The Wave

Across the Fence #244

Now that we live in the country again, the wave is very important. I’m not talking about the wave that you see at sporting events, where people suddenly stand up, throw their hands in the air, and then sit down again. Then the people next to them do the same thing and around the stadium it goes, resembling an undulating wave on an ocean.

I guess you could call that a wave, since it’s often used to get the attention of the TV cameras, but that’s not the type of wave I’m talking about. I mean the greeting you give someone when you meet them as you’re driving along a country road. This is something I never had to concern myself with in Madison. If I had waved at someone I met there, they’d have thought I was some kind of nutcase. In the country, it’s the accepted thing to do, even if they are strangers.

There are many different type of waves and they often reflect the personality of the person doing the waving. Being of good, conservative Norwegian upbringing and not wanting to show too much emotion, I tend toward the passive kind of waves.

Not everyone I meet is a close, personal friend. Matter of fact, most of the people I wave at are complete strangers. But, when you travel country roads, you better be prepared to wave at everyone, just in case it’s someone that knows you. If you don’t return the wave, they’ll probably think you’re stuck up and too good to return a friendly greeting. Next thing you know, everyone in the area will think you’re unfriendly and too big for your britches.

Whenever I go cruising the back roads, I’m always ready to “pop a finger” as we meet someone. Sometimes I pop two fingers, but not on the same hand. Plus, both hands must stay on the steering wheel at all times. I call it the “one-finger salute,” or “two-finger salute” if you’re really happy to see someone. The one-finger salute, or wave, is done with the index finger extended, not the other one-finger salute you were probably thinking about.

Around these parts, we call that the “Portland salute.” I’m just reporting the facts; I’m not going to interpret them for you.

I’ve got to give credit where credit is due for the idea behind this story. Karen Hankee suggested I write about the many different waves that people use.

After our Sons of Norway board meeting tonight, I remarked that I needed to get home and write my column for next week. I always send it off to the papers late Tuesday night. This is Tuesday night! They asked what I was writing about. I said that I didn’t know yet. The well was getting low on water and I needed to prime the pump. That’s when Karen suggested “waves.”

Regarding that Portland salute; they told me that a woman was driving down the road when she met a red pickup and thought it was someone she knew. She gave them the Portland salute and realized too late that it wasn’t who she thought it was. Meanwhile, the man driving the pickup said to his wife, “I don’t know who that woman was, but for some reason, I don’t think she likes me very much.” You’ll have to use your own imagination to visualize the Portland salute. I’m not about to demonstrate it for you. I got in enough trouble years ago when I taught it to my brother and he greeted my father with it when he came out to the tobacco field where we were hoeing. Dad was not impressed!

But lets move on to other waves. There’s the “full hand, five-finger wave.” You only use that wave when you know the person and want to make sure they see your greeting so they don’t think you’re avoiding them or stuck up.

Then there’s the “windshield wiper wave.” That’s where you wave your hand back and forth like you’re wiping the windshield. The happier you are to meet someone, the faster the wave. Kind of like windshield wipers going at top speed, whipping back and forth in a total downpour.

If you’re really happy to see someone, you can stick your whole arm out the window and execute the “extended arm wave.” Depending on how well you know the person, this can be a simple one-finger salute to a full-blown windshield wiper wave. It can also be used for the Portland salute, but be advised, use this with extreme caution.

Another wave that seems to have come into being recently is what I call the “parade princess wave.” That’s where all the girls wave in slow unison, like a bunch of robots, first with one hand, and then as if on cue, they all change hands and wave with the other one. I personally don’t like this wave and only use it if I’m trying to be sarcastic. I suspect if I used this wave on a country road, the recipient would think I had just given him the Portland salute. I think I’ll stick to the more traditional and manly waves.

Whatever wave or salute you use to greet people on country roads, isn’t as important as the simple gesture of greeting and acknowledging your fellow travelers as you pass each other on the busy road of life.

Reborn On the 4th of July

Across the Fence #243

July 4th was my homecoming, or as I tell people, I was reborn on the 4th of July, 1967. That’s the day I arrived back in “The World” after spending a year in Vietnam. This Sunday, July 12th, we’ll go to Platteville to visit the Moving Wall that will be there for several days. I’ve never been to The Wall in Washington. I suspect it would be very emotional to see all those thousands of names etched in stone. Some of those names belong to people I knew. I’m just glad my name isn’t among them. It could easily have been.

There is one incident that I’ve mentioned to a handful of people, but don’t think they really understand. Actually, very few people would. They’ll say it was all in my mind, which in reality, it was. You’ll probably think I’m crazy too.

When I was in Vietnam, I had a close call, and thought I was about to die within the next few seconds. A grenade landed within a few feet of me and I didn’t have time to do anything. There’s no way to describe the feelings I had when I saw the grenade hit the ground and thought my life was over.

In those few seconds, when I expected death to come, I found myself standing in the back forty of our farm, near a dilapidated, old shed that stood among a grove of trees. I was standing near the corner of the farm and looking at all the sights that I knew I’d never see again. Now we live on the same spot where I found myself standing during that incident. The shed is long gone, but the grove of trees is still here and so am I.

As I stood looking around, I suddenly found myself at Smith School, the little one room school where I went for eight years. The school has now been removed because of a new highway the state wants to build, but I’m still here. I can see where the school once stood from where I now sit and write this story. One time, being the great art critic that I thought I was, I made fun of a drawing a girl had drawn on one of the black boards. I won’t use her name in this story. As punishment, the teacher had me stay inside during recess for two days and write over and over on the board, I will not make fun of the artwork of other people.

As I observed that day from my childhood, I saw the incident again, not from my perspective, but from the girl’s perspective. I could feel her pain and how much I had hurt her by the comments I had made about her drawing. This may seem like a very insignificant occurrence to most people, but it must have left a lasting impression on me, because now I was sorry for what I had said. In that moment I wished I could tell the girl that I was sorry for my comments and ask her to forgive me.

That experience, made me think about life, death and what we do with our time here on earth. I came to conclusion that we are not judged by the Creator or “The Force,” for what we’ve done during this life. I think we judge our own life, just as I did in that instance. We must decide if our life has been full of love and helping others, or were we self-centered and hurtful to other people. Was our journey a success, or did we waste our precious time?

I came away from that experience with those thoughts. An epiphany if you wish. Needless to say, the grenade didn’t explode and I’m still here, or I wouldn’t be able to write about it. The Force was with me that day! It was not yet my time to leave, but I came away from that experience with a deeper feeling that there are mysteries in this life that we can’t begin to explain.

Was my mind so frightened in that moment by the thought of death, that I just thought these things, or did my mind–the soul–actually leave my body and instantly transport itself back to my childhood and let me see those things for a reason?

I’ve given this a lot of thought over the years. There’s more truth to that old Star Wars line, “Trust the Force,” than many people think. Perhaps The Force knew what was best for me.

As Linda says, “You had other things to do, people you needed to help, and you had to survive to accomplish them.”

I don’t know why I’m still here and other friends are now names on The Wall that I will visit this weekend. I’ll think about that as I view their names and be thankful for these extra years that those guys didn’t get to experience.

Author Ben Logan and I have talked about this. He was the only survivor on his LST in World War II. He decided that he needed to live for those guys too and not waste the extra time he was given. That’s the way I feel too. I was reborn on the 4th of July and I don’t want to waste a moment of this extra life I’ve been given.

Old Fences Remind Me of Changes

Across the Fence #242

Recently, Jim Massey, Editor of The Country Today, wrote to comment on my story about Dad that ran in their Father’s Day issue.

It sounds like our fathers were made from the same mold, both in age and how they looked at life. Jim’s father died on April 9, 2000 at 87 years of age, and Dad died on May 27, 2000 at the age of 86. It’s hard to believe they’ve been gone for nine years already. Where did the time go?

Jim’s comments got me thinking about Dad and what he would think about us living on a corner of the back forty of the farm. I also wonder what he would think about my writing a weekly column, especially in the Westby Times, his hometown paper? Uff da, he’d probably be worried every week that I was going to say something I should keep my pen and mouth silent about. It was bad enough that I was an artist. His philosophy was, if you didn’t do physical work, it wasn’t really work. Sometimes I think he was right, although it would be hard to convince me of that some days when I get home from work and I’m totally worn out, at least mentally. It makes it hard to write this column at times like that and the blank sheet of paper stays blank for a long time. But, as I said in the story about him, he had a tremendous influence on me, my work ethic, and how I look at life.

I thought of all that when I went for a walk in the back forty below our house over the weekend. I wanted to check the pond and see if there was any water left in it. It was dry as a bone.

It used to hold water year ‘round and we kept heifers in the forty all summer. That was their water supply. The pond was a natural depression in the ground. This spring the pond was full to overflowing. Now it’s empty. The water disappears quickly. I suspect it’s an old sinkhole where the underground layers have been eroding and the hole is getting closer to the surface. I walked down in the bottom of the pond, but was careful. I could imagine the ground giving out under my weight and finding myself at the bottom of a deep shaft. That would have given me an exciting story to write about, but it’s a little more excitement than I need!

Sinkholes, and disappearing water in them, makes me wonder what affect this could have on our underground water supply if they build that 3,200 cow CAFO near us, and liquid manure begins draining into it with the spring runoffs. The corporation that wants to build it, owns land bordering our forty. Any runoff would come right down our little valley and into the pond/sinkhole. I’m no scientist, but I can’t believe that would be good for the water supply for everyone around here. I don’t think my father would have been very happy about this possibility either. He was a family farmer and very conscious of how the land was used, not only on his farm, but neighboring farms.

I left the pond and continued down what used to be the cow lane. As I was walking along an old fencerow that Dad had put in, I took some photos of the rotting posts with the electric wire on the insulators. I thought of Dad with his large hands, digging the holes with a posthole digger that you turned by hand and lifted the dirt out of the hole. It was hard work. I remembered how he swung the heavy sledgehammer and slammed it down on top of the wood post until he had pounded it into the ground. I could almost see him as he stretched the wire from post to post and then bent down on one knee as he fastened the wire to the insulator. He would wind another piece of wire around it, often twisting it with his bare, calloused hands. There’s something special about wire fences when you think about all the work that went into building them.

That’s back when every family farm had fences. Today I see huge fields with the fences torn out so they can plant crops, unhindered by posts and wire. There are fewer pastures with cows grazing in them too. You needed fences to keep the cows out of the corn, tobacco, and the neighbor’s fields. When only crops are planted, fences aren’t needed. The corn isn’t going to cross the line and trample the soybeans. However, the weeds still invade any field they can. Fences can’t stop them.

Now people who don’t even live in the area, own many of those fields. I don’t call them family farms. Family farms, big or small, are owned and operated by local people who care about the land and how it might affect their neighbors. I think of all these things as I walk and observe the land around me. Fences, or I should say, the lack of fences, remind me that much has changed since the days when my father drove those posts and strung that wire. My father and Jim Massey’s father are now gone. Soon the fences they built will also be gone. Life keeps changing… and moving on.

A Very Special Midsummer's Eve

Across the Fence #241

This past weekend was Father's Day and also Midsummer's Eve. Erik, Amy, and her boyfriend, Tim, were here to spend the time with us. And, we can’t forget their dog, Sweeney, a German Shepherd/Collie mix, who is six months old and full of pep and vinegar, not to mention, corn, wood chips, grass, moths, June Bugs, and I dread to think what else she may have eaten.

Saturday was perfect weather and we decided to build a bonfire in the firepit in our back yard to celebrate Midsummer’s Eve, a tradition that dates back to the time of my Viking ancestors.

Last summer, I dug a pit about two feet deep and five feet in diameter. I lined it with stones from the foundation of our old barn that was torn down a year ago. It’s nice to have those stones still be a small part of the farm. I put gravel in the bottom of the pit. It turned out rather nice, even if I do say so myself; a perfect place for a fire on this special evening.

The celebration of Midsummer’s Eve has been linked to the summer solstice since ancient times. People believed that midsummer plants, especially Marigolds, had miraculous healing powers and picked them on this night. Bonfires were lit to protect against evil spirits, which were believed to roam freely on this longest day of the year, when the sun turns southwards again as the days become shorter. In later years, witches were also thought to be on their way to meetings with other evil and powerful beings, though this is not the case today.

In Scandinavia, the Midsummer celebration originates from the Pagan times before Christianity; it was celebrated as a sacrifice time in the sign of fertility. I can assure you, no human or animal was sacrificed to the gods during our celebration, although a few marshmallows did go up in flames. I guess we could call that a sacrifice of sorts.

You can’t sacrifice marshmallows without a bonfire, and you can’t have a bonfire without wood. I’d been stockpiling all sizes of sticks and scrap wood. Sweeney helped us carry sticks to the firepit and had to chew on many of them in the process. We built a pyramid, beginning with small twigs, piling larger ones on top, and finally scraps of old boards stacked around it to form the pyramid. This would be an old Viking style bonfire.

The easy way to start a fire in such a pile, is to crumple some paper and other flammable material and light it with a match. You soon have a roaring fire. But that would be the easy way and anyone can do that. Tim wanted to start the fire the “Survivor Man” way. He split open a piece of “punky” wood and made a small hole in the piece. He put a small piece of cotton from a medicine bottle in the bottom along with some wood chips. Then he took a Swedish FireSteel (I’ll call it a Norwegian FireSteel for the sake of my ancestors), and struck the two pieces together, producing a spark to ignite the cotton and wood.

Be advised, if you plan to try this at home, it’s not as easy as it sounds. You need a lot of patience and breath, especially when it’s been raining for several days and all the wood and grass is not very dry. It takes a lot of blowing on the wood to get it to smolder and finally ignite into flames. After many minutes of huffing and puffing, a little smoke began to rise. He added more small shavings and continued blowing. After about twenty minutes a flame finally appeared. As I said, you’ll need lots of patience. Many people would have given up and struck a match, but not Tim.

As the flames grew bigger, he carefully inserted the burning chunk of wood into the center of the pyramid. It didn’t take long before flames were licking and climbing their way up the stack of wood. We soon had a flaming pyramid that would have made our Norwegian ancestors proud. I suspect it also chased away any evil spirits that may have been roaming around the back forty and our yard on Midsummer’s Eve. If it worked in ancient times, it should still work today!

It was very peaceful sitting near the fire, seeing the flames climb toward the sky, as we watched the sun set among beautiful, pink clouds, while the birds and frogs serenaded us from nearby trees and fields.

We called my brother, Arden, and he, Jan, and Kassie, joined us and brought marshmallows that we sacrificed on the fire. Some people like their marshmallows burned, not just browned. It was a peaceful, wonderful evening as we all sat and visited while we watched the fire. The clouds finally began to clear out and stars became visible all around us. It was a great way to celebrate Midsummer’s Eve. When the fire finally died down, we looked into the firepit and the burning embers were glowing and shimmering like molten lava in the bottom of the pit.

As we were walking back to the house in the dark, I thought to myself, we were all making memories for the future on this Midsummer’s Eve. What a great memory it will be to look back on.

Life Under the Maple Tree

Across the Fence #240

I don't see many people sitting in the shade of a tree these days. I think air conditioning and television changed tree sitting and many other things too.

When I was young, and I have to admit that was before we had air conditioning, we did a lot of sitting and relaxing under the maple trees in our yard after milking was done in the evening. It was a family time, when Ma Dad, Grandma Inga, and us kids all relaxed together. The adults sat at the picnic table or on lawn chairs. Us kids usually sprawled out on the cool grass. The dogs and a few barn cats were a part of the gathering too.

There was always a breeze blowing across the prairie, even on the hottest summer day. It may have been a hot breeze, but it was better than nothing. Even with all the doors and windows open, the heat inside the house became almost unbearable on hot, humid, summer days. The heat from the wood cook stove added to the misery. I don't know how my mother did it. At the time, I never gave it a second thought, but now when I look back, I really appreciate all the struggles she and all the housewives went through in the summer heat.

Now, even with air conditioning, people will say, "It's too hot to cook, lets go out to eat." Very seldom did we ever eat out. If we did, it was a trip to the root beer stand for a hotdog and root beer. That was a real treat for everyone. You got served in your car. A carhop would take your order and return with the food on a tray that fit on your car window. It's hard to find a place like that any more. I guess you could call root beer stands the first fast food restaurants.

But I’m sailing up another fjord here. Lets return to the shade of that maple tree. I mentioned last week that I never see June Bugs any more. That’s where I remember watching them swarming around the yard light when it got dark… thousands of them. They also covered the gravel driveway at times, and would be squished if a car drove over them.

The air was also alive with activity as daylight faded and the stars started appearing. It wasn’t unusual for bats to swoop through the air and dive bomb us at times. My mother didn’t care for them. She was afraid they would land in our hair or bite us. Fireflies, also referred to as Lightning Bugs, were also a part of our evenings. I’m still fascinated with how they can “light up.” I guess without TV, those evening activities were our entertainment.

Sometimes there would be conversations under the tree about what had gone on that day; how the crops were doing, what had to be done the next day, what news Dad had heard while at the feed mill, or some news Ma had heard while talking to her mother or one of my aunts on our party line phone. It was under that tree, at the end of the day, that the family talked to each other after a busy day. Sometimes we just sat or lay back in the grass and watched the activity around us in the evening air. We also listened to all the sounds that seemed to be amplified as darkness set in. I remember the creaking of the windmill, pigeons softly cooing in the cupola of the barn, the rustling of the leaves in the tree above us as the birds settled down for the night, and cats near the barn fighting over the last of the milk that was their allotment for the evening.

Evenings under the tree were not without discomforts. The mosquitoes also liked those evening hours and could make life miserable, especially after a period of wet weather. Flies and other winged insects also liked to hang around in the coolness of the shade. Those flies were real pests in the house. They always found a way inside. If you’re my age or older, you should remember those fly ribbons hanging in the house. We even had one over the kitchen table. Thinking back, that wasn’t the most appetizing during meals, when flies caught in the ribbon made frantic buzzing noises as we were eating. But like the lack of air conditioning and TV, it was a part of our life and we never thought it shouldn’t be hanging there.

Life seemed simple, good, and complete at times like that, with the family all gathered together. We didn’t miss air conditioning because we had never experienced it. This was how life was supposed to be in the summer. It was often hot and humid, and you endured it as best you could. I think the summer days seem even hotter now because many of us are used to working and living in air conditioned buildings. When we do venture outside, we notice the heat that much more.

I know most of us wouldn’t care to go back to those days. In retrospect, they seem pretty primitive by today’s standards. But sometimes, I remember how peaceful those evenings were, lying under that old maple tree, listening, observing, and contemplating the world around me… and I miss them.

The Hills Are Alive...

Across the Fence #239

It's time to get off the couch, leave the computer behind, turn off the cell phone, and go for a walk. At this time of year the hills are alive with the sounds of life. Not just the hills, but also the trees, the fields, and the streams.

I was out walking the other evening and was amazed at all the sounds I heard as the day was winding down and darkness was setting in. The sights you'll encounter on those walks are also great. You can't capture a sunset or the clouds and just watch it on a nature program on TV. You need to experience it, live and in full color, with all the sounds of nature surrounding you.

The recent rains have nurtured the grass, trees, flowers, and yes, even the weeds, and made them come alive in volume and in color. The wildflowers are also growing in fields and ditches along the back roads. If you're not able to walk, at least jump in the car and take a drive along those back roads and enjoy the scenery. While you're at it, roll the windows down and listen to the sounds around you. When I'm out driving, I see most cars with their windows rolled up tight. I imagine the radio blasting and their air conditioner is in use. That is, when and if, it ever warms up enough to use it. Temperatures as I write this, are still very cool for the second week in June, and a jacket is often needed. Gardens have even been nipped by frost in the evenings, but that's another story.

I have another suggestion too. If you have children or grandchildren, take them with you. Make sure they leave their cell phones behind. You don't want them texting or making and receiving calls when they should be concentrating on, and learning to enjoy nature. I think it's the responsibility of every parent and grandparent to instill a love of the natural world around them in the children.

It will be Father's Day the weekend after this is published. I know children are supposed to give their father a gift on this day, but lets turn the tables on who's doing the giving. As a father, one of the best things you could give them, is to instill an appreciation for nature and everything associated with it... those sights, sounds, and smells. Take some time to go on a walk with them, examine some wild flowers, listen to the birds singing, watch how the wind blows through the tall grass, listen to the sound it makes, hear how the wind gently rustles the leaves of the trees, and watch butterflies darting among the wild flowers.

If you have a creek nearby, take a walk along it. If you like to fish, take a fishing pole along and find a nice spot to sit. Attach a red and white bobber to your line, a Night Crawler to your hook, and toss it in the water. Now sit back, relax, and listen to the water as it flows over the rocks. It's a gentle, soothing sound. If a fish comes along and takes the bobber under, set the hook and have some fun. Even if you don't catch anything, you're going to have a wonderful outing. If you take you child or grandchild along, it's an experience they'll remember for a long time. What a wonderful gift.

If it's late in the day, stop and observe how the sounds and colors change. See how the shades og green all merge together and become one mass instead of individual trees as the light fades. As darkness takes over, the wind dies down and leaves become quiet. The tall grass no longer sways in the breeze like waves on an ocean. The busy day, full of sounds, is winding down and the sounds of the night take over. You might hear Killdeer still calling to each other before settling down for the night. If there are still cows where you live, you might hear them mooing softly to their calf in the distance. The crickets come alive with the evening. I could sit and listen to their symphony of music for a long time.

If there are fireflies around you, join the kids as they try to capture them in a jar. No kid, young or old, should go through life without chasing fireflies at least once. That goes for butterflies too.

This is June. Whatever happened to June Bugs? We used to have thousands of those big bugs swarming around our yard light on early summer nights. I haven't seen one for years, but they were a part of my life every summer when I was young.

Those are the type of experiences you remember; the simple pleasures of enjoying the natural world around you. You can't experience those things by sitting on the couch watching TV or playing on your computer. It's time to get up, grab the kids, and go outside for a while. This Father's Day, make it a priority. While you're at it, you might even build a bonfire in a firepit. After all, it's also Midsummer's Eve, when the Norse tradition is to celebrate the longest day of the year with a big bonfire. Enjoy it.

Yes, the hills are alive with the sounds of life, and all the sights and smells that accompany it. Don't miss it!

Learning About Life and Death

Across the Fence #238

Children who grow up on a farm, learn about life and death at an early age. Life comes and goes quickly on the farm. It was a part of our everyday life.

My friend, John Cotter, who lives in Middleton, Wisconsin, comes to Vernon County to fish and hunt. Whenever he's in the area we get together for lunch and coffee at Borgen's Cafe and often come up with new topics for this column. During his last visit he brought up the idea that country kids learn the cycle of life a lot sooner than city kids. He said he remembered when pigs had their litter every spring. They would set up gates to try and give the newborn pigs some safety, but it was not always successful. The sows would often lie down on the newborns, killing them.

The same was true for other farm animals. We saw them being born, but often witnessed their deaths too. Calves, chickens, cats, and dogs, all became a circle of life to us.

We often watched as a calf was born and marveled at how new life began. Within a short time of emerging into her new surroundings, the calf would stand on wobbly legs and soon be sucking and enjoying the first meal of warm milk from her mother. Sometimes there would be problems with the birth and we'd watch as Dad pulled the calf from darkness into the light of day. I learned to help him with those difficult births when I was in high school.

Sometimes there were problems and a new calf that had just been born would die, or would become sick and die within a week or two. We learned that sometimes the circle of life is very short. It became a part of life on the farm.

We had dozens of cats on the farm. We would find and hold them shortly after they were born. Sometimes we even watched as they were born. Some of them became friendly and others always displayed a wild streak. They only came around when milking was done and milk was poured into an overturned can cover for them to drink. Farm cats learned to roam the fields searching for a meal. An unsuspecting mouse or a bird that had let their guard down, became their meal. The death of mice and birds also became a fact of life on the farm. We learned that one must die so another might eat and live.

Some animals became a part of our meals. Cows and pigs were butchered for meat, and chickens were often killed and became a meal for us. Today, people who consume meat, seldom do the butchering chores. The act of killing your own food has become alien to most people.

The fate of some farm cats also fell into our hands. The same cats that loved to roam the fields sometimes became a victim of the hay mower. They tried to hide as the tractor and mower approached and found themselves in the path of the sharp, deadly sickles. We had many cats that lost a leg or even worse. Some cats survived to prowl around on three legs. Others had to be destroyed because they were so badly injured. You hated to kill them, but it was the humane thing to do and it became a part of life on the farm.

Dogs were not immune to tragic death either. We had several dogs that were hit and killed by cars. Those family pets were the hardest deaths to accept. We had raised some of them since they were pups. When I was in early grade school, our dog, Tony, followed me toward Highway 14 when I walked to school one day. When I got home that evening, I found out he'd been struck by a car and killed. It was a hard death to take for a young boy. I also felt responsible because he had followed me. My Grandma Inga, rocked me in her lap that evening while I cried and mourned Tony's death. Like all farm dogs, we buried him and put a crude marker on his grave. Learning to say goodbye to good friends like that, was a part of learning to accept death, do our grieving, and then move on with life.

Another of our dogs was also struck and killed when I was in 8th grade. My mother was baking an Angel Food cake and was short on eggs. She had me walk over to Midtlien's, our neighbors, to borrow some. I had to cross Highway 14. Our dog followed me. I told him to wait. But as I was coming down their driveway, he got up and ran across the road to meet me... right into the path of a car and was killed. I wouldn't eat Angel Food cake for a long time after that.

Life and death is learned about, early and often, when you live on a farm. You watch new life come into the world, but death also becomes a part of life. They are not separate. Life and death are both part of the same circle. When country kids grow up watching life begin and end, it helps them understand how fragile and precious life really is.