Tipanuk: Name Immortal

It is Idaho in the summer of 2008. My nephew who lives in Tipanuk Farms Subdivision, takes time with me to have pizza at one of his favorite places in Mountain Home. My nephew and I discuss the potential uses of my parcel of land which is across the street from his home. One potential use, is leasing the land to the Tipanuk Fire District for the building of a fire-station to more quickly abate the wild-land fires which occasionally ravage the desert and destroy homes. While it only mildly interests me as I'm well aware the intricacies of bureaucracy in achieving such use, somehow in the course of conversation, another fellow overhears our mentioning Tipanuk. He apparently is also a resident of the subdivision. One or the other of us brings up the Tipanuk origin and I ask if he knows its history.

Now this fellow exclaims, "Oh, yes. It derives from an American Indian name."

Somewhat amused, I glance at my nephew who by now is smiling with a grin as big as his physique, which is to say both he and the grin have a great deal of girth. His smile, of course, is two-fold, the first being he knows the real story of the Tipanuk name and the second being I'm about to tell it.

Of course, after the telling, this fellow good-heartedly laughs and tells us we are crazy, to which I reply in all sincerity and without offense, rebuking his version of the origin, "Tipanuk is the name my grandfather, George E. Tucker , a surveyor and renowned civil engineer listed in Who's Who of America, which name he bestows upon the Tipanuk Farms Subdivision when he bought it at the conclusion of the survey."

Bridled by the simple arrogance of our claim, this fellow says in earnest, "Now I know you're crazy."

Naturally, we chuckle, which pretty much ends our conversation with the assuming interloper and we continue in our own discussions. But this is not the full story, my nephew and I turning back to it upon the other fellow's exit. We recall how my grandmother and his great-grandma, Gladys I. Tucker, commit we grandsons and our children's children to a promise refraining from ever selling the Tipanuk Farms Township (the original zoning of our parcels). She and Grandpa Tuck are sure it one day becomes the center of a sprawling metropolis. Its location on the railroad right-of-way is sure to spawn a city. Grandpa Tuck is certain it's the only practical route through which all points East and West must converge.

Now, none of us in the family, neither my older brother, nor his children, nor me nor mine have any reason to doubt the veracity of my grandmother's history of Tipanuk. And it has nothing to do with Indians nor with any derivative of "Kunapit," the other phrase I've heard mentioned. It is true Grandma Gladys' grandfather, an Irish settler/trapper, married a Nez Perce. The name "Tipanuk" appeals to her in part because it sounded Indian, probably giving rise to the legend it is Indian as it is retold in high circles in which they both congregate.

Grandma and Grandpa travel well in much of Idaho and Eastern society. Being hired to survey most of Idaho and the Northwest due to his renown on the East Coast where he surveyed other states, including Florida, he and Grandma constantly entertain and are entertained. A result is they are held with high affection by the upper and middle levels of Idaho society. Everyone from homestead farmers to the more elite of society depend upon Grandpa's skill as a surveyor. Naturally, they are a source of stories of early Twentieth Century Idaho. They make many friends in their travels and stay at many homes in the area. Fireside chats are common in their day.

An interesting side note is his clients do not always take his survey advice, one such example being Highway 55 through Horseshoe Bend. Grandpa Tuck advises the transportation authorities to avoid building Highway 55 in its original location through the shifting soil and strata of the foothills upon which it is initially built. They elect to do so anyway, claiming it's less expensive. Grandpa replies the maintenance in subsequent years along that stretch will require continual rebuilding. In retrospect, we now know that stretch of Highway 55 through Horseshoe Bend is relocated, presumably to an alternate location Grandpa Tuck advises - though it is speculation.

But, back to Tipanuk Farms. After Grandpa Tuck's passing in 1952, due to an entanglement with a fruit-picking stepladder, Grandma Gladys relishes in telling we five and six-year old grandsons, the many stories and colorful history of Idaho and our family's part in it. Her fondness for Grandpa Tuck never diminishes and the stories we learn are our delight throughout our teenage years. Guess they still are. One in particular is how Grandma gets her nickname. To us, it is a great source of family mirth.

Grandma Gladys and Grandpa Tuck are, in their heyday, avid arrow-head and rock hunters, a natural outcropping (so to speak) of Grandpa Tuck's survey work and continual travels by horse and foot across the wilderness areas of Idaho. Grandpa Tuck is Grandma's second husband who adopts my father as his own son. One day as the three of them hunt arrow-heads, Grandma steps upon the head of a diamond-back rattlesnake, whereupon she hears the distinct rattle unmistakable to any hunter or hiker. The only thing louder than the rattle is Grandma's screams as she yells for Grandpa Tuck's help in rescuing her. Well-seasoned explorer, Grandma has the sense not to move her boot.

As Grandpa and Dad size up the matter, their mutual laughter and one-liners are replete with Grandma's fear turning to red-faced anger as she lays into Grandpa Tuck verbally. While Grandpa Tuck has many encounters with snakes, this is Grandma's first "face-to-face" with the critter. Both Dad and Grandma tell me this story and both versions are consistent; my analytic nature is satisfied. I just wish I had the one-liners to relate to the reader though I'm sure you can imagine Grandma's ire at Dad's suggestion, "At last you will have a real tail to tell."

At that comment, Grandma was probably saved a snake-bite by the rage-driven force with which she ground the snake's head into the lava rock. But that was not before Grandpa Tuck exclaimed, relative to her anger, "I guess we'd better nip that in the bud, now!"

Grandpa Tuck, as I remember him, does not take kindly to unbridled anger nor to poor table manners. It takes only once, for my knuckles are rapped with the handle of a table knife as I unadvisedly reach across the table for bread rather than requesting it be passed. At my age of five, he is my hero. His kindness and compassion are balanced with firmness and his height makes him a giant to me.

From then on, Grandpa Tuck always refers to Grandma Gladys as "his little nip" referring to the way she nips at him and rattles on the day of the snake . It became a lasting name of affection, and much later, humor for both. Among both their friends and in Society, they became widely known as "Nip and Tuck." Not being overly pretentious, Grandpa Tuck surveys the Mountain Home land, names it Tipanuk and becomes immortal in placing their affection for one another in the annals of Idaho history.

My older brother and younger still live in Southwest Idaho and more than likely shall confirm the gist of this telling. A half-century between the hearing and the telling can romanticize some facts, but these should be largely verifiable, solving something in the Tipanuk community we are not at all aware is a mystery. If Paul Harvey were alive today, he would apply his moniker, "And that, is the rest of the story."