dental purposes, I explore old-fashioned cold remedies ranging from honey and onions to goose grease, mustard plasters and Terry’s peroxide gargle—all while awaiting Monday and my dentist.

A new school year begins with fresh lesson plans, clean bulletin boards, unopened gradebooks, and teachers determined not to smile for two weeks.

But the newness soon gives way to missing pencils, tardy students, hallway scuffles, discipline referrals—and the mysteries of school lunch.

Drawing on twenty years in the classroom, Ted remembers the excitement, frustration, and humor of returning to school.

Beneath it all is a deeper truth: teachers plant seeds they may never see grow. Success cannot always be measured by grades, test scores, or immediate results. Sometimes we plant, someone else waters, and God provides the growth.

In part 2 of our conversation about angels Bruce, Harold and I continue to share stories and thoughts about angels. Sometimes they intervene. Sometimes they influence. Sometimes they nudge us. Sometimes they whisper to us.

But they are always there to protect us...usually from ourselves.

Join us as we ponder the angels in our lives...human and nonhuman!

Our conversation about angels lasted nearly an hour and twenty minutes—and apparently some listeners have lives outside of listening to my podcast! After receiving favorable responses to splitting last week’s Notebook into two shorter episodes, I decided to try it again. This special conversation will be presented in two parts, each approximately 30 to 40 minutes long.

In Part 1, Bruce joins Harold and me to share the remarkable story of the motorcycle accident that nearly took his life. Badly injured and in desperate need of help, Bruce believes an angel intervened at exactly the right moment. But surviving the accident was only the beginning of the story. We conclude Part 1 with something of a cliff-hanger, as Bruce’s pastor confronts him with a far more personal concern—not merely about his physical recovery, but about the condition of his soul.

A young rooster found wandering in a Bonners Ferry park has unexpectedly joined Ted’s collection of critters—and the timing seems suspicious.

The park is only a mile from the fairgrounds, where children recently chased pigs and chickens during the fair’s traditional Family Night events. Could the handsome fugitive have been caught by a child whose parents suddenly discovered that roosters are prohibited inside city limits?

Ted has no proof, only a theory—and three unimpressed older hens.

Recalling Trixie, another apparent fair refugee who once appeared in his barnyard, Ted wonders whether frightened animals should remain part of the entertainment.

Without preaching, he considers some alternatives: sack races, drone demolition derbies, mud-pit tug-of-war and even children chasing local officials. Perhaps Family Night can retain all its laughter and chaos while giving the chickens—and unsuspecting parents—a well-earned break.