Bridging the Years To Halloween

Across the Fence #258

Corn Shocks still occupy some fields if you know where to find them. They stand as relics and reminders of a time that has passed most of us by. The Amish still bind up corn stalks and stack them, but modern farming has long since relegated them to obscurity, in favor of modern harvesting methods.

For people my age and older, corn shocks are still a symbol of fall, the harvest, and yes, Halloween too. There’s nothing like a field of corn shocks silhouetted against a cold, dark Halloween sky, with the full moon peeking out from behind ominous clouds to give that spooky feeling. Add in some pumpkins nestled near the base of the shocks, and you have the perfect Fall/Halloween scene. The only thing missing is the apparition of ghosts darting in and out among the shocks. Maybe this is the year when Gamla Magretta finally makes an appearance with her long, red scarf flowing out behind her. I’ve been waiting for her to return since our Prairie Ghost gang first tried to spot her when I was young.

Black cats, carved pumpkins, and witches flying through the air on their broomsticks, are also a part of the Halloween scene. Black and orange seem to be the primary colors. We had some black and orange pre-Halloween visitors this week. Thousands of Asian Beetles descended on our house. I hear we weren’t the only place they invaded. I’ve never seen so many. I sent most of them to Beetle Heaven and felt no remorse. I hope they don’t revisit us on Halloween night, when legend has it, the spirits of the departed return. Those little innocent-looking insects pack quite a bite. Maybe they’ll return as Vampire bats on Halloween.

Another annual event was the Halloween party at our rural school. All the country schools had some type of celebration. You’d think all of us would have vivid recollections of those days. Unfortunately, a lot of water has gone under the bridge since our one-room school days. In my effort to bring you a full and detailed report, I called some of my “old” schoolmates and thought they could fill in all the empty shelves that I encountered in my memory library. Looks like the bridge was washed out for a lot of us, and the water swept most of those memories downstream. Either that, or they’re holding out on me in fear of ending up being quoted in this column.

I do want to thank Donna (Gilbertson) Kjelland for trying to round up some memories from our schoolmates for me. Donna and I were in the same class at Smith for eight years. For seven of those years, we were the only students in our class. I guess that means that one of us was the smartest and one was the dumbest, or the second smartest, as I like to say. I imagine both of us would claim to have been the smartest. One thing we both agree on, we’re glad we had such a great, positive experience in our little, country school.

Halloween was just one of the many good times. We all remember that we bobbed for apples and had a fish pond. That was where a sheet was strung up and you took turns fishing. The pole had a line attached to it with a clothespin on the end. You put the line over the sheet and older kids behind the sheet would attach a small prize. They jerked the line like you’d caught a fish, and you brought up your prize. None of us can remember what the prizes were or where they came from. If anyone remembers, let us know.

Bobbing for apples was always an adventure. Unless you had an exceptionally large mouth, there was only one way to get that apple. Plunge your whole head in and nail it on the bottom of the tub. I do recall at least one year when we had to pass an apple from person to person by holding it under our chin. That was both fun and embarrassing when you were in between a couple of girls.

Another activity was eating crackers and then seeing who could whistle Dixie first, without spitting soggy crackers all over the place. Ah, the simple pleasures of grade school.

We all agree that Hobo Day was an annual event held in conjunction with Halloween. Perhaps this was our way of getting to dress up in costumes. The highlight was the crowning of a hobo king and queen. I never had the honor or distinction of being the king. Our costumes weren’t store-bought and were never very elaborate. Most of us wore clothes found around the house. My brother, David, and I once put large jackets over orange life vests and went as musclemen or little, fat guys, we’re not sure which. Beards, drawn on with pencils, covered our faces. We added a floppy hat and, presto, we had a costume. One of our friends once wore long, red underwear. He had small horns from a de-horned calf, protruding from a red hunting cap. It made an interesting devil outfit.

As you can tell, even though the bridge was washed out, we managed to rescue enough memories to remember some great times. I won’t mention tipping over the school outhouse one year! Outhouse adventures deserve their own story.

Consequential Strangers

Across the Fence #257

During the past week, I did four book reading/signing events. They’re always enjoyable because I get to meet and visit with people who read this column each week. I even get new story ideas from you.

Last Saturday I was at Dregne’s Scandinavian Gifts in Westby, Wednesday at the Cashton Library, Thursday at the Black River Falls Library, and Sunday at Norskhaven near Gays Mills during Ridge Fest. Thank you all for inviting me. Also thanks to the Viroqua Women’s Literary Society, who invited me to speak to their group two weeks ago.

I wish I had more time to get around and meet all of you who read “Across the Fence,” but I do have a “real” job that consumes a lot of my time. Rumors that I retired after I moved back to Westby are greatly exaggerated. Some weeks it’s even hard to find time to sit down and write. When I finally kick back, get comfortable, and prepare to write, I often find myself sawing logs instead of writing. Lately I think I’ve sawed enough firewood to heat this house for a year. I don’t think I snore, but Linda claims I do!

There I go, sailing up a different fjord again. Lets get back to those people I meet at book signings. I met Tom Nelson at Norskhaven on Sunday. He was also there with his books. He writes a column for The Fennimore Times called “That’s My Story and I’m Sticking To It.” We had a wonderful conversation about people we meet, not just at book signings, but every day of our lives. There’s a term for it called “Consequential Strangers.” I wasn’t familiar with the term, but after Sunday I understand it.

Consequential strangers is a term used to describe all relationships other than family and close friends. Also known as “peripheral” or “weak” ties, they occupy the vast territory between total strangers and those with whom we have close personal ties. They’re also known as acquaintances.

The people who read our columns feel they know us, but the vast majority of our readers are strangers to us. One way to change that is to interact with those strangers. When people stopped at our tables, we engaged them in conversation, asking them questions about themselves, instead of talking about ourselves. It was amazing. Suddenly we found out we had many things in common with the person. When I’d ask where they lived or were raised, we often found mutual connections to places and people. Even if we didn’t find a common connection, we found a background and experience connection.

It was usually a growing up on a farm mutual experience. We had started out as strangers, but after visiting together, we parted as consequential strangers who had a connection, if only for a short time.

I thought back to other signings this week and realized I’d been involved with many consequential strangers. We are no longer strangers after meeting and visiting together. We now share a mutual bond.

There was the couple at Black River Falls who visited with me after my talk. He asked if I was going to do a story on outhouses and lilac bushes. When we started discussing the subject, I realized there’s definitely a story there. I won’t go into it now, but stay tuned; we’ll talk about it across the fence one of these coming weeks. I told you I get good ideas from readers. The key is to keep my mouth shut and my ears open. We learn a lot more when we do that.

How many encounters with strangers have turned them into consequential strangers in your life? They’re the people who aren’t close friends with you, but they’ve played a role on the stage of your life. It’s like the minor players in a stage production. You may not even know their names, but they have a vital supporting role in the total production. Sometimes we only encounter those people one time, but others come into our life on a regular basis.

The wonderful thing about writing a column like Across the Fence is meeting and hearing your stories. I realize how similar our experiences have been. These aren’t just my stories; they’re our shared stories and experiences. They’re also your stories. You just have to change the names and locations. But it’s also important that you tell your own story. I’ve talked about this with many of you. Don’t take your stories to the grave with you. They will forever be lost to future generations. What would you give to have some stories written by your grandparents or great grandparents? Wouldn’t you like to know what their life was like and what they were thinking? I know I would. Every story is important.

I greatly appreciate all of you who took time out of your busy schedules to show up for my book signings. It gives me renewed energy when you tell me you enjoy the column, and look forward to reading it each week. We may not be close, personal friends, but we’re no longer strangers, we’re consequential strangers and you’re important to me. I look forward to visiting with you each week, across the fence.

The Red Fox, A Kindred Spirit

Across the Fence #256

My mind is on a red fox tonight. I’ve had four encounters with this fox since early this summer. I feel very fortunate. How many people are lucky enough to see one red fox in the wild during their lifetime? They are quite elusive.

I’ve always been fascinated with wolves and foxes. Perhaps it’s because they’re both so elusive and we seldom have the opportunity to see them. In grade school when we could order books from the Teen Age Book Club (TAB), I sent for several books about wolves and foxes. I still have some of them. One of those paperbacks is titled “Red Fox“ by Charles Roberts. That poor fox had many adventures. He was pursued by dogs, shot at by hunters, fought with other animals, hunted for food for himself, his mate, and their pups, and through all the adversities and hardships, managed to survive.

I don’t think the same can be said for the fox I’ve been seeing. During the last two encounters, it appears that he’s developed mange. This will not be a “He lived happily ever after” ending. He was really suffering yesterday when I watched him. The poor fellow is now so distracted by the disease that he didn’t bother running away. I was able to get very close and took many photos of him as he hunted for food. He has become very thin and looks like he’s starving. He was making a meal of grasshoppers and other bugs he could find.

I watched as he stalked each grasshopper and then pounced on it. It will take a lot of bugs to satisfy his appetite and provide the nourishment he needs. Whenever he looked in my direction, his eyes appeared half-closed and it looked like he was having difficulty seeing. The eyes looked so sad. They weren’t vibrant and full of life, but had a haunted, sad feeling. He appeared to be a lost, bewildered soul, trying to hang on and survive.

Sarcoptic Mange is a skin disease caused by microscopic parasitic mites that embed themselves under the skin of the animal. They cause extreme itching, loss of sleep, open sores, and reduced immune response. In the late stages, the fox will become distracted, sick, and starve to death.

I suspect “my fox” is nearing that final stage. That’s why he’s on my mind tonight. I hate to see any animal suffer. The red fox is such a graceful, beautiful animal when it’s healthy.

I saw my first fox many years ago while deer hunting. I was sitting quietly at the base of a tree near the crest of a hill. I had a commanding view of the hillsides and valley below me. It was late in the afternoon when I saw the fox slowly making his way through the woods a short distance from where I was sitting. He appeared to be hunting for a meal. After several minutes he finally spotted me and quickly headed down the hill, his bushy tail flowing out behind him. What a magnificent sight. The images of that first close-up encounter with a red fox have stuck in my memory bank all these years.

Since that time, I’ve seen several red foxes and it’s always a special thrill. They’ve had dens on this farm over the years and we’d see one occasionally. But as I said at the start, they can be very elusive and hard to spot.

I hope my little friend has a den some place where he’s bedded down this evening. It’s cold and rainy outside tonight and I hope he’s dry and as comfortable as he can be, given the terrible shape he’s in. I’ll keep an eye out for him and monitor his deteriorating condition. If this was a domesticated dog, the mange could be easily treated, but the fox is a wild animal. You can’t just shove a pill down his throat. All we can do is watch him suffer from a distance. In observing a case like this, I realize how different life in the wild is. This is survival of the fittest. As much as I’d like to, I realize we can’t save every animal.

I watched that fox hunt for food. He needed food to survive and other creatures needed to die so he might live. He would stalk a possible meal, then gather himself up and pounce on it. Sometimes he came up empty, but other times he was chewing on whatever meal he had found. The strong survive. The weak and inattentive perish. Animals get sick and die. It’s all part of the life cycle. I think those of us who were raised in the country and on farms, and people who spend time in the woods and wild country, are more aware of this. Life and death are part of our world.

I hope all of you have the chance to observe a red fox and other animals in the wild, in their natural habitat. Observing a wild animal in the captive environment of a zoo is not the same. I still get a thrill whenever I come across an animal in the wild. I always try to have a camera with me and have managed to capture some great photos of wildlife roaming free, in the wild. I feel a real kindred spirit with them. It’s a great feeling!

I Don't Get It. What's the Point?

Across the Fence #255

I was sitting on our back deck this evening, listening to the wind. The sun had set, but there was still a reddish-pink glow on the horizon, peeking through the dark clouds.

It was cool and there was a very light mist in the air, but I didn’t want to miss the magic of the moment by sitting inside. The wind roared through the trees like giant waves crashing against the shore. I closed my eyes and could hear great gusts of wind coming through the corn before smashing into the trees, and rattling the siding on the house.

Darkness had set in and individual, green trees merged into a solid mass of black. Dark clouds floated overhead and the half moon kept emerging and disappearing as the wind pushed the clouds along. It’s one of those moments that, when written about, doesn’t mean much to someone who’s never experienced it. But if you’ve also witnessed such a moment, I hope this brought those images and sounds back to you.

As I experienced those sounds and images, it reminded me of the response I received from an editor to one of my stories. A couple months after beginning this weekly column, almost six years ago, I sent some sample stories to the editor of a newspaper in a community with a rural, Norwegian population. I thought the things I write about would be of interest to those readers too; especially after many people in that community told me I should have my column in their paper. The young editor had only been at the paper for a few months. I suspect he didn’t come from a rural background and had never spent much time on a farm. His response was, “I’m not sure what the message of the barn/milking column was supposed to be. I don’t get it. What’s the point?” He was referring to a story called “Night Lights.”

Sometimes you need life experiences, like listening to the wind in the trees and watching the moon play hide and seek in the clouds, in order to understand. I have no doubt the majority of readers of that paper could have related to my stories, but they never had a chance. I tried again, a year later, but he still wasn’t interested in running my column.

“I don’t get it. What’s the point?” My point with the milking column was to try and raise memories in all those who’ve been there in the past, and record the experience for those who hadn’t. Also, to let people know that when the day’s work is done, take time to relax, look at the vast universe around you, and hopefully you’ll feel a peace within, realizing that you’re a small, but vital part, of the big picture. A lot of readers did get it. I’ve had many of them tell me it was one of their favorite columns. If you have my first book, “Across the Fence,” it’s on page 59.

That was a story I read today, when I was invited to be the guest author at the Viroqua Women’s Literary Club. They got it, and also brought up some interesting questions about writing a weekly column. One question dealt with how I deal with exposing my thoughts and memories to a large readership, especially in the local community where people know me.

Any time a person puts their writing and thoughts out in public for all to see and read, it’s like a dog or cat rolling over on it’s back and exposing the soft underbelly. Some will rub it and some will attack such an exposed position. That’s also what makes life interesting. Taking chances, as long as you’re not hurting anyone, by actions or words. I’ll never ridicule or attack someone in a story. I do poke fun at my misadventures, and myself, but that’s OK. Many of those incidents make much better stories than if I’d experienced great success.

One lady said she felt she knew my family and me after reading the stories. I assured her and the group that there are plenty of stories that will never see the light of day. Every writer has stories that would make great reading, but some stories are personal or might hurt somebody, and are best left untold. I try to keep my stories upbeat. People have to deal with enough negatives in daily life. Many readers have told me they like the positive spin on the stories I write.

One editor thought my best stories are the ones where I stir up some controversy and make people think. Those are also the stories that get the most response. It’s usually from people who disagree with my thoughts, and would like to run me out of town, tarred and feathered, and tied to a rail. Writing a weekly column is not for the feint of heart.

As the one editor said, “I don’t get it. What’s the point?”

Perhaps the point is very simple. We meet here once a week and talk across the fence, just like good neighbors have always done. I hope we never lose that neighborliness. If I do my job right, my story also becomes your story, as the words release sights, sounds, and smells from your memory bank. I hope your memories are good ones. I’ll see you again next week.