Across the Fence #298
All the fruits and vegetables you can buy in a supermarket or at a farmer’s market, can’t compare with the simple pleasure of eating something you grew in your own garden.
It’s been many years since I helped Ma and Grandma Inga plant our garden each spring, and harvest the results during the summer and fall. I tried planting a small garden in our backyard when we lived in Madison, but there was too much shade from all the trees. Even weeds had a hard time growing. It was easier to buy whatever we needed from all the farmer’s markets in the area and from the supermarket.
That was fine, but it’s not like raising your own food. Gardening is becoming a lost art. I suspect many people wouldn’t have a clue how to go about it. We’ve become too dependent on other people providing everything for us when it comes to our food.
I’ve often said that many people who haven’t seen a garden growing or animals on a farm, don’t have a clue how their food gets from the farm into their mouth. I think most readers of Across the Fence grew up in rural areas and small towns, and many still live there. You know the process. But think of all the people who are born and raised in big cities these days. Most have never stepped foot on a farm. Planting or raising their own food is foreign territory to them. After years of living in the city, I was becoming one of them.
Now I’m back in the country and back to digging in the dirt. This spring I finally took time to plant a small garden. With all the wildlife and birds we have around here, I thought they would get most of what the garden produced. To give the plants a chance at survival, I put the garden in the far corner of our backyard, away from the grove of trees that’s home to numerous critters and countless birds.
Since this would be a small garden, I used a shovel to work up the ground. Lets admit it; I was too cheap to rent a rototiller. Next spring I plan to make the garden bigger and add more variety. I’ll bite the bullet and rent one for a couple hours. I’m not getting any younger.
This year I started digging up the soil and smoothing it out after I got home from work. By the time the soil was ready for planting, it was getting dark. Rain was predicted for the next day, so I decided I better plant that evening or I’d have to work it all up again. Have you noticed how quickly darkness sets in once the sun goes to bed? I finished planting in the dark with the aid of a flashlight. It’s not something I’d recommend. I’ve always heard you should plant certain things when the moon is full, but I don’t think they meant by the light of the moon. Because it got dark so fast, I was in a hurry to get the seeds planted. I wasn’t real careful with my spacing of seeds or the depth of the furrows. Have you ever tried reading the small directions on a seed packet in the dark? Lets just say that I scattered the seeds quite liberally. It wasn’t a big garden so the seeds got a bit bunched up!
I watered the garden each evening and after what seemed like an eternity, some green shoots, besides weeds, began poking their way out of the soil. Some things never germinated and some were nipped by a late frost. I planted new stuff in those empty areas. I’m still amazed how tiny seeds turn into flowering plants.
I love sugar snap peas and planted plenty of them. There’s a real satisfaction when you snap off a pea pod, peel it open, and pop the peas in your mouth, or you can eat the whole pea pod and enjoy the flavor. Our peas turned into such a bumper crop, we gave some away. All the rain also produced a bumper crop of weeds.
The carrots and radishes were planted much too close together. I had to do a lot of thinning of the herd. I sliced up some carrots and radishes, piled them on a slice of bread and had myself a fresh carrot and radish sandwich. Now that’s fine eating. For a real treat, throw in some fresh-chopped onions, cucumber slices, and a couple pea pods. It doesn’t get much better than that.
How about garden fresh cucumbers, thinly sliced, and served up in a mixture of vinegar and onions? I love it. My stomach takes a beating, but it’s worth a little gastro-intestinal distress.
Our little garden is still producing and there are plenty of later ripening items to be enjoyed. The critters and birds need to eat too, so I didn’t put a fence around it. I was willing to share, but they’ve pretty much left the garden alone. I don’t think they can find it because of all the weeds.
I know people say it’s easier to go to a store and buy your garden produce, but a garden produces much more than food. Store-bought produce can’t compare with the special satisfaction of chomping into a carrot, radish, and onion sandwich that you grew in your own little garden.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Guardians of Dark Places
Across the Fence #297
This time of year it’s almost impossible to walk in our woods. The vegetation is so thick it makes the woods a dark, wet, foreboding place. It brings back stories my Grandma Inga told us when we were young. Whenever she didn’t want us exploring or snooping around some place, she told us stories about the trolls and boogeymen who guard those places. I should mention, those places were usually dark and spooky.
Truth be told, I’ve never seen a troll or boogeyman, that I’m aware of, but my mind is still full of the images of what they look like and what they’d do to me if I ventured into a place I wasn’t supposed to go and one caught me.
I don’t think grandma ever saw a “real” troll or boogeyman either, but to hear her tell the stories, I was certain she had some close encounters with them. Those trolls were known to inhabit Norway, where they lived under bridges and large rocks. She told us how some of them hid in the luggage of immigrants and hitched a ride on the ships that brought them to America. After the families reached their destination, like the Norwegian community of Westby, the trolls snuck out of the luggage, under cover of darkness, and found new places to live in the woods and buildings of those communities. Of course, that included our farm.
I guess every culture needs a troll, boogeyman, or some type of devil to keep people in line. I know it kept us out of trouble most of the time.
One place that was off-limits to us kids was the upstairs of the house on the farm where I was born. I think some old furniture that belonged to the people who owned the farm was still stored up there. A dark stairwell, where the door was always shut, led to the upstairs. Grandma told Sandra and me that a boogeyman guarded those upstairs rooms. That was enough to keep us from venturing up the stairs and exploring the place. Years later, we found out that for many years, both of us had a recurring dream where we were being chased down a long, dark stairwell by a huge, dark creature. We never saw it’s face, but we knew it was the boogeyman, the guardian of dark places we shouldn’t explore.
This summer I’ve discovered a new guardian of places I’d like to explore. They might not be as scary and sinister as a troll or boogeyman, but they are just as effective… dreaded mosquitoes.
All the wet weather we’ve had this summer has created a paradise for those blood-sucking monsters. They attack in waves and have no mercy. You can flail your arms around, and slap yourself silly trying to swat them off, but all to no avail. You can’t get them all. The only thing you can do is beat a hasty retreat. Even dousing yourself in bug repellent doesn’t seem to bother them this year.
I’ve heard old timers say our problem is that we smell too good because we’re always taking baths or showers. We smell so sweet the mosquitoes can’t resist us. What a person needs to do is quit taking showers and limit them to about one a week, or every other week, just like we did in the days before we had indoor plumbing. The mosquitoes didn’t like us as good back in those days. Another thing you can do to keep them away, is wear the same sweaty clothes every day. About a month should do the trick. Mosquitoes and other pesky blood-sucking bugs don’t like that smell and will leave you alone. The problem is, it will also clear out a room real fast when you enter, and it’s bound to hinder your social life. Seems the mosquitoes aren’t the only ones offended by the smell.
So, if you plan to spend any time in the woods this summer, you need to decide if keeping the bugs and mosquitoes away is worth losing all your friends.
Another guardian of the woods that I’ve encountered lately isn’t a troll or boogeyman, but brambles that will tear at your clothing and skin, and clinging vines that will entwine you and hold you back. They remind me of the old Uncle Remus stories about Br’er Fox and Br’er Rabbit. When Br’er Rabbit gets caught, Br’er Fox tells him all the bad things he’s going to do to him. Br’er Rabbit keeps pleading with Br’er Fox that he can do anything he wants to him, but “Please don’t throw me in that yonder briar patch.” Of course, Br’er Fox finally throws him into the briar patch and Br’er Rabbit is free and safe because that briar patch, with all the sharp thorns, was his home and no one else can penetrate it.
Yes, the lush, green growth of summer can act like a giant briar patch when you want to go exploring. If the brambles and thorns don’t get you, the mosquitoes, gnats, deerflies, and other assorted blood-sucking monsters will send you packing. That is, unless you neglect showering for a couple weeks and wear the same clothes.
Just a word of warning, you might as well pitch a tent and live out in the woods, ‘cause nobody, not even trolls and boogeymen, will want you hanging out with them.
Last week I told you about Be Good To People. Kris told me that she would give Across the Fence readers a 20% discount on any BGTP merchandise purchased during August. Mention that you’re an ATF reader. Her website is: www.begoodtopeople.com
This time of year it’s almost impossible to walk in our woods. The vegetation is so thick it makes the woods a dark, wet, foreboding place. It brings back stories my Grandma Inga told us when we were young. Whenever she didn’t want us exploring or snooping around some place, she told us stories about the trolls and boogeymen who guard those places. I should mention, those places were usually dark and spooky.
Truth be told, I’ve never seen a troll or boogeyman, that I’m aware of, but my mind is still full of the images of what they look like and what they’d do to me if I ventured into a place I wasn’t supposed to go and one caught me.
I don’t think grandma ever saw a “real” troll or boogeyman either, but to hear her tell the stories, I was certain she had some close encounters with them. Those trolls were known to inhabit Norway, where they lived under bridges and large rocks. She told us how some of them hid in the luggage of immigrants and hitched a ride on the ships that brought them to America. After the families reached their destination, like the Norwegian community of Westby, the trolls snuck out of the luggage, under cover of darkness, and found new places to live in the woods and buildings of those communities. Of course, that included our farm.
I guess every culture needs a troll, boogeyman, or some type of devil to keep people in line. I know it kept us out of trouble most of the time.
One place that was off-limits to us kids was the upstairs of the house on the farm where I was born. I think some old furniture that belonged to the people who owned the farm was still stored up there. A dark stairwell, where the door was always shut, led to the upstairs. Grandma told Sandra and me that a boogeyman guarded those upstairs rooms. That was enough to keep us from venturing up the stairs and exploring the place. Years later, we found out that for many years, both of us had a recurring dream where we were being chased down a long, dark stairwell by a huge, dark creature. We never saw it’s face, but we knew it was the boogeyman, the guardian of dark places we shouldn’t explore.
This summer I’ve discovered a new guardian of places I’d like to explore. They might not be as scary and sinister as a troll or boogeyman, but they are just as effective… dreaded mosquitoes.
All the wet weather we’ve had this summer has created a paradise for those blood-sucking monsters. They attack in waves and have no mercy. You can flail your arms around, and slap yourself silly trying to swat them off, but all to no avail. You can’t get them all. The only thing you can do is beat a hasty retreat. Even dousing yourself in bug repellent doesn’t seem to bother them this year.
I’ve heard old timers say our problem is that we smell too good because we’re always taking baths or showers. We smell so sweet the mosquitoes can’t resist us. What a person needs to do is quit taking showers and limit them to about one a week, or every other week, just like we did in the days before we had indoor plumbing. The mosquitoes didn’t like us as good back in those days. Another thing you can do to keep them away, is wear the same sweaty clothes every day. About a month should do the trick. Mosquitoes and other pesky blood-sucking bugs don’t like that smell and will leave you alone. The problem is, it will also clear out a room real fast when you enter, and it’s bound to hinder your social life. Seems the mosquitoes aren’t the only ones offended by the smell.
So, if you plan to spend any time in the woods this summer, you need to decide if keeping the bugs and mosquitoes away is worth losing all your friends.
Another guardian of the woods that I’ve encountered lately isn’t a troll or boogeyman, but brambles that will tear at your clothing and skin, and clinging vines that will entwine you and hold you back. They remind me of the old Uncle Remus stories about Br’er Fox and Br’er Rabbit. When Br’er Rabbit gets caught, Br’er Fox tells him all the bad things he’s going to do to him. Br’er Rabbit keeps pleading with Br’er Fox that he can do anything he wants to him, but “Please don’t throw me in that yonder briar patch.” Of course, Br’er Fox finally throws him into the briar patch and Br’er Rabbit is free and safe because that briar patch, with all the sharp thorns, was his home and no one else can penetrate it.
Yes, the lush, green growth of summer can act like a giant briar patch when you want to go exploring. If the brambles and thorns don’t get you, the mosquitoes, gnats, deerflies, and other assorted blood-sucking monsters will send you packing. That is, unless you neglect showering for a couple weeks and wear the same clothes.
Just a word of warning, you might as well pitch a tent and live out in the woods, ‘cause nobody, not even trolls and boogeymen, will want you hanging out with them.
Last week I told you about Be Good To People. Kris told me that she would give Across the Fence readers a 20% discount on any BGTP merchandise purchased during August. Mention that you’re an ATF reader. Her website is: www.begoodtopeople.com
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Be Good To People
Across the Fence #296
The idea is simple. It’s black and white. Be good to people.
Have you ever had someone be rude to you or say something hurtful? Maybe someone thought you were too slow pulling away from a stoplight and gave you a one-finger salutation. How did it make you feel? Chances are you became irritated or angry and wanted to retaliate against that person, or more likely, the next person you encountered. You probably fumed about it for a long time afterwards. It ruined your day, didn’t it?
It’s like throwing a stone in the water. The ripple affect from that act keeps moving outward and touching everything it meets. If someone was good to you instead of rude, those ripples can have a positive affect too. A smile or kind word can make someone’s day.
Be Good to People. Those simple words have become the central theme for the business of Kris Wittenberg, who lives in Eagle, Colorado. Those of you, who have been reading Across the Fence for a long time, know I’ve often written about the adventures I shared with my cousin, Sandra, who spent every summer on the farm with us until she was in high school. Kris is the daughter of Sandy and her husband, Lou Wagner. Sandy died of cancer several years ago at the all too young age of 60. Kris, her husband, Augie Wittenberg, and their two children live in Eagle, where their business is headquartered.
The idea for Be Good to People was inspired by a rude experience that Kris had back in the spring of 2008 while running errands at lunch. The exact bad experience has long been forgotten, but the idea that people need to treat each other better has not.
Once back in the office of her promotional materials company, SayNoMore! Promotions, she exasperatingly asked, “Why can’t people just be good to people?” Given her entrepreneurial spirit and her longing for a friendlier world, she researched to see if the phrase was trademarked and if the web address was taken.
She found everything was available and took that as a “sign.” She knew she had to act, so she secured both the name and the web address, and Be Good to People, the brand and the movement was born.
Being Good to People is as simple as giving someone a compliment, holding a door open for someone, paying for the person’s coffee behind you in line, carrying a heavy bag for someone, bringing flowers to a nursing home, bringing toys to a children’s hospital, sending an email to a loved one, leaving a server a large tip and saying thank you as you leave, making amends with someone you’ve hurt, or simply smiling at the next person you meet!
Being Good to People is performing simple acts of kindness. It gives, both you and the recipient of your kindness, a renewed feeling of hope and relief from today’s negative news. It helps spread a positive message. Be Good To People is a movement, changing the world, one person, one kind act at a time.
I wish Sandy was still here to see the positive affect her daughter is having on the people she touches through her business. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree. Looks like she also got her father’s entrepreneurial spirit.
I hope this movement takes off and that major department stores will soon be offering items with the Be Good To People slogan on them. It’s hard to be nasty to people if you’re wearing a shirt or hat that says “Be Good To People.” That would be a bit hypocritical.
The more I’ve thought about this simple statement, the more I think the story and idea needs to be told. When I look around, I see a lot of people who don’t seem to be very happy. They’re always complaining and tend to take out their frustrations on people they come in contact with. If you listen to talk radio or watch the talking heads on television, there is a lot of anger and tearing people down. Politicians are always at each other’s throats and there is plenty of name-calling and blaming. What ever happened to the words civility and compromise? They seem to have been thrown out of our dictionaries.
The world has become a series of straight lines instead of the circle of life. The leaders of countries, governments, organizations, and even some religions, aren’t being very good role models for the young people. They don’t see a whole lot of people being good to people, especially if the people have differing political views, religious views, lifestyle views, etc., etc. The list could go on and on. I guess that’s why those simple words and sentiment appeal to me.
I know this is a departure from my usual columns, but there comes a time when a person needs to make a statement about life, and put it down in black and white, with no shades of gray. Kris has done that and has developed a business to help promote what she feels. She’s trying to change the world, one person, one kind act at a time. It’s a monumental task for one person, but if each of us would imprint “Be Good To People,” in our mind, think of the changes it could bring about. It’s worth a shot.
The idea is simple. It’s black and white. Be good to people.
Have you ever had someone be rude to you or say something hurtful? Maybe someone thought you were too slow pulling away from a stoplight and gave you a one-finger salutation. How did it make you feel? Chances are you became irritated or angry and wanted to retaliate against that person, or more likely, the next person you encountered. You probably fumed about it for a long time afterwards. It ruined your day, didn’t it?
It’s like throwing a stone in the water. The ripple affect from that act keeps moving outward and touching everything it meets. If someone was good to you instead of rude, those ripples can have a positive affect too. A smile or kind word can make someone’s day.
Be Good to People. Those simple words have become the central theme for the business of Kris Wittenberg, who lives in Eagle, Colorado. Those of you, who have been reading Across the Fence for a long time, know I’ve often written about the adventures I shared with my cousin, Sandra, who spent every summer on the farm with us until she was in high school. Kris is the daughter of Sandy and her husband, Lou Wagner. Sandy died of cancer several years ago at the all too young age of 60. Kris, her husband, Augie Wittenberg, and their two children live in Eagle, where their business is headquartered.
The idea for Be Good to People was inspired by a rude experience that Kris had back in the spring of 2008 while running errands at lunch. The exact bad experience has long been forgotten, but the idea that people need to treat each other better has not.
Once back in the office of her promotional materials company, SayNoMore! Promotions, she exasperatingly asked, “Why can’t people just be good to people?” Given her entrepreneurial spirit and her longing for a friendlier world, she researched to see if the phrase was trademarked and if the web address was taken.
She found everything was available and took that as a “sign.” She knew she had to act, so she secured both the name and the web address, and Be Good to People, the brand and the movement was born.
Being Good to People is as simple as giving someone a compliment, holding a door open for someone, paying for the person’s coffee behind you in line, carrying a heavy bag for someone, bringing flowers to a nursing home, bringing toys to a children’s hospital, sending an email to a loved one, leaving a server a large tip and saying thank you as you leave, making amends with someone you’ve hurt, or simply smiling at the next person you meet!
Being Good to People is performing simple acts of kindness. It gives, both you and the recipient of your kindness, a renewed feeling of hope and relief from today’s negative news. It helps spread a positive message. Be Good To People is a movement, changing the world, one person, one kind act at a time.
I wish Sandy was still here to see the positive affect her daughter is having on the people she touches through her business. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree. Looks like she also got her father’s entrepreneurial spirit.
I hope this movement takes off and that major department stores will soon be offering items with the Be Good To People slogan on them. It’s hard to be nasty to people if you’re wearing a shirt or hat that says “Be Good To People.” That would be a bit hypocritical.
The more I’ve thought about this simple statement, the more I think the story and idea needs to be told. When I look around, I see a lot of people who don’t seem to be very happy. They’re always complaining and tend to take out their frustrations on people they come in contact with. If you listen to talk radio or watch the talking heads on television, there is a lot of anger and tearing people down. Politicians are always at each other’s throats and there is plenty of name-calling and blaming. What ever happened to the words civility and compromise? They seem to have been thrown out of our dictionaries.
The world has become a series of straight lines instead of the circle of life. The leaders of countries, governments, organizations, and even some religions, aren’t being very good role models for the young people. They don’t see a whole lot of people being good to people, especially if the people have differing political views, religious views, lifestyle views, etc., etc. The list could go on and on. I guess that’s why those simple words and sentiment appeal to me.
I know this is a departure from my usual columns, but there comes a time when a person needs to make a statement about life, and put it down in black and white, with no shades of gray. Kris has done that and has developed a business to help promote what she feels. She’s trying to change the world, one person, one kind act at a time. It’s a monumental task for one person, but if each of us would imprint “Be Good To People,” in our mind, think of the changes it could bring about. It’s worth a shot.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
A July Type of Attitude
Across the Fence #295
It’s the first week of July and the second half of the year has begun. Where did the first half go? I’m a certified member of the Over the Hill Gang and every member knows that you pick up more speed as you go. It’s quite a ride, but it would be nice if we could apply the brakes once in a while, so we don’t go flying off some hairpin curve.
It’s funny how age changes our perspective on things. When I was in seventh grade, my grandfather, Oscar Hanson, died. I thought he was an old man. When I was looking up some family history information this week, I realized he was 66 years old. Uff da! He was my age when he died. I wonder if he ever felt like a young guy trapped in an old, aching body?
I guess age and how we approach life is really an attitude. When our relatives from Norway visited us last month, Arne Olav Østrem told me about a client he does taxes for. He asked the old farmer, who was 81, when he was going to retire from farming. “Why should I quit farming?” the old farmer said. “Where would I find a job at my age?”
It reminded me of my relative, Alf Tomtengen. He was still farming and milking cows at 90 years of age. He was proud that he was still able to farm at an age when most people have been retired for years. I asked if he planned to retire some day. “I think when I’m able to work, I should have something to do,” Alf replied.
Both of those old farmers had what I call a July type of attitude. The world is alive with color, sounds, and smells, and they didn’t want to miss any of it.
As I mentioned, we began the second half of the year on July 2. If I was creating a calendar, I’d never begin the year on January 1. It’s often bitterly cold, the world is covered in a layer of white, and very few people or animals are active. Animals and birds with any sense, are either hibernating or have flown south for the winter.
I’d begin the calendar year at the halfway point… July. It’s a beautiful time of year. The world is alive with color and life. Trees and bushes are filled with leaves of every shade of green. Crops in the fields are growing. Corn was almost chest high by the 4th of July this year. This is when the earth is alive, and it rubs off on all who inhabit the land. Who could venture along a tree-lined country road, where the ditches are filled with colorful wildflowers, and feel depressed?
But I’m also a realist and know that not everything about July is positive to everyone. I don’t care much for all the mosquitoes and pesky bugs either. After all the rain we’ve had lately, there should be no shortage of mosquitoes. On the positive side, the birds love them.
I can’t talk about July and our abundance of rain without mentioning lawns and grass. I made the mistake of fertilizing our yard this spring. Being frugal, I didn’t put that much on, but any amount was too much this year. This is where my July attitude wears a little thin. I’ve come to the conclusion that grass is good for one thing. It beats the muddy mess you have if you don’t have grass. Other than that, I’m thinking of planting the whole back yard with wildflowers. They’re much more colorful than grass, they come back each year with no need for special treatment or expensive fertilizer, and you don’t need to waste time and money mowing them down every week. I mow the grass every week, and it just keeps coming back. The dead grass is left on the lawn. People don’t even bale it up, so it’s of use to some hungry animal. Now, what’s the sense in that? I wonder who invented lawn mowing? I guess they didn’t have anything better to do. Some people have such gorgeous, pristine lawns you don’t dare to walk on them and trample down the grass. We are a strange species, aren’t we?
One more thing, July can get very hot and humid. Many people don’t like the heat. I like it. I think we tend to over air-condition our lives. As a result, it feels so much hotter when we do venture outside. I’ve been some places where I have to go outside to warm up.
Along with that, if you don’t go outside in July, you’re missing so much. You need to sit in the cool shade and listen to the wind in the trees. Watch and listen to the wind moving through tall grass along fencelines. Listen to the joyous sounds of all the birds. Watch butterflies darting among the flowers. Enjoy the evenings when the night comes alive with wonderful sights and sounds. Watch the fireflies put on their light show, lie back and gaze up at the star-filled sky, and let the crickets, frogs and tree toad chorus serenade you. July evenings are something special.
It doesn’t get much better than that. It’s July, it’s an attitude, and how you look at it is up to you.
It’s the first week of July and the second half of the year has begun. Where did the first half go? I’m a certified member of the Over the Hill Gang and every member knows that you pick up more speed as you go. It’s quite a ride, but it would be nice if we could apply the brakes once in a while, so we don’t go flying off some hairpin curve.
It’s funny how age changes our perspective on things. When I was in seventh grade, my grandfather, Oscar Hanson, died. I thought he was an old man. When I was looking up some family history information this week, I realized he was 66 years old. Uff da! He was my age when he died. I wonder if he ever felt like a young guy trapped in an old, aching body?
I guess age and how we approach life is really an attitude. When our relatives from Norway visited us last month, Arne Olav Østrem told me about a client he does taxes for. He asked the old farmer, who was 81, when he was going to retire from farming. “Why should I quit farming?” the old farmer said. “Where would I find a job at my age?”
It reminded me of my relative, Alf Tomtengen. He was still farming and milking cows at 90 years of age. He was proud that he was still able to farm at an age when most people have been retired for years. I asked if he planned to retire some day. “I think when I’m able to work, I should have something to do,” Alf replied.
Both of those old farmers had what I call a July type of attitude. The world is alive with color, sounds, and smells, and they didn’t want to miss any of it.
As I mentioned, we began the second half of the year on July 2. If I was creating a calendar, I’d never begin the year on January 1. It’s often bitterly cold, the world is covered in a layer of white, and very few people or animals are active. Animals and birds with any sense, are either hibernating or have flown south for the winter.
I’d begin the calendar year at the halfway point… July. It’s a beautiful time of year. The world is alive with color and life. Trees and bushes are filled with leaves of every shade of green. Crops in the fields are growing. Corn was almost chest high by the 4th of July this year. This is when the earth is alive, and it rubs off on all who inhabit the land. Who could venture along a tree-lined country road, where the ditches are filled with colorful wildflowers, and feel depressed?
But I’m also a realist and know that not everything about July is positive to everyone. I don’t care much for all the mosquitoes and pesky bugs either. After all the rain we’ve had lately, there should be no shortage of mosquitoes. On the positive side, the birds love them.
I can’t talk about July and our abundance of rain without mentioning lawns and grass. I made the mistake of fertilizing our yard this spring. Being frugal, I didn’t put that much on, but any amount was too much this year. This is where my July attitude wears a little thin. I’ve come to the conclusion that grass is good for one thing. It beats the muddy mess you have if you don’t have grass. Other than that, I’m thinking of planting the whole back yard with wildflowers. They’re much more colorful than grass, they come back each year with no need for special treatment or expensive fertilizer, and you don’t need to waste time and money mowing them down every week. I mow the grass every week, and it just keeps coming back. The dead grass is left on the lawn. People don’t even bale it up, so it’s of use to some hungry animal. Now, what’s the sense in that? I wonder who invented lawn mowing? I guess they didn’t have anything better to do. Some people have such gorgeous, pristine lawns you don’t dare to walk on them and trample down the grass. We are a strange species, aren’t we?
One more thing, July can get very hot and humid. Many people don’t like the heat. I like it. I think we tend to over air-condition our lives. As a result, it feels so much hotter when we do venture outside. I’ve been some places where I have to go outside to warm up.
Along with that, if you don’t go outside in July, you’re missing so much. You need to sit in the cool shade and listen to the wind in the trees. Watch and listen to the wind moving through tall grass along fencelines. Listen to the joyous sounds of all the birds. Watch butterflies darting among the flowers. Enjoy the evenings when the night comes alive with wonderful sights and sounds. Watch the fireflies put on their light show, lie back and gaze up at the star-filled sky, and let the crickets, frogs and tree toad chorus serenade you. July evenings are something special.
It doesn’t get much better than that. It’s July, it’s an attitude, and how you look at it is up to you.
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Long Gone But Not Forgotten
Across the Fence #294
On a hilltop overlooking Bloomingdale, Wisconsin sits a small country church. A short, steep, winding, tree-lined road takes you up to the Bloomingdale Church, quietly nestled in a clearing among the trees. Behind the church is the well-maintained cemetery. Early pioneers of Bloomingdale and Vernon County can be found resting on this peaceful, secluded hilltop.
Many years ago my mother wanted to go for a ride on Wang Ridge Road and see the farm where she grew up, and then down in the Kickapoo Valley area to Bloomingdale. She wanted to show Linda and I where she had gone to church when she was young. I’d never been to the Bloomingdale Church and cemetery before. This was before I became interested in genealogy and didn’t realize Bloomingdale’s importance to our family history.
My mother was still in good health at the time and could walk around. She wanted me to know where some of my ancestors were buried. She showed us an old tombstone. It contained names that I had never heard of before. On one side it said Anne Pederson Korsveien (1802–1892). The other side of the tombstone had Agnethe Goldseth Korsveien (1827-1912), Anne’s daughter. My mother said they were my great, great and great, great, great grandmothers on her father’s side (Oscar Hanson).
Since that time, we’ve visited the cemetery many times. It had been many years since anyone had left a flower there, so Linda and I have planted flowers each year. If it wasn’t for the lives of these two women, I wouldn’t be here. Since that first visit to their graves, I’ve learned their story and they didn’t have an easy life. Anne, and her son and daughter, Peder and Agnethe, traveled from Norway to this area in 1854, only to find out her husband, Anders Pederson, who had gone ahead to establish a home for them, had been killed by lightning a month earlier. That was a tough beginning to a new life in this country. I didn’t want them forgotten. The least we can do is remember them with a flower.
During the past few years, the tombstone was starting to sink on one side. Each spring I was glad to find it was still upright. It’s a tall, slender stone that sits on a larger base and foundation. A year ago, the main stone was leaning so far over I was worried it would slide off and bust. I couldn’t let that happen. Last fall I managed to lay the heavy stone on the ground, next to the base. I planned to enlist the help of other relatives this spring and put a new base under it to straighten it up.
When Linda and I visited the cemetery this spring, I couldn’t believe it. The tombstone was standing tall and straight on a new concrete base. Other tombstones around it had also been repaired and straightened. I wanted to know who had taken the time and energy to do this. It had taken a lot of work to repair so many stones. As is often the case, we get busy and I didn’t ask anyone about the repairs.
One day this week, I just had to get out of the office during noon hour and get away from dealing with people for a while. I decided to go for a short drive in the countryside and refresh my mind and spirit. For some reason I decided to head toward Bloomingdale and then back to Westby on another country road. When I got to Bloomingdale I felt myself being pulled up to the cemetery. I decided to check on the flowers we’d planted. There was a man mowing the grass in the cemetery. After checking the flowers, I decided to ask the man if he knew who had fixed the tombstones.
I introduced myself and found out his name was Jim Fish. He provided the answers to my questions. I learned that Jim and his brother, Jerry, along with other volunteers, had repaired all the stones. I let Jim know how appreciative I was and how important that tombstone was to our family. Jim said that while they were fixing some of those older stones, his brother made the comment that no one was probably around who would even notice or care that the old stones were fixed. I was happy to let him know that I cared and how much it meant to me.
It’s so refreshing to find people like Jim and Jerry Fish, who are making sure this small cemetery on a hilltop doesn’t fall into disrepair. We often hear about vandalism and destruction of tombstones, but we seldom hear about the efforts of good people to keep them standing tall and intact.
I think if my ancestors, Anne and Agnethe Korsveien, were able to, they would embrace Jim, Jerry, and the other volunteers for making sure they’re not forgotten after all these years. Maybe they were the ones who were pulling me toward their resting place that day, so I could meet Jim and let him know how much all three of us appreciate their efforts. I think the spirits were very active in arranging our meeting on that peaceful hilltop.
Anne and Agnethe have been gone for a long time, but they are certainly not forgotten. They are still important family members.
On a hilltop overlooking Bloomingdale, Wisconsin sits a small country church. A short, steep, winding, tree-lined road takes you up to the Bloomingdale Church, quietly nestled in a clearing among the trees. Behind the church is the well-maintained cemetery. Early pioneers of Bloomingdale and Vernon County can be found resting on this peaceful, secluded hilltop.
Many years ago my mother wanted to go for a ride on Wang Ridge Road and see the farm where she grew up, and then down in the Kickapoo Valley area to Bloomingdale. She wanted to show Linda and I where she had gone to church when she was young. I’d never been to the Bloomingdale Church and cemetery before. This was before I became interested in genealogy and didn’t realize Bloomingdale’s importance to our family history.
My mother was still in good health at the time and could walk around. She wanted me to know where some of my ancestors were buried. She showed us an old tombstone. It contained names that I had never heard of before. On one side it said Anne Pederson Korsveien (1802–1892). The other side of the tombstone had Agnethe Goldseth Korsveien (1827-1912), Anne’s daughter. My mother said they were my great, great and great, great, great grandmothers on her father’s side (Oscar Hanson).
Since that time, we’ve visited the cemetery many times. It had been many years since anyone had left a flower there, so Linda and I have planted flowers each year. If it wasn’t for the lives of these two women, I wouldn’t be here. Since that first visit to their graves, I’ve learned their story and they didn’t have an easy life. Anne, and her son and daughter, Peder and Agnethe, traveled from Norway to this area in 1854, only to find out her husband, Anders Pederson, who had gone ahead to establish a home for them, had been killed by lightning a month earlier. That was a tough beginning to a new life in this country. I didn’t want them forgotten. The least we can do is remember them with a flower.
During the past few years, the tombstone was starting to sink on one side. Each spring I was glad to find it was still upright. It’s a tall, slender stone that sits on a larger base and foundation. A year ago, the main stone was leaning so far over I was worried it would slide off and bust. I couldn’t let that happen. Last fall I managed to lay the heavy stone on the ground, next to the base. I planned to enlist the help of other relatives this spring and put a new base under it to straighten it up.
When Linda and I visited the cemetery this spring, I couldn’t believe it. The tombstone was standing tall and straight on a new concrete base. Other tombstones around it had also been repaired and straightened. I wanted to know who had taken the time and energy to do this. It had taken a lot of work to repair so many stones. As is often the case, we get busy and I didn’t ask anyone about the repairs.
One day this week, I just had to get out of the office during noon hour and get away from dealing with people for a while. I decided to go for a short drive in the countryside and refresh my mind and spirit. For some reason I decided to head toward Bloomingdale and then back to Westby on another country road. When I got to Bloomingdale I felt myself being pulled up to the cemetery. I decided to check on the flowers we’d planted. There was a man mowing the grass in the cemetery. After checking the flowers, I decided to ask the man if he knew who had fixed the tombstones.
I introduced myself and found out his name was Jim Fish. He provided the answers to my questions. I learned that Jim and his brother, Jerry, along with other volunteers, had repaired all the stones. I let Jim know how appreciative I was and how important that tombstone was to our family. Jim said that while they were fixing some of those older stones, his brother made the comment that no one was probably around who would even notice or care that the old stones were fixed. I was happy to let him know that I cared and how much it meant to me.
It’s so refreshing to find people like Jim and Jerry Fish, who are making sure this small cemetery on a hilltop doesn’t fall into disrepair. We often hear about vandalism and destruction of tombstones, but we seldom hear about the efforts of good people to keep them standing tall and intact.
I think if my ancestors, Anne and Agnethe Korsveien, were able to, they would embrace Jim, Jerry, and the other volunteers for making sure they’re not forgotten after all these years. Maybe they were the ones who were pulling me toward their resting place that day, so I could meet Jim and let him know how much all three of us appreciate their efforts. I think the spirits were very active in arranging our meeting on that peaceful hilltop.
Anne and Agnethe have been gone for a long time, but they are certainly not forgotten. They are still important family members.
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