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.
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