A New Year and New Adventures

Across the Fence #423

This will be the last Across the Fence column I write. According to the Mayan calendar, the world is supposed to end on December 21, 2012. That’s only five days from now as I write this column. If that were true, you wouldn’t be reading this now either, because this paper is published on December 26, five days after the end of the world was supposed to come, and none of us would still be here to read it. 

There are many people who actually believe that the world is going to end on that day. I’m not one of them. I’m not that gullible. Most of the people who expect the end to come are fanatics of one kind or another who keep looking and hoping for the end to come. I wouldn’t go out and sell all my possessions and go up on that mountaintop in the French Pyrenees to await the end, if I were you.  You’ll still need a job and a place to live on December 22. There are people who believe an alien spaceship has been hiding on Bugarach Peak and is waiting to take people away from the destruction. French authorities have had to block access to Bugarach Peak because of people wanting to reach the spaceship in time to be on the flight when the end comes. I wonder where they’re planning to go?

I suspect there’s going to be a lot of disappointed people come December 22 when they realize the world is still here. There wasn’t a rogue planet called Nibiru hiding behind the sun that was supposed to emerge from its hiding place on December 21 and smash into the earth, or a giant black hole that will suck the earth in and smash it to pieces. Many people believe those two scenarios. Two men in China are predicting a world-ending flood and have been building arks to ride out the flood. One spent his life savings of $160,000 building his ark. At least he’ll have a place to live after the Mayan calendar flips over and keeps going. I wonder if he’s been collecting animals to take along on the ark? I’d hate to see all the animals destroyed too. Although I wouldn’t shed any tears if those blood-sucking mosquitoes and pesky gnats disappeared.

So…those of you reading this made it through the end of time, at least according to the Mayan calendar. Now we can all start fresh with a new beginning as we approach the “real end” of this year and the beginning of 2013. Life is filled with endings and beginnings, just as each day begins with a sunrise and closes with a sunset. We are very aware of that here on Coon Prairie, where we live. We’re able to enjoy gorgeous sunrises and sunsets every day. We don’t take them for granted. I posted a photo of the sunrise on 12-12-12 as viewed from our yard on our Facebook page. Scott Schultz, Executive Director at Wisconsin Farmer’s Union commented, “Howard, I know you’ll also write this great picture in words. Our rural world is an incredible place, isn’t it?”

Yes it is, Scott. Both of us are very tuned into that rural world. He’s also author of the book “Rural Routes & Ruts: Roaming the Road of Rural Life.” There are so many wonderful things going on around us, and so many things to observe in the rural world that many of us still love. We don’t need to worry about and obsess about the end of the world coming. We’re too busy living in the world and making every day count. 

After the doomsday seekers got up on Saturday, December 22nd, and realized the world hadn’t ended, I hope they went outside and looked for the sun to rise again on another day. If it’s like the one I took a photo of on 12-12-12, they can watch as the first hint of light appears on the horizon, chasing the dark of night away. The dark, silhouetted landscape will begin to take shape as the sky brightens and fills with fire, changing from pastel pink, yellow, and orange to many shades of bright orange, streaked with flames of yellow. A new day has arrived and it’s time to rise up and become a part of it. How can anyone be pessimistic about life, when they participate in such a glorious new beginning?

Now back to my opening sentence in this column. This will be the last Across the Fence column I write… this year. Next week we’ll begin a new year and new adventures. It’s an exciting time. Each year as I open the door on a new year, I wonder what adventures await me on the other side of that door.

It struck me as I was reading about people wanting to reach that alien spaceship on top of the mountain to escape the end of life on earth, that entering a new year and blasting off into space, are very similar. We hope for a good and safe ride, but we never know where the trip will take us or what we may encounter along the way. Life’s an adventure, every bit as exciting and mysterious as climbing aboard an alien spaceship and riding it into space. 

Happy New Year everyone! Have a great trip. See you next year.

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Christmas Came Early In Wolf Valley

Across the Fence #422 - Christmas Extra
From The Kingdom of Driftless Beauty

The wind was howling through Wolf Valley and the snow was blowing sideways. It had been a mild December, but without warning, winter had suddenly enveloped the Kingdom of Driftless Beauty. The animals had felt it coming and had sought shelter, but humans aren’t as perceptive as the animals to changes in the weather and most of them had been caught unprepared.

Deep within the forest of Wolf Valley, a young girl named Mary was struggling through the accumulating snow. She had gone in search of Little Lamb, whose fleece was as white as snow. Her lamb had wandered off during the night and Mary was trying to find him. She feared he had ventured into Wolf Valley where everyone knew the wicked wolves lived. They would love to dine on a meal of lamb. Mary had to find him before the wolves did, but now she found herself in a snowstorm that had appeared out of nowhere. It was useless trying to find a lamb whose fleece was white as snow in a total whiteout. She decided to head for home before the snow got too bad, but now she was lost and couldn’t tell which direction to go. 

Meanwhile up on Sunshine Prairie, Fairy Princess Sonja sat on her favorite spot near Three Rock Chimney, the highest point of Sunshine Prairie in the Kingdom of Driftless Beauty. From there she could see that bad weather had entered Wolf Valley. The sun was still shining on the prairie but she could tell the snow was headed her way. 

Ole, the green-striped frog, sat beside her. Ole had just informed Sonja that he’d known bad weather was coming because his arthritic frog legs had been hurting for two days. It made hopping around extremely painful, but it was the only way for a frog to get around, so Ole blocked out the pain and kept doing stuff that frogs do. He had to get busy. It was almost Christmas and he still hadn’t sent any Christmas cards to all his friends and relatives over in Frogtown. 

In the distance, Princess Sonja and Ole saw a huge bird approaching. It was Carrot Top, the not-so-bald eagle that lived in Wolf Valley. He had red feathers on top of his head, instead of white ones. There were rumors that his father had been a red-tailed hawk, but no one could prove it. As Carrot Top reached Three Rock Chimney, he fanned his huge wings and gently settled down beside them. 

“What brings you to Sunshine Prairie?” asked Princess Sonja. “You don’t usually venture this far from home.”

“We need your help in Wolf Valley. The Misses and I were sitting in our nest high atop the giant oak tree, and settling in to wait out the storm, when we spotted Mary, who had a little lamb, wandering around in the forest below us. She looked like she was lost because of the heavy snow and we saw no sign of her lamb, but then he’d have blended right in with the snow if he was anywhere around. We’re afraid she’s in great danger if she doesn’t find some shelter to wait out the storm. I knew if I could find you, we’d be able to find a way to save her. She won’t last long if she keeps wandering around in the snow.”

Fairy Princess Sonja knew there was no time to waste. “I’ll work some of my magic and make myself smaller so I can ride on your back, and we’ll fly back to Wolf Valley.

Ole, the green-striped frog piped up, “I’ll go along too. I grew up alongside Tomten Creek that snakes its way back and forth through Wolf Valley. I know every bush and rock in the area. I could be of great help. I also know where the wolves live. We may need to ask for their help.”

Sonja made herself small enough to ride on Carrot Top’s back and she and Ole climbed aboard. “Fasten your seatbelts,” said Carrot Top. “Prepare for takeoff.” He spread his great wings and they lifted into the air and headed for Wolf Valley.

Meanwhile back in Wolf Valley, things were not looking good for Mary. She was wet and cold from the blinding snow and swirling winds. The day had been so nice when she left home that she hadn’t put a heavy coat on. Now she regretted that decision. She had mittens and boots on, but her hands and feet were getting very cold. She was beginning to give up hope of surviving when she stumbled over something in a snowdrift. As Mary fell in the snow, the snowdrift began moving and she heard the familiar bleating sound of Little Lamb, whose fleece was as white as snow. Little Lamb’s head popped out of the snow and Mary threw her arms around his neck. “I thought I’d never see you again,” she cried, as tears rolled down her cheeks. “Lets get out of here. You can lead us back home through this blizzard.”

Little Lamb’s head lowered and there was great sadness in his eyes. Then Mary saw the red stains in the snow. She brushed the snow away from his front feet and her eyes filled with fear as she saw the reason for the red stains. Little Lamb’s foot was caught in a trap. She knew people had been setting traps to catch wolves and it appeared that Little Lamb had found one hidden by the new snow that covered it. They were both in deep trouble.

Mary’s eyes filled with tears, but through those tears she saw a dark form appear near them in the swirling snow. Then she saw the two eyes staring at her. It was a wolf! Her heart filled with fear as she grabbed Little Lamb and held her close to protect her. The big wolf slowly circled them, surveying the situation. Then the wolf disappeared into the wall of snow as quickly as he had appeared. Mary felt relieved, but realized if she and Little Lamb couldn’t find shelter soon, they both would freeze to death. She couldn’t help but wonder why the wolf had left so quickly. Maybe he had sensed danger nearby. Maybe someone was looking for them.

As quickly as her hopes had been lifted, they were dashed when the wolf again appeared out of the wall of snow. Only this time he wasn’t alone. Several other wolves were with him. She lay down in the snow with her arms around Little Lamb and began to sob uncontrollably as she realized they were about to become a meal for the wolf pack. 

She felt the breath from the wolf pack leader on the back of her neck and then felt his warm body next to her. The other wolves closed in. Then they all lay down around Mary and Little Lamb and snuggled up next to them. Two of the smaller wolves lay down on top of them. 

Mary couldn’t believe it. The wolves were providing a warm shelter for her and Little Lamb from the snowstorm that was raging around them. She felt warmer already.

High overhead Carrot Top was slowly making his way through the storm. Fairy Princess Sonja and Ole were still hanging on tight, when Carrot Top informed them he had just gotten word from his friends on the ground in the forest that Mary and Little Lamb had been found. They were being guarded by the wolf pack that roamed throughout Wolf Valley. 

Carrot Top began to circle and then started to slowly descend through the clouds of thick snow. Sonja hoped he knew what he was doing. Even her super eyesight couldn’t penetrate the snow. It was a total whiteout. It seemed to take forever before he flared his wings and gently touched down in the snow, right beside a large pile of snow with what looked like a wolf’s tail sticking out of it.

Fairy Princess Sonja slid down off Carrot Top’s back and changed herself back into her larger form. Ole hopped up on her shoulder to survey the situation. “Hey Lone Wolf, this is Ole. Are you in there?” 

A wolf’s head popped up out of the snow. “Yah it’s me. Haven’t seen you in a long time Ole. How you been?”

“Could be better. My arthritis has been acting up lately. Other then that, I can’t complain. How about you?”

“It’s been a challenge,” said Lone Wolf. “You probably heard that Man has been trying to kill us again. They’ve been setting a lot of traps around Wolf Valley, so we have to be extra cautious. Mary’s Little Lamb stumbled into one and got caught. We’ve been trying to keep them warm. They’re under this pile with us.”

“It looks like the snow is starting to let up,” said Sonja. We’ll need to try and free Little Lamb from the trap and help them find their way home. There’s a lot of snow that we’ll need to get through. It won’t be easy.”

“We’ll find a way,” said Ole. “We’ll stay close to Tomten Creek and follow it out, but we’ll have to be very careful. All the traps are snow-covered now and we don’t want anyone else stepping in one.”

The wolves all got up and shook off the snow that had covered them. Mary sat up and looked around. “Hello Mary. I’m Fairy Princess Sonja, and these are my friends, Ole, the green-striped frog, and Carrot Top, the redheaded bald eagle. You were very close to freezing to death when Lone Wolf found you and had his pack huddle around you to keep you warm. They saved your life, and Little Lamb’s life too. Now we need to get Little Lamb out of the trap and get you both safely home.”

Lone Wolf took one side of the trap in his powerful jaws while Sonja grabbed the other side. Sonja said to Mary, “We won’t be able to hold the trap open very long. As soon as there’s some space between the jaws, you lift Little Lamb out of the trap. Are you ready?” 

“I’m ready,” said Mary, as she put her arms around Little Lamb.

Sonja and Lone Wolf pulled and strained at the trap and it finally opened. Mary lifted Little Lamb to safety as the jaws of the trap snapped shut again. Everyone gave out a cheer. Mary had a surprised look on her face. “You won’t believe this, but I could understand what the wolves and frog were just saying.”

Oh, I believe it,” said Sonja. “When you become one with the natural world as you’ve become through this experience, you can also communicate with the animals and birds. You’ve just discovered that all of creation is one big family. That’s quite a gift. It looks like Christmas came early for you this year.”

Mary hugged Little Lamb, and then she hugged Lone Wolf and all the other wolfs in the pack and thanked them for saving their lives. “Why do they call you Lone Wolf when you have so many other wolves around you?”

“It’s a long story, Mary. Several years ago my mate got caught and died in a trap just like the one Little Lamb stumbled into. For a long time I was the only wolf around these parts and it was very lonely. Then another pack moved in and allowed me to join them. We’ve been family ever since. When I saw you freezing and Little Lamb caught in the trap, I knew we had to do something. I couldn’t let you die like my mate did, a few days before Christmas. Now we need to get you both home so you can enjoy Christmas. I bet your family is very worried about you.”

It took them the rest of the day, trudging through the snow, to reach the edge of the forest. It was just starting to get dark, and the warm glow from the lights in the house, where Mary’s family lived, was a welcome sight.

Fairy Princess Sonja told Mary, “This is as far as we can go. It’s too dangerous for Lone Wolf and the pack to venture out in the open.” Mary gave everyone another hug before picking Little Lamb up and starting toward the house, carrying her. She stopped and looked back. “I’ll never forget you and your kindness,” she said. “Just wait until I tell my folks what happened.”

As Mary continued toward the house, Sonja said, “They’re never going to believe her story, are they?” The wolf pack, Ole, and Carrot Top just smiled. 

Mary and her family enjoyed a great Christmas after she returned safely from being lost in the blizzard. Little Lamb’s foot healed up, and the rest of the winter was very peaceful in Wolf Valley. For some reason, all the wolf traps were removed. Life is peaceful and good in the Kingdom of Driftless Beauty.

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Christmas Is Special for Grandparents

Across the Fence #422

It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas, everywhere you go. How quickly things changed. Eight days into December and there wasn’t a snowflake in sight. The landscape looked like we could be in for a brown Christmas. I was beginning to enjoy this non-winter of dry roads and no snowdrifts in the driveway. I should have known it wouldn’t last.

Winter arrived this morning and it’s been snowing all day. Unless we get some warm weather in the next couple of weeks, it looks like Santa will have a blanket of snow when he makes his deliveries to all the good little girls and boys.

This will be the first Christmas with our grandson. I think grandma and grandpa will be more excited about Santa arriving than Sean will this year. He’s six months old, so he’s not into Santa yet. I wonder if they still give reports on Christmas Eve about the progress of Santa and his reindeer as they fly from the North Pole? We listened to those reports on the radio when we were young. It was always reassuring to know that Santa had been spotted and was on his way.

Now kids can probably track him with GPS on their iPhones. They have all the latest high-tech electronics that have taken some of the mystery and charm out of a visit from Santa. With all the technological progress, it’s nice to know that Santa still uses his sleigh and reindeer. I wonder if young kids still get as excited about his arrival as we did or does it all boil down to a visit to Toys-R-Us or one of the big box stores to pick out the latest and greatest toys? It seems to me that the Spirit of Christmas is harder to find these days with the total commercialization of Christmas. This year we saw reports of people fighting in the aisles in big box stores on Gray Thursday, formerly known as Thanksgiving. 

Back to Sean’s first Christmas. He’ll be spending it at our place in Sherpeland. We’re counting on Santa knowing where to find him. This is the first time Santa will be making a visit to our home. We haven’t had any young kids here for Christmas since we built the house. I don’t think we’ll need to put a sign out to remind him to stop. He seems to know how to find everyone, no matter where they are. 

When our kids were young, we were never home for Christmas; we always spent time at both grandparents. Linda’s family lived in Platteville. One year we’d spend Christmas Eve with them, and by noon on Christmas Day, we’d be on the road to Westby and my family. The next year it would be the reverse. Depending on the weather, those trips between Westby and Platteville could be challenging when the roads were snow-covered and slippery. Somehow, through it all, Santa always seemed to know which house to stop at to deliver Erik and Amy’s presents. When they were younger, they worried that he wouldn’t know where they would be, but if Santa knows if you’ve been naughty or nice all year long, he has no trouble knowing where you’re spending Christmas. I don’t think we spent a Christmas Eve at home until they were older. 

I imagine many of you can relate to that whole experience and have been there too. Wasn’t it fun trying to pack everything into the car for those trips? It’s a good thing Santa brought the presents for the kids so you didn’t have to pack them too, right?

When we were young, Christmas Eve was always spent at home. When you lived on a farm, there were cows to milk and chores to do, so you couldn’t head off to a grandparents home and stay overnight. A trip to grandma and grandpa’s farm happened on Christmas day after the milking and chores were done. Uncles, aunts, and cousins would all arrive there for Christmas dinner. It was a houseful of people, but it never seemed crowded. Card tables and folding chairs were the norm, but nobody cared. It was always an exciting time as all us cousins told each other what Santa had brought. 

The year David and I received Davy Crockett’s Alamo was hard. We hated to leave for Grandma and Grandpa Hanson’s because we were in the middle of a big battle and Santa Anna’s army was attacking the Alamo. There are certain presents that you always remember. We saw the Alamo at the “Dime Store” in Viroqua. They had a few shelves with toys during Christmas. When I saw that Alamo box, the only one on the shelf, I knew what it was to covet something. If I couldn’t get an electric train for Christmas, the Alamo was what I wanted. David and I received it together for Christmas. We never fought over it because it took two people to play. 

I wonder whatever happened to that Alamo set by Marx? It probably ended up in the cistern when it was filled in with “junk.” Maybe if I’m really good, Santa will bring me another Alamo set one of these days. A kid can always hope! Or maybe one of these days, I’ll see if Santa can bring one for Sean. If I ask real nice, maybe he’ll let me play with him.    

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The Grinch Keeps Stealing Santa

Across the Fence #421

As we drove past the Westby House Inn and Restaurant on Sunday morning, there stood Santa on the porch, all decked out in his finest red outfit, but something was missing… his head! Someone had vandalized Santa, decapitated him, and stole his head.

My first thought was, ‘What kind of low-life, thoughtless, sorry excuse for a human being would do that?’ Why do people have to destroy things? So much time and effort goes into decorating and trying to make things look nice and festive for the holidays. It can be very aggravating and disappointing when people vandalize or steal those decorations. I don’t know what possessed someone to cut Santa’s head off. If I had to venture a guess, I’d bet that alcohol was involved prior to the vandalism. If alcohol wasn’t involved, then the perpetrator(s) are really sick people.

This decapitation of Santa reminded me of an incident that took place in Platteville, where Linda grew up. Friends of her family had a large display in their front yard with Santa riding in his sleigh, pulled by reindeer. They also had many strings of lights that added to the scene. People always drove by at night to enjoy the display.

One morning when they woke up and looked out the window, Santa was gone, along with many strings of lights. Santa certainly hadn’t decided to leave on his own and take the lights with to light his way. He must have had help. Many tracks in the snow provided evidence that Santa had assistance in exiting his sleigh. It’s just wasn’t the same with Santa not riding in his sleigh. It gave the scene an empty feeling. After letting people know that Santa was AWOL, they heard through the grapevine that a Santa, looking a lot like the missing one, had been spotted in the hallway of one of the dorms at the university, along with a nice display of Christmas lights.

Ted contacted a local police officer, who accompanied him to the dorm in search of the missing Santa. They found Santa “sitting” in the hallway on one of the floors, along with the nice display of lights. Ted informed the embarrassed students who had been caught with Santa in their midst, that Santa belonged back in his sleigh in front of their house, and he’d appreciate getting his lights back too. He wanted everything returned and put back the way they had found them within the hour. He and the officer then left the dorm.

Shortly after Ted arrived home, a group of students were in their front yard, returning Santa to his sleigh, and stringing the lights up again, as best they could. When they were finished, Ted’s wife, Doris, invited all the students inside and served them Christmas cookies and hot chocolate–a true gesture of the Christmas spirit of giving. What had begun as an alcohol-fueled prank in their minds, but in reality, the theft of another person’s property, ended on a positive note over a cup of hot chocolate, cookies, and friendly conversation. I would bet that those students have never forgotten that kind gesture of forgiveness after they returned Santa and the lights to their rightful place. That really exemplifies the Christmas spirit of peace and good will. Kind actions speaker louder than harsh words and retaliation. I would hope those kids learned a valuable life lesson from that experience.

I hope that whoever vandalized Santa at the Westby House would feel some remorse for their actions and return Santa’s head so it can be repaired and he can once again stand on the porch waving to the young daycare children as they walk by. The children have wondered why Santa went away. Mike and Marie told me that this isn’t the first theft of Christmas decorations and other items they use to decorate their property throughout the year. 

Good Lord people, this is Westby, Wisconsin, where most people know each other, not some big city where a crime like this is just another daily occurrence. When we were growing up, my parents never locked the house when we went some place. I don’t think there was even a key for the door if they had wanted to lock it. People were trusted. A man was only as good as his word, and many deals were sealed with a handshake. That was as binding as any contract in the mind of anyone who valued his reputation for being an honest person.

Now we’re at a point where doors are locked and anything not nailed down may disappear or be vandalized. I hope it doesn’t get to the point where we all need to install security cameras to guard our Christmas displays and property year ‘round. Although it seems we’re already at that point. On this morning’s TV news, a man was shown stealing inflatable Christmas displays from a front yard. The thief’s image was captured on a security camera and hopefully someone will recognize him. This didn’t look like a spur of the moment, alcohol-impaired indiscretion. He knew exactly what he was doing. I don’t think there’ll be any hot chocolate and cookies for him.

With Christmas just around the corner, I hope we can all remember Doris and her hot chocolate and cookies, and treat all our fellow travelers and their property with kindness and respect.

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Cradle Ghost and A Mysterious Watch

Across the Fence #420

Things are not always what they appear to be. During the weekend, Linda and I toured the Thoreson House in Westby, the home of the Westby Area Historical Society. It was their Christmas holiday tour and all the rooms were decorated. The theme was “Victorian Christmas Through the Eyes of a Child.” 

In one room there was an antique cradle, built in the style of old Norwegian cradles we’ve seen. We were told that at one time this particular cradle was thought to be haunted. Many times when the family returned home, they would come in the door and find the cradle rocking back and forth. It was very unsettling and the family thought that some spirit was using the cradle while they were gone. It would slow down and quit rocking soon after they came in the house. It was as if the spirit left the cradle when it heard them coming.

One day they decided to be very quiet when they came home and maybe they could catch the ghost or spirit still in the cradle. They slowly opened the door without making a sound, and tip-toed over to the cradle that wasn’t moving at all. As they peered into the cradle, they startled their dog that had been sleeping in it. The dog jumped out of the cradle and quickly disappeared into the next room, leaving the cradle rocking back and forth, just as it always did when they entered the house. So much for a ghost in the cradle. Things are not always what they appear to be. There’s usually a simple explanation.

There’s one incident that I’ve never been able to explain. It involved my friend Dennis. He was a big, bear of a man with a heavy beard and always wore a cap. I kidded Barbara, his partner, that he probably even wore it to bed. Dennis looked like a tough lumberjack straight out of the Northwoods. He was one of the most intelligent men I’ve ever known.

I mentioned in an earlier story how he called me when he found out that he was dying from cancer. He wanted me to know, but didn't want me to tell anyone else. He didn't want sympathy from people. That’s when he gave me his peace pipe. 

I had decided that I wanted to give Dennis something too, as a token of our friendship. At one time we had talked about a watch that I had worn in Vietnam. I took it off the dead body of a Vietcong in the early days of my tour and had worn it for many years until it finally just quit running. It was an American watch that the Vietcong soldier had probably stripped off a dead American at one time. 

In our talking about it, he likened that insignificant watch to the broader picture of the total connection of all things in the universe. The dead American, the dead Vietcong, and I all had a connection. Not just the watch, but we were all part of creation, all made of the same material, and in another time and place we could all have been friends instead of enemies. We could have been sitting around just as he and I were, discussing the mysteries of life and death. Instead, I was the only one still standing, at least in this world. 

There was something about Dennis that I couldn’t put my finger on. He seemed to have an energy force that flowed from him and made things happen that were hard to explain. That day, Dennis, Barbara, and I walked out to the point of the plaza of The Highground near Neillsville, next to the Vietnam memorial statue that holds the wind chimes with the names of all the Wisconsin men who died in Vietnam. 

As we stood at the point, I took out the watch and explained to Dennis that it was the watch I had worn all those years–the one we had talked about before. It hadn’t worked for years, but I still wanted him to have it because of its significance. As he took the watch in his big hand and looked at it, he smiled and held it back out toward Barbara and me. He didn’t say a word. The second hand of the watch was going around again. The watch that hadn’t run for years was now running. I took it from his hand to look at it. The hands stopped. Barbara took it and held it, and the watch was still silent. She handed it back to Dennis. As soon as it was lying in his open hand, the watch returned to life again. I have no explanation for it. He seemed to have an energy source within his touch that Barbara and I didn’t possess. There was something about him that always seemed mysterious, beyond normal explanation. It was as if he was in touch with a higher power or energy force that most people don’t have or don’t know how to access.

There’s probably some simple answer, just as the cradle wasn’t inhabited by a ghost, but by the family dog. Things are not always what they appear to be, but some things defy all rational explanations. That’s OK with me. The world needs to have things that remain a mystery to us and have no rational explanation.

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Imagination and Curiosity Are the Keys

Across the Fence #419

“Imagination is more important than knowledge.” Albert Einstein, one of the greatest thinkers who ever lived, made that statement. I would add curiosity to the equation. Imagination and curiosity will open many doors that knowledge can’t. Knowledge will only take you so far, and then imagination and curiosity takes you to the next level. It opens new doors that we didn’t even know existed. That’s how discoveries and new knowledge are found.

Too often, education becomes a memorization of facts and figures. Take good notes, memorize everything, and you can ace most tests and come out in the top percent of your class. I never liked those true or false and multiple-choice tests. Give me an essay test where you are expected to analyze a subject and come up with conclusions and solutions to a problem. That’s where imagination and curiosity come in as you try to find a new way to do or say something. It keeps your mind active.

It reminds me of a woman I met several years ago while we were still living in Madison. My friend, Tom Deits, and I were at a book signing when Brian Green was in Madison. He discussed his new book at the time, The Fabric of the Cosmos, and talked about string theory and parallel universes. A half hour before the event, the seats were filled. Tom and I sat down on the floor near the front. Others did the same. An older lady sat down beside us. I was 61 at the time and not exactly a spring chicken, but she was in her late 70’s. Tom and I started visiting with her as we waited for the program to begin and she was a fascinating person. She was auditing classes at UW-Madison, going to lectures, taking writing classes, exercise classes, and on and on. I mentioned to her that I get frustrated when I hear someone say they are bored and there’s nothing to do! 

“Oh,” she said, “I’d like to slap those people up side the head and tell them to get off their butts and start living!”  

What a wonderful, energetic lady, and a real joy to talk with. She was full of questions and looking for answers. It’s fun to be around people with such curiosity and zest for life. There she was at a talk about string theory, parallel universes, and other mind-boggling theories. She was curious, just as Tom and I were, and wanted to learn more about these theories and their possible implications to the world we live in. Those subjects and Brian Green’s talk, fueled our imaginations and stirred our curiosity about the origins of life and what discoveries may be found in the future.

I’m like that woman, when I hear someone say they’re bored and there’s nothing to do, I want to tell them to get off their butts and start living. As long as you have an imagination and curiosity, you’ll never be bored. I have so many things I still want to do and learn; I’ll never have enough time.

I would rather read a book or write than sit and watch television. At least those activities require my imagination. When I was young, I loved listening to shows on the radio. My imagination ran wild as I visualized what was happening as the Lone Ranger and Tonto chased down the bad guys. With radio, you had to visualize what the characters looked like and use your imagination to create the scenery and the setting of the story. Perhaps that’s the reason I still love listening to Garrison Keillor and his stories about Lake Wobegon. My imagination becomes a participant in his stories. That’s an element that I feel is missing in television.

My friend and writing mentor, Ben Logan, also stressed the importance of curiosity. I spent many hours visiting with him at his farm, while he was still able to live there, on Seldom Seen Ridge near Gays Mills, Wisconsin. His book, The Land Remembers is one of my all-time favorites. I think his “Santa Claus is a Woman” from Christmas Remembered should be read every year as a Christmas classic. He often talked about the importance of curiosity in life and how important it is to a writer.

Ben and I have many things in common. We were both in Ag Journalism at the UW-Madison Ag School. One of his instructors was Professor Sumner, a very common sense person. Ben said, “Professor Sumner told me, ‘The trouble is, most journalism students write pretty well, but they don’t have a damn thing to write about!’  He had me taking philosophy and other courses to learn a wide variety of subjects. This fit perfectly with my curiosity.”

Ben and I both have an irresistible urge to push open the door of an old deserted barn or farmhouse to see if those who once lived there left any fragments of their life story. My sixth book, “A Door To the Past,” will be published in December. The cover photo is of the latch on the door to our old barn that’s now gone. It’s a symbol of the curiosity I feel when I want to turn a latch, open the door, and see what I can discover on the other side.

Imagination and curiosity are your keys to knowledge. Don’t be afraid to use them.

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The Ninth Year of Our Journey Begins

Across the Fence #418

All journeys begin with one step. This Across the Fence column began with one story nine years ago. Yes, this column begins the ninth year of this journey of visiting with you each week.

I think it’s fitting that it always falls during Thanksgiving. I realize how lucky I am to have an outlet where I can share my stories with you each week. I’m thankful for the newspapers that run it and I’m thankful for everyone who takes the time to read it each week. Please support your hometown newspaper so they can continue bringing you local news and also Across the Fence. 

Thanksgiving has been relegated to the kickoff of Black Friday, and now I hear that major stores are even going to invade the day of Thanksgiving itself. They aren’t even letting the turkey settle and the leftovers be enjoyed before waves of humanity descend on the shopping malls. You won’t find me anywhere near a shopping mall on Thanksgiving or Black Friday. I don’t enjoy crowds. They’ll probably move Black Friday up to Halloween Eve next year.

Thanksgiving certainly has changed since I was young. It was always a busy time of the year because it fell during deer hunting in Wisconsin, and quite often, case weather arrived at the same time. When the heavy, wet fog rolled in, everything else ground to a stop and we headed to the tobacco sheds to take down the tobacco that had been hanging in the shed and curing since it was harvested in the fall. When its raining and foggy, its perfect “case weather.” There’s something about that type of weather this time of year that kicks in the old memory bank, and I have an irresistible urge to crawl up in a tobacco shed and go to work! I can smell the cured tobacco and hear Dad yelling up to us, “Make sure you check the poles so you don’t fall down and kill yourself!” Telling that statement from our father has become a yearly tradition in this column. I’m thankful I don’t have to crawl up in a shed any more. Now I think it would kill me, and it wouldn’t be the fall.

I’m thankful for the memories of those Thanksgivings of the past, when it seemed all the relatives lived within a few miles of each other. My grandmother, Inga Sherpe, lived with us; my mother’s folks, Oscar and Julia Hanson, lived just down the road next to Smith School. I spent eight years there, contrary to popular opinion that it took me twelve years to get through grade school!  Most of my uncles, aunts, cousins, and other relatives, lived within a five-mile radius of our farm. Holidays were huge family get-togethers. 

Many Thanksgivings were held at my Hanson grandparent’s farm. Remember that old song, “Over the river and through the woods, to grandmother’s house we go, the horse knows the way to carry the sleigh….” Well, we didn’t go to grandmother’s house in a sleigh, we rode in a car, and there was no river to cross or woods to go through! We could see grandmother’s house from our kitchen window. But it was still a wonderful time when we all got together for holidays. I miss those big family gatherings. Now families are spread out from one coast to the other and it’s hard to find a time when everyone can get together. I think those times are gone because we can’t see where half our relatives live just by looking out the windows anymore.

There was never a lack of food at those family gatherings, as anyone with a drop of Norwegian blood running though their veins knows. Grandma Julia cooked the main meal, but everyone else brought something. I shouldn’t speak for everyone… but I ate until I was so full I didn’t even feel good!  I try to push myself away from a Thanksgiving table sooner nowadays, but old habits are hard to break.

This year will be special as we enjoy our first Thanksgiving with our grandson, Sean, who will be almost six months old. That’s one more thing to be thankful for. It seems like he was just born. Time seems to go faster and faster all the time. 

I’m thankful I was raised in the country, on a farm. When I was young, I didn’t always feel that way. Like so many young people, I couldn’t wait to leave and seek life in the big world outside the confines of the line fence on our farm. A lot of things have changed since those days. I’ve found the old saying, “You can take the boy out of the country, but you can’t take the country out of the boy” is very true. At least it’s true in my case. It’s nice to be back home in the country where I belong.

I’m also thankful for all the things that money can’t buy. You won’t find them at a shopping mall on Black Friday. I’ll keep traveling on this journey, visiting with you each week, and keep checking the poles. 

Give some thought to the things you’re thankful for as you sit down to that Thanksgiving feast this week… and please, don’t eat until you feel as stuffed as the turkey, and I’ll try my best to do the same! 

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It All Boils Down To Lutefisk

Across the Fence #417

It’s that time of year when you can feel a cool nip in the air; leaves cover the ground; you hear geese honking as they glide majestically overhead; the first snowflakes fill the air; and you can smell lutefisk wafting from the basement of every Lutheran Church of Norwegian heritage in the Midwest! Yes, it’s that time of year again… it’s time to get in touch with our ancestry, and celebrate lutefisk. A big serving will help get the bad taste of all those dirty political ads out of your mouth.

I recently wrote about all the wonderful church dinners at this time of year. The Super Bowl of all church dinners has to be the glorious lutefisk dinner.

For all you non-Scandinavians, Lutefisk (pronounced loo-te-fisk in Norway and the United States, and loot-fisk in Sweden) is a traditional food of the Nordic countries. It’s made from air-dried whitefish (normally cod), and lye (lut). Sounds delicious, doesn’t it? It must qualify as one of the strangest culinary delights around. 

In case you want to make some lutefisk yourself, here’s how to go about it. First soak the fish in cold water for five to six days (change the water daily). The saturated fish is then soaked in an unchanged solution of cold water and lye for an additional two days. The fish will swell during this soaking, becoming bigger than the original (undried) fish, while the protein content decreases by more than 50 percent, causing its famous jelly-like consistency. When this treatment is finished, the fish is full of lye, and is basically poisonous. You don’t want to eat the fish at that point, so to make it edible, a final treatment of yet another four to six days (and nights) of soaking in cold water (also changed daily) is needed. Eventually, the lutefisk is non-poisonous and ready to be cooked.

You might be asking yourself, how in the world did people start eating such stuff? No one really knows the answer, but Scandinavians are a hardy, adventurous people and if anyone was going to be the first to eat a lye-soaked fish it’s us! Most likely Scandinavians were the first to see a chicken lay an egg and say, “Hey, why don’t we cook that thing up and see what it tastes like.”

Rumor has it that a fish was accidentally dropped in a wash bowl containing lye, and because of the poverty the Vikings were living in, they didn’t want to waste a good fish. Another story tells about drying racks for stockfish that caught fire. This was followed by many days of rain. Ashes of wood, combined with water, will create lye, and again, because of poverty, the fish had to be eaten. So they picked the fish from the ashes, and soaked them in water for several days to get rid of the lye before cooking and eating them. They decided it tasted pretty darn good.

I have some theories of my own about lutefisk. I think it gave us the Viking Age! One day the women were cooking up a big batch of lutefisk and the stink finally got to the men who were just sitting around telling fish stories and drinking Aquavit. Ole said, “Let’s get out of here until dey get done cookin’ dat horrible stuff. Why don’t we all get in my boat and we’ll sail across da water for a while and see what we can find.” Next thing you know, they landed in England, did a little plundering and pillaging, and the rest is history! All because of lutefisk! 

That’s probably how they conquered other countries too. They realized that if they took along a supply of lutefisk, they could threaten the people with either surrendering or being forced to eat lutefisk. People took one look at that jellied glob of fish, got a whiff of the “odiferous” smell, and quickly laid down their weapons! History books don’t tell you about this stuff. You can only find out about it here, talking across the fence. 

If only the government would listen to me. We wouldn’t need to spend billions of dollars on military stuff. We get all the Lutheran church men’s groups in the Midwest to cook up a big batch of lutefisk and we take it to whatever country we’ve decided to invade and give them the same deal as our Viking ancestors did. It would take the fight right out of them. No more war, and all because of lutefisk!

Up at Coon Ridge, the highlight of fall is the annual Coon Ridge Lutheran Church lutefisk dinner. People can hardly wait for that great event. The men’s group at church isn’t exactly looking forward to it though. They love to eat lutefisk, but they hate cooking it. So the boys have been wondering if there isn’t a way they could order the lutefisk already cooked and they could just sit down and eat it. But that would require paying someone else to prepare it, and they’re too cheap to do that.

So that’s the strange smell that fills the air when you drive through Scandinavian communities this time of year. Don’t be shy. Park the car, wander in, and enjoy a delicious meal of lutefisk, meatballs, lefse, and all the trimmings. It will be a culinary experience you won’t forget!

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Dr. Paul Dunn - Iwo Jima Veteran

Across the Fence #416

I was born in May during World War II, a month before the allied invasion at Normandy on D-Day, June 6, 1944. When I was nine months old, the Marines hit the beach on the small island of Iwo Jima in the Pacific on February 19, 1945. Some of the fiercest and bloodiest fighting of the war in the Pacific occurred on Iwo Jima. One of the men who went ashore with the Marines was 25-year old Navy Corpsman, Paul Dunn. 

He’s a retired physician, who now lives in Maplewood Terrace Assisted Living Apartments in Viroqua, Wisconsin, with Katheryn, his wife of 61 years. I had the honor of sitting down with Dr. Dunn two days before his 93rd birthday and interviewing him about his World War II experiences. As a fellow medic, I was interested in learning what he went through as a medic. Navy medics are called corpsmen.

He was working as an office boy at the Federal Reserve Bank in Cincinnati and taking evening courses three nights a week at Xavier University when Japan attacked Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941. He knew that sooner or later he would be going into the service. He wanted to be with the Army Medical Corps or Navy Hospital Corps, so he began taking first aid courses and became an instructor giving classes in first aid. As draft times got closer he decided to join the Navy, where he’d either be on a ship or a shore station. He didn’t want any of that foxhole infantry life.

On September 23, 1942, he became a member of the U.S. Navy as a Pharmacist Mate 3rd class. After four months he became the first Navy Corpsman in his training group to be assigned to the 5th Medical Battalion of the 5th Marine Division (Fleet Marine Force). Among Navy Corpsmen, the FMF was the worst thing that could happen to them. Life was short for corpsmen in the South Pacific. So much for spending his time on a ship, he knew he’d be living in a foxhole with the Marines. As long as that was to be his destiny he decided to make the best of the short time that could be left of his life.

After field training with the Marines, he and three Marines were chosen to attend commando training school for six weeks. He was the only Navy Corpsman in the school. He said after completing the training he had never felt so good in his life–before or since.

After more training at Camp Tarawa in the Hawaiian Islands they boarded ships and headed for combat at an undisclosed location somewhere in the Pacific islands. They were finally told that the target was the small island of Iwo Jima, 700 miles from the Japanese homeland. There were 20-25 thousand Japanese troops on the island who were expected to fight to the last man. They were told that they should have the island secured in three days because they had been bombing the hell of it.

On February 19, 1945, the first waves of Marines hit the beach. At first they encountered little opposition. The Japanese intentionally let more Marines get on the exposed beaches before letting loose with intense artillery, machine gun, and rifle fire. Paul said that when all hell broke loose from Mount Suribachi, they were pinned down on the open ground with no cover whatsoever. It was like shooting fish in a barrel with a shotgun. Their regiment was finally able to cross the narrow part of the island and establish a beachhead with great loss of life and horrible casualties. 

His regiment finally took Mount Suribachi after five days of heavy fighting and they raised the flag that was immortalized in a photo by Joe Rosenthal that became a symbol of the fighting in the Pacific. One of those men was a fellow Navy Corpsman, John Bradley. Paul said that three of the men who raised the flag were later killed in the fighting on Iwo Jima. During the 35 days of fighting he slept in a foxhole at night. Not exactly the life he had planned and expected when he joined the Navy.

The amount of human destruction he witnessed on Iwo Jima was horrific. There were more than 26,000 American casualties, including 6,800 dead. Over 20,000 Japanese soldiers were killed. There’s no way to measure the psychological damage that took place among the survivors. Some aspects of war never change.

After leaving Iwo Jima, Paul’s unit returned to Camp Tarawa to prepare for the invasion of Japan. He feels the dropping of the atomic bombs, as terrible as they were, saved the lives of millions of Americans and Japanese that would have been killed during an invasion. 

After the war he went to Medical school and was a physician in the Chicago area for 50 years. I’m sure the training and experience he gained as a Navy Corpsman made him a better doctor. Thank you Dr. Paul Dunn for being there to treat and comfort the wounded and dying during World War II. I salute you and all the remaining veterans of that war for your service and sacrifice.

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