Book Event at Borgen's

I will be at Borgen's Cafe in Westby on Saturday, February 28, at 1:00 pm. This will be a presentation of The Book corner that is broadcast on Community Channel 14 each week if you have service through Vernon Communications. 

I'll give a history of my "Across the Fence" column, how it began, and how it has developed over the past five years. I'll also talk about the importance of telling your personal stories and not take them to the grave with you. I'll read a couple of stories from my three Across the Fence books, and there will be plenty of time to ask questions too.

After the presentation, I'll have books for sale and will sign them for anyone who wants one.

I'll also provide some great Borgen's coffee and cookies for you to enjoy while we're talking across the fence. This is your chance to have me buy you coffee. Hope to see you there if you're in the area.

 

Struggles Make Us Stronger

Across the Fence #223

Nature is a very good teacher. We can learn a lot by observing it. I came across this story one day and thought it had an important lesson about life.

A man found the cocoon of a butterfly while walking one day, and decided to take it home. One day a small opening appeared. He sat and watched the butterfly for several hours as it struggled to force its body through that small hole. 

Then it seemed to stop making any progress. It appeared as if it had gotten as far as it could and could go no farther.

The man decided to help the butterfly, so he took a pair of scissors and snipped off the remaining bit of the cocoon. The butterfly then emerged easily. But it had a swollen body and small, shriveled wings.

The man continued to watch the butterfly because he expected that, at any moment, the wings would enlarge and expand to be able to support the body, which would contract in time.

Neither happened!

In fact, the butterfly spent the rest of its life crawling around with a swollen body and shriveled wings. It was never able to fly.

What the man in his kindness and haste did not understand, was that the restricting cocoon and the struggle required to get through the tiny opening, was nature's way of forcing fluids from the body of the butterfly into its wings, so that it would be ready for flight once it achieved its freedom from the cocoon.

Sometimes struggles are exactly what we need in our life. If we went through our life without any obstacles, it would cripple us. We would not be as strong as what we could have been. And we could never learn to fly.

I've given this story a lot of thought. There seems to be a fine line between helping someone and giving them too much help. You don't want to get to the point where they become so dependent on your help they're unable to function on their own. I always think of the phrase, "Give a person a fish and they will eat for one meal, teach them to fish and they'll have food for the rest of their life." That to me, is the difference between giving, and giving help that makes a difference in the physical and psychological well-being of a person.

Granted, each person is different in how they view getting help. Pride keeps many people from admitting and accepting any kind of help. Then there are some people who would rather find a way to get a free handout than work for it. In between there are people, who don't want to accept charity, but because of the circumstances they find themselves in, need help to survive.

My father was in the first category. I know he wouldn't mind me telling this story because he was proud of overcoming poverty in his life. Our family was very hard up at one point. When a family friend brought a check for $17.00 to help out, my father's pride stood in the way of his accepting the check. He tore it up and said he'd starve to death before he accepted charity. A lot of that attitude rubbed off on me and I have a hard time with people who aren't willing to try. If someone has money to buy cigarettes at $4.00 a pack and money for booze or drugs, but doesn't have money for food, I have a problem with that.

It all goes back to that butterfly breaking out of the cocoon. If you give it too much help, it will never be able to mature, live a full life, and fly on its own.

I also think of a Vietnam vet friend of mine. He was badly wounded and spent two years in hospitals. At one point he was feeling sorry for himself, had given up, and saw no point in trying to help himself rehab and go on living. One day an old army nurse was fed up with his self-pity. She stepped back, gave his bed a kick, and told him to go ahead and die if he wanted to, because the hospital was full of other soldiers who wanted to live and needed her help. "The subway waits for nobody," she told him, as she went off to help someone else.

That made him mad enough to start fighting again. He would show her. He recovered and despite his injuries, never used them again as an excuse for not being able to do something. He had a teaching degree, and that would have been an easier way for him to go with his physical problems. But he had always loved horses and decided to become a farrier. That's a tough, physical job, but he made a success of it. Don't ever tell him you can't do something. He'll kick you in the butt and tell you, "The subway waits for nobody."

He credits that nurse with saving his life. She was like the cocoon that a butterfly finds itself in, and needs to break out of. She helped fill his wings as he struggled for life, and enabled him to rise out of the circumstances he found himself in and fly on his own. What or who has been your cocoon?

Toby Smells Spring In the Air

Across the Fence #222

It feels like spring in the air. The temperature hit 50 degrees at our place today. Unfortunately, we know this is only a teaser. Winter is far from over. 

When that first whiff of spring is in the air, it sends a signal to every male dog in the country to wander off in search of a love interest. We found out about this firsthand.

When our kids were young, we had a Shetland Sheepdog, known as a Sheltie, named Toby. I don't remember how we chose that name. Maybe the kids picked it. Toby was just a puppy when we got him. It was great for Erik and Amy to grow up with a dog as a pet. I use the word "pet" loosely, because Toby was much more than a pet, he was a member of our family. He was more human than dog. But that's another story. This is about a dog's urges in spring.

When he was young, I trained him to stay in our yard and not go off the curb and into the street. You don't have to beat or yell at a dog to train it. It didn't take long before he knew his territory and he only went off the curb when I was at his side and told him he could come.

That worked great until he was about a year old, when the first smells of spring changed everything. Even though Madison had a leash law, we never tied him up to keep him from straying. Then one early spring evening I let him out to do his duties. When he was finished he would come to the patio door and bark to be let back in. When he didn't show up I went out to look for him. I went around the yard, but no Toby. It wasn't like him to wander off. I walked up the street looking for him and calling his name. I went in the house, got Linda and the kids, and we all started trying to find him. It was typical spring thaw weather. Warm enough during the day to melt snow, and cold enough at night to freeze it, leaving no trails to follow.

It was a very sad family that went to bed that evening. I told everyone it would be all right. He'd probably come barking at the door during the night to be let back in. At least that's what I was hoping. But only silence greeted us that night. We worried about him out in the freezing weather. He was used to spending his evenings sleeping on a rug next to our bed.

The next day I spent time driving around our neighborhood looking for him. I walked the Odana Golf Course where Toby and I would go for a run each day. No sign of him. We contacted our Vet to let him know he was missing. Toby had a collar and tags, so if someone found him they could contact a Vet and they could call us. We called the Humane Society and the dogcatcher to see if any Sheltie had been found wandering around. It was beginning to look grim.

A second day and night passed and there was still no barking at the door. I kept hoping to hear that sound. Our hopes got dimmer and our hearts grew heavier. We began to wonder if someone had picked him up and kept him.

A third day dawned and there was still no sign of Toby. I resigned myself to the fact that he was probably gone for good or we'd have heard something by now. There wasn't much joy in the Sherpe home. As I said, he had become a member of our family, and we had lost a part of our family.

That afternoon as we were getting ready to eat, the phone rang. It was a Vet in Middleton. He wondered if we had a missing dog. "Yes, we did!" He said a family in the country west of Middleton had called to report finding a dog at their place that was cozying up to their dog, a female. They had managed to pet him and read his tags. He was now safely in a pen at their farm. Leaving our food on the table, we all piled in the car and raced off to find the place and reunite with Toby.

When we arrived, they let him out of the pen and he came running toward us. I don't know who was happier to see whom. There were tears of joy at having our friend back. I don't know how he managed to travel so many miles across numerous busy Madison streets and highways and not get hit. It was a mighty happy family that headed back home.

But, the story doesn't end there. The pull of spring on a young dog's hormones is mighty powerful. The next evening as I stood on the porch to keep an eye on him, he suddenly disappeared. I caught a glimpse of him heading between a neighbor's trees. Not again! I tore after him, but he was already out of sight. I got in the car and headed up the street. I saw him darting across Pontiac Trail, heading toward the golf course. I jumped out of the car and ran across lawns in hot pursuit. I finally caught him. 

The next day we visited the Vet. Toby never had the urge to go looking for lady friends again. After that, things were much more peaceful for the Sherpe family when spring arrived. 

A Very Special Generation

Across the Fence #221

This past week saw terrible ice storms hit the eastern part of the country. Thousands of people were left without power. It could be weeks before power is restored in some areas. They are left in the dark, without electricity, heat, and hot water. They can't cook their food, use their computers, charge their cell phones and ipods, and the list goes on and on. Life has come to a standstill.

All this got me thinking about how dependent we've become on outside sources to provide our daily needs. I don't think we need to worry about terrorists attacking our buildings and transportation systems. If they really want to cripple us, just attack our energy sources. We'll be dead in the water. Then we've got "Troubles," as Dad used to say.

We are only a generation removed from the time when people still knew how to live off the land and exist without a lot of outside help. Many of you can still remember when you didn't have electricity. Since there were no power lines, your life didn't come to a standstill if there was an ice storm.

You heated your house with wood that you personally cut and split. You cooked your meals on a wood stove. Oil-burning lanterns and candles provided your light. If you had cows, you milked them by hand. You didn't need electricity to run a motor to provide suction to milking machines. Milk cans were kept in cold-water tanks in the milk house. You farmed with horses before tractors were available to you. Your cellar was full of food from your garden; canned fruits and vegetables, potatoes, carrots, and other treasures you had personally grown, harvested, and canned.

You could still get water from your own well and cistern that you used for drinking, cooking, washing clothes, and to heat up and take a bath in. Your bathroom was an unheated outhouse.

Computers, televisions, VCR's, DVD's, and PVR's were not a part of your life. Radios were operated with batteries. There were no cell phones that needed recharging, no furnace or water heater depending on outside sources of electricity in order to work. People were much more self-sufficient. Life did not stop as it does today when power is lost.

I'm not saying we should go back to those days. We've all become too accustomed to, and dependent on, modern technology and conveniences. What I am saying is that we've lost an important part of who and what we are. Most people in this country wouldn't know where to start if they were suddenly forced to go without all those things today.

Many of you have milked cows by hand. I've done that too. You raised chickens, gathered eggs, killed your own chickens, plucked the feathers, and gutted them. I've done that too. Now we buy them prepared and wrapped in grocery stores. You raised hogs and butchered them yourself for food. You planted huge gardens that provided you with food all year round. Now most people find those foods in the produce department at their grocery store, not in their cellar.

Yes, life has certainly changed in my lifetime. Many of you have seen a lot more changes than I have. During that time we've become increasingly dependent on technology and outside sources for our basic needs. A simple ice storm can suddenly bring our world to a screeching halt and leave us cold, hungry, and in the dark.

There are still some people in rural areas who know how to be self-sufficient. They could survive in case of a major catastrophe to our power and communications systems. I'm not as confident about people in many of our metropolitan areas though. There's a whole generation that thinks hamburgers come from fast food restaurants and milk is found in plastic jugs.

As I was thinking about this, I thought it's time to give a standing ovation to all of you who remember what it was like to live without all the things people take for granted today. You've experienced many major changes in your lifetime. You've seen the world go from horses still used as transportation, to the automobile, to spaceships traveling to the moon and back. We've gone from a nation of self-sufficient farmers to a population dependent on others for our food and our sources of energy to heat and light our houses and power our modes of transportation.

Like the Woolly Mammoth and huge Buffalo herds that once roamed the prairies, you are the last of a vanishing breed. Future generations will look back and wonder how you managed to survive in such primitive conditions with no electricity, no running water, no indoor plumbing, no TV's, no computers, no computer games, no cell phones, no text messaging, no ipods, and who knows what other technology will come along that we can't even imagine.

You belong to a remarkable generation and should be very proud of all that you've done, seen, and adjusted to as the times have changed. You've done things in your lifetime that most people will never do again. You may be the last generation in this country that remembers what it was like to function and take care of yourself and your family's needs, without major dependency on outside sources. You're a very special generation and I salute you.

Lutefisk and Ski Jumping

Across the Fence #220

Ya, I gotta' tell you now. It don't get no better than this weekend. Ya sure, you betcha. Everybody, put on your best winter long johns, insulated boots and clothing, throw in some Rolaids or Pepto-Bismol if you're not of Norwegian descent, and head for Westby, Wisconsin.

The big annual Snowflake Ski Jumping Tournament is Saturday and Sunday, and Our Savior's Lutheran Church has their annual MOOS's (Men Of Our Savior's) Lutefisk and Meatball Dinner on Saturday. As I said, it don't get no better than that. Now before all you English teachers get on my back about fracturing the English language, when we get a big weekend like this, it brings out a not so dormant accent that can still be found in the area.

Some of you may not think that ski jumping and Lutefisk have anything in common. I beg to differ. It takes a great amount of personal fortitude to tackle either of them. At least that appears to be the case, especially among people of non-Scandinavian descent. There are even those whose veins run red with Scandinavian blood, but when it comes to eating Lutefisk, it tends to turn yellow. They would rather slide down a ski scaffold and fling themselves through the air, at great personal peril, than put that foul-smelling, quivering jelly called a fish in their mouth. I've got one thing to say to those timid souls. Good! That leaves more Lutefisk for those of us who like the stuff.

I'll admit that I've had some Lutefisk that made me question why I was eating it too. If it's cooked right, it has a flakiness that makes you want to dig into second and third helpings. If it sits there on your plate like a white, slimy, nondescript creature dredged up from the ocean depths, and quivers when you touch it, ask for a big helping of meatballs instead. I would too.

Lutefisk dinners can be an adventure for everyone involved. My brother David, remembered a memorable Lutefisk dinner held at the Coon Prairie Lutheran Church when he was in 8th grade and the confirmation class helped serve the dinner. He said, "We were assigned tables in the church basement and served the platters of Lutefisk, meatballs, and trimmings. One of the trimmings was a platter of sliced, canned cranberries. I carried my tray of juicy, red cranberries to my table, slid the platter unto the table amongst all the seated church folks, and the cranberries slid off the platter and continued down the slippery table to everyone's amazement. When you're in 8th grade this can be a pretty embarrassing moment. I'm sure there were gasps and laughs. Can't remember if I just scooped them up onto the plate again. I can't imagine I'd have tossed them away. We weren't that wasteful. I guess you could call it my Lutefisk lament." 

I remember serving those dinners too, but don't recall having any adventures to match that. I wasn't very fond of the smell of Lutefisk back then. I wonder if they ever managed to get the "stink" out of the basement from one year to the next?

One thing I seem to recall is Lutefisk being sold out of large, wooden barrels at Skundberg's Grocery Store, or maybe it was Storbakkens in Westby. Or is that just a nightmare from my youth? Does anyone in the readership areas of Across the Fence remember Lutefisk being sold out of open barrels in stores? I know there are lots of Scandinavians in those areas. Where you find Scandinavians you find Lutefisk, even if some of you won't admit it, and secretly eat it in the closet. Just remember, you can't hide the smell.

If you head for Westby this weekend, after enjoying the Lutefisk dinner at Our Savior's, you can drive down to the big ski jump in Timber Coulee to watch the daredevil jumpers in action. Don't be surprised if someone comments as you walk by, "You were at the Lutefisk dinner weren't you?" I told you it's hard to mask that wonderful smell! And if you try sneaking off to the Lutefisk dinner without your wife in order to save a few bucks, don't try to tell her you were at the ski tournament instead. She'll know where you were the minute you walk in the door with Lutefisk on your breath.

Now just in case you think I don't like Lutefisk, that's not the case. I learned to like it when I was young. We had it at home too, not just at church dinners. I have to admit, it's an acquired taste. I didn't just pop a forkful of the slithering, quivering fish in my mouth and say, "Man, I love this stuff!" Ma didn't like preparing it, but Dad loved it. After she died, Dad, who didn't know how to boil water top make coffee, eventually learned to cook himself a meal of Lutefisk.

We lovers of Lutefisk will scale mountains, ford raging rivers, venture out in a blizzard, and wait in long lines, if there's a Lutefisk dinner within driving distance. Men who won't step foot in church except for Christmas and Easter, are the first in line. The only thing most of us won't do, is tackle that ski jump down in Timber Coulee. Even a brave Lutefisk lover knows, some things are best left to the professionals.

___________________

I'll be at the Crawford Country Independent and Kickapoo Scout's open house in Gays Mills on Valentine's Day, February 14 from 10-4. Stop by and we can visit across the fence. I'll have all three books available if you want one.