Across the Fence #311
If you could step into a time machine and be transported back or forward in time, where would you go? Is there a special day, year, or period of time you would choose?
I think most of us have wished we could revisit a certain happening or time in our life. We can all go there through our memories, but the idea of time travel has always intrigued me.
Over the weekend, my brother David and I, got into our time machine and traveled back in time. Lest you think I’ve lost all my marbles, we don’t have a real time machine. Our mode of travel was a car. We decided to travel around the areas where we had spent time during our youth.
We began our time travel with a stop at the Coon Prairie cemetery, where our mother and father are buried. It’s a large cemetery and final resting place for many of the first settlers in the Coon Prairie area. As we roamed around the cemetery looking at the names, we were surrounded by our history. Near our parents are two aunts and uncles. Everywhere we looked were names of people we had known; friends, neighbors, schoolmates, teachers, ministers, relatives, and ancestors. Each name held memories for us. Walking around the cemetery was like traveling back in time. These were the people who had been a big part of our lives, and helped shape who we are today. Our grandparents, great grandparents, and several great, great grandparents, are all resting in Coon Prairie. Some day I’ll be joining them, but I’m in no big hurry to take up residence there.
As we talked about the history surrounding us, we commented how much life has changed. Most people no longer stay in the area where they were born and grew up. In the past, extended families lived out their lives in one place. I still have a strong connection to this area, but the majority of our family and cousins live out of the area now. Each succeeding generation will have less and less ties to the area, and little knowledge of the lives represented by the names on the tombstones in Coon Prairie cemetery. They were more than just names to David and me. As we traveled back in time, we remembered the lives of many of those people and commented on things about them. I’d invite each of you to time travel back to a local cemetery where you have ties. Take a walk around, and remember the people who were a part of your life. It’s like examining the books in the history section of a library.
David and I left the library, climbed back in our time machine, and continued our journey. We traveled out past our woods, located on a high ridge between Bloomingdale and Avalanche. It had been many years since David had traveled that road. We remembered the people who had lived in the farms along the way. We remembered deer hunting in those woods with our father. They were good memories.
Our time machine dropped down the steep hill into the valley and we turned right and followed the crooked creek where we used to fish for trout. As we went through Avalanche we remembered stopping at the Avalanche store when we were young, and the many floods that devastated the valley.
We continued our journey, past Smith Road that would have taken us back to the ridge and to the spot where our old one-room school once stood. We remembered the old Seas Branch ski jump where our father used to jump. It’s now overgrown with trees. We turned on Seas Branch Road and drove past the place once occupied by the Seas Branch School that became our 4-H clubhouse. Only the stone outhouse remains. I don’t think anyone ever tipped that one over. The spring water is still gushing out of the hill near the school. We used to stop there and drink the cold water. David reminded me of the time I skidded on the icy road near the spring and took out a mailbox on our way to a 4-H meeting. I didn’t hurt the car, but totaled the mailbox. I paid for a new one. We drove by the quarry where we used to play and past the infamous “Sherpe Curve” where Christianson Road meets Seas Branch. That’s all I’ll say about that.
Our time travel took us by numerous farms, most of their past owners now residing in Coon Prairie cemetery. Their children, who went to school with us, are now scattered all over the country. We crossed the old railroad bed where we used to walk the rails with friends, and past more woods where we spent many hours hunting with our father.
Across Highway 14, past more farms where we once knew everyone. Our time machine paused near the Three Chimneys, as we remembered our grandmother telling how two of her Ostrem brothers had climbed up and pounded the stake into the top of one of the rocks. It’s still there. We drove by the Ostrem homestead of our great grandparents, and past the Bethel cemetery where so many relatives are buried.
We finally headed for home in our time machine and back to the present. It was quite a journey and good to remember our roots and where we came from.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Book Reading, Discussion, and Signing
Join me at Bramble Books in Viroqua, Wiaconsin
117 S. Main Street
Thursday, November 4
7:00 pm
Free and open to the public.
117 S. Main Street
Thursday, November 4
7:00 pm
Free and open to the public.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Prairie Ghosts: Scary Halloween Thoughts
Across the Fence #310
If you’ve been following Across the Fence for a while, you’ve heard me tell about the Prairie Ghosts. We were a group of neighbor kids who formed a club, and because we lived on Coon Prairie, we called ourselves the Prairie Ghosts. We never had any super great adventures, but with a little embellishment, I could probably come up with some semi-great adventures.
As we know, the best time for ghosts is around Halloween, so it was also a favorite time for the Prairie Ghosts.
As many of you know, the history of Halloween traces back to the ancient religion of the Celtics in Ireland. They had a big feast at the end of summer called Samhain (pronounced Sah-ween). They believed Samhain was a time when the division between the two worlds became very thin, and hostile supernatural forces were active. It was when the ghosts and spirits of the departed were free to return and wander the earth. Now you know why Halloween was a good time for both departed ghosts and live Prairie Ghosts.
The Celtics also lit bonfires that represented the sun and was used to aid the Druid in his fight with dark powers. The term bonfire comes from the words “bone fire,” meaning the bones of sacrificed animals, and sometimes humans, were piled on wood timbers and set ablaze.
We never lit any fires or sacrificed any animals or humans. We were a little more civilized back in our Prairie Ghost days.
The origins of present day “trick-or-treat” can be traced to Samhain, which was the big night for demonic jubilation. The spirits of the dead rose out of their graves and wandered the countryside, trying to return to the homes where they formerly lived. Frightened people tried to appease the wandering spirits by offering them gifts of fruit and nuts. People also tried to fool the spirits by wearing masks, and dressing up in hideous costumes to blend in with them and fool the “real” ghosts.
In many parts of Britain and Ireland, Halloween was known as “Mischief Night.” That meant that people could go around the villages and countryside playing pranks and getting into any kind of mischief without fear of being punished. In the nineteenth century, the Irish and Scottish immigrants brought this custom to the United States. It developed into what we now call “trick or treat.” If we had only known that bit of information when the Prairie Ghosts roamed the Coon Prairie, we could have blamed those tipped over outhouses and corn shocks on the Scotts and Irish. I’m not saying that us Norske boys ever tipped anything over, but if we had, at least we’d have had someone to blame.
Some of us Prairie Ghosts were known to roam the countryside on Halloween, usually looking for the ghost of Gamle Magretta to make an appearance. We traveled on our trusty Harley’s, our only mode of transportation. Well, I have to be honest; they weren’t exactly Harley’s. They were big, clunky, one-speed, balloon tire bicycles, but we pretended they were Harley’s. We even used baseball cards in the spokes to make a motor sound. We held them in place with a clothes pin. They made quite a racket when you had several bikes flying down the gravel road. We took them out at night when we wanted to sneak up on someone or something. We sure didn’t want Gamla Magretta to know we were around. We’d heard the old stories of how she would kidnap kids and they were never seen again. We didn’t really believe she still returned each Halloween, the night she had been killed, but we weren’t taking any unnecessary chances, just in case.
Almost as chilling as the story about Gamle Magretta, is the thought of all those valuable 1950 baseball cards we destroyed in the spokes of our bikes. That’s a scary thought for Halloween. We may not have sacrificed any bones, but we certainly ended the collectable lives of some valuable baseball cards. Remember, those were the days when the Milwaukee Braves had some real superstars on their team, including a young Hank Aaron, and one of my favorites, left-hander Warren Spahn. I can still name the players at most of the positions during that time: Del Crandall, Joe Adcock, Red Schoendienst, Johnny Logan, Eddie Mathews, Hank Aaron, Billy Bruton, Andy Pafko, Wes Covington, Warren Spahn, Bob Buhl, and Lew Burdette to name a few. Now that’s really scary. This from an old Prairie Ghost who has trouble remembering his cell phone number.
In those days, we listened to the games on the radio. Very few games were televised back in the 50’s, when TV was in its infancy in our house. We only had one channel and, for you young people, we didn’t have color TV or HDTV. Everything was black and white and sometimes when reception wasn’t good, it was like watching a program in a snowstorm. I can even remember seeing TV for the first time when I was around ten years old. Now that’s a real scary Halloween thought.
It’s not surprising to me that Prairie Ghosts roamed the countryside when I was young. We didn’t need reality TV. We weren’t sitting around watching TV or playing computer games. We were creating our own reality and living it.
If you’ve been following Across the Fence for a while, you’ve heard me tell about the Prairie Ghosts. We were a group of neighbor kids who formed a club, and because we lived on Coon Prairie, we called ourselves the Prairie Ghosts. We never had any super great adventures, but with a little embellishment, I could probably come up with some semi-great adventures.
As we know, the best time for ghosts is around Halloween, so it was also a favorite time for the Prairie Ghosts.
As many of you know, the history of Halloween traces back to the ancient religion of the Celtics in Ireland. They had a big feast at the end of summer called Samhain (pronounced Sah-ween). They believed Samhain was a time when the division between the two worlds became very thin, and hostile supernatural forces were active. It was when the ghosts and spirits of the departed were free to return and wander the earth. Now you know why Halloween was a good time for both departed ghosts and live Prairie Ghosts.
The Celtics also lit bonfires that represented the sun and was used to aid the Druid in his fight with dark powers. The term bonfire comes from the words “bone fire,” meaning the bones of sacrificed animals, and sometimes humans, were piled on wood timbers and set ablaze.
We never lit any fires or sacrificed any animals or humans. We were a little more civilized back in our Prairie Ghost days.
The origins of present day “trick-or-treat” can be traced to Samhain, which was the big night for demonic jubilation. The spirits of the dead rose out of their graves and wandered the countryside, trying to return to the homes where they formerly lived. Frightened people tried to appease the wandering spirits by offering them gifts of fruit and nuts. People also tried to fool the spirits by wearing masks, and dressing up in hideous costumes to blend in with them and fool the “real” ghosts.
In many parts of Britain and Ireland, Halloween was known as “Mischief Night.” That meant that people could go around the villages and countryside playing pranks and getting into any kind of mischief without fear of being punished. In the nineteenth century, the Irish and Scottish immigrants brought this custom to the United States. It developed into what we now call “trick or treat.” If we had only known that bit of information when the Prairie Ghosts roamed the Coon Prairie, we could have blamed those tipped over outhouses and corn shocks on the Scotts and Irish. I’m not saying that us Norske boys ever tipped anything over, but if we had, at least we’d have had someone to blame.
Some of us Prairie Ghosts were known to roam the countryside on Halloween, usually looking for the ghost of Gamle Magretta to make an appearance. We traveled on our trusty Harley’s, our only mode of transportation. Well, I have to be honest; they weren’t exactly Harley’s. They were big, clunky, one-speed, balloon tire bicycles, but we pretended they were Harley’s. We even used baseball cards in the spokes to make a motor sound. We held them in place with a clothes pin. They made quite a racket when you had several bikes flying down the gravel road. We took them out at night when we wanted to sneak up on someone or something. We sure didn’t want Gamla Magretta to know we were around. We’d heard the old stories of how she would kidnap kids and they were never seen again. We didn’t really believe she still returned each Halloween, the night she had been killed, but we weren’t taking any unnecessary chances, just in case.
Almost as chilling as the story about Gamle Magretta, is the thought of all those valuable 1950 baseball cards we destroyed in the spokes of our bikes. That’s a scary thought for Halloween. We may not have sacrificed any bones, but we certainly ended the collectable lives of some valuable baseball cards. Remember, those were the days when the Milwaukee Braves had some real superstars on their team, including a young Hank Aaron, and one of my favorites, left-hander Warren Spahn. I can still name the players at most of the positions during that time: Del Crandall, Joe Adcock, Red Schoendienst, Johnny Logan, Eddie Mathews, Hank Aaron, Billy Bruton, Andy Pafko, Wes Covington, Warren Spahn, Bob Buhl, and Lew Burdette to name a few. Now that’s really scary. This from an old Prairie Ghost who has trouble remembering his cell phone number.
In those days, we listened to the games on the radio. Very few games were televised back in the 50’s, when TV was in its infancy in our house. We only had one channel and, for you young people, we didn’t have color TV or HDTV. Everything was black and white and sometimes when reception wasn’t good, it was like watching a program in a snowstorm. I can even remember seeing TV for the first time when I was around ten years old. Now that’s a real scary Halloween thought.
It’s not surprising to me that Prairie Ghosts roamed the countryside when I was young. We didn’t need reality TV. We weren’t sitting around watching TV or playing computer games. We were creating our own reality and living it.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Sweeney
Across the Fence #309
It’s very quiet in Sherpeland tonight. Sweeney, that lovable bundle of energy is back home with Amy and Tim. We were dog-sitting Sweeney while they were on their honeymoon in Ireland. Linda, who has Irish heritage, had offered to carry their bags, but they thought they could handle that job by themselves.
After the wedding, Sweeney came home with us. She’s spent time with us in the country before, but never for two weeks. When the kids were young, we had a Sheltie named Toby. He was the best dog and it really spoiled us. Some dogs can be a real challenge. Sweeney falls into the same category as Toby. She was a joy to have around and no trouble.
All you dog lovers should be able to relate to everything in this story. You know you’re loved and missed when you have a dog. The minute you open the door, you’re attacked, jumped on, licked, and kissed. Even if you’ve only been gone for an hour, you’d think they hadn’t seen you in a month. This greeting can go on for several minutes while you try to work your way into the house. When I came home from work, she was into the front seat and wildly greeting me before I could even get out of the car. Then we had to play in the front yard and throw the Frisbee before I could go inside. She also ran in circles as fast as she could, around me, around the car, and sometimes around the outside of the house. What is it about a dog that makes them chase in circles like that? Every dog I remember has done that.
All this chasing around can be interesting for a guy like me who has a few years on this old body. It doesn’t react like a twenty-year-old body, or even a fifty-year-old body. I must have pulled a groin muscle during one of our chasing and playing escapades. My body can no longer stop on a dime and do a quick turn without something snapping, crackling, or popping. I sound like a bowl of Rice Krispies walking down the street! I’m still walking rather gingerly. A friend informed me it’s gonna’ take a long time to heal, especially at my age. Thanks, I needed to hear that.
You can’t let a little pain interfere with your fun, so Sweeney and I spent a lot of time exploring the fields and wooded areas around our place. She loves to explore as much as I do. As you dog lovers know, there’s something about gross and stinky things that attracts a dog and compels them to roll in it. It can be half a mile away and they head for it like a heat-seeking missile. Unfortunately, the honey wagons were busy spraying liquid manure on the fields around us while Sweeney was with us. I don’t have to tell you what that smell can do to a dog’s fur. It’s a toss up between being sprayed by a skunk or rolling in liquid manure, as to which is the more offensive smell. It’s one of the perks of living in the country.
Sweeney also loves to go for rides in the car. Almost every evening we went for a ride around the countryside. Dogs love to have their nose out the window, sniffing the air. I wonder if they ever get a bug up their nose while going fifty miles an hour? That would tend to hurt. She rode in the back seat, with her head always between us as she observed everything we passed: cows, Amish buggies and horses, lamas, squirrels, deer, and of course, cats that commanded her utmost attention.
Every day, she helped Linda get the mail, and had to carry a piece of mail to the house. Junk mail and political flyers were her specialty. She also carried her dish to the dishwasher after finishing eating. She’s a well-trained dog and wants to help do things.
Sleeping was an adventure. She slept in her bed on the floor in our bedroom, at least for the first part of the night. Sometime during the night, she’d hop up on our bed and plop down between us. I guess she found it more cozy having company. I’d wake up with a paw in my face or her tongue cleaning my ears, face, and neck. Sometimes she rested her head on my neck. I preferred that to her butt-end in my face. When the alarm rang, she was ready to greet the day at full speed. The first order of business, after sniffing the morning air, was a trip to the hayfield. She trotted off to do her duties in the privacy of the tall grass. Better there than in the middle of the lawn.
I guess I failed to mention that Sweeney is half German Shepherd and half Collie, so she’s a good sized dog. Those are known as two of the smartest breeds of dogs and it really shows in her. She’s smart, affectionate, rambunctious, curious, helpful, and a joy to have around. But then all people say that about their grandchildren, and in our case our granddog.
As much as she liked being with us, she went wild when she saw Amy and Tim. You just can’t beat a dog for a faithful, loving companion.
It’s very quiet in Sherpeland tonight. Sweeney, that lovable bundle of energy is back home with Amy and Tim. We were dog-sitting Sweeney while they were on their honeymoon in Ireland. Linda, who has Irish heritage, had offered to carry their bags, but they thought they could handle that job by themselves.
After the wedding, Sweeney came home with us. She’s spent time with us in the country before, but never for two weeks. When the kids were young, we had a Sheltie named Toby. He was the best dog and it really spoiled us. Some dogs can be a real challenge. Sweeney falls into the same category as Toby. She was a joy to have around and no trouble.
All you dog lovers should be able to relate to everything in this story. You know you’re loved and missed when you have a dog. The minute you open the door, you’re attacked, jumped on, licked, and kissed. Even if you’ve only been gone for an hour, you’d think they hadn’t seen you in a month. This greeting can go on for several minutes while you try to work your way into the house. When I came home from work, she was into the front seat and wildly greeting me before I could even get out of the car. Then we had to play in the front yard and throw the Frisbee before I could go inside. She also ran in circles as fast as she could, around me, around the car, and sometimes around the outside of the house. What is it about a dog that makes them chase in circles like that? Every dog I remember has done that.
All this chasing around can be interesting for a guy like me who has a few years on this old body. It doesn’t react like a twenty-year-old body, or even a fifty-year-old body. I must have pulled a groin muscle during one of our chasing and playing escapades. My body can no longer stop on a dime and do a quick turn without something snapping, crackling, or popping. I sound like a bowl of Rice Krispies walking down the street! I’m still walking rather gingerly. A friend informed me it’s gonna’ take a long time to heal, especially at my age. Thanks, I needed to hear that.
You can’t let a little pain interfere with your fun, so Sweeney and I spent a lot of time exploring the fields and wooded areas around our place. She loves to explore as much as I do. As you dog lovers know, there’s something about gross and stinky things that attracts a dog and compels them to roll in it. It can be half a mile away and they head for it like a heat-seeking missile. Unfortunately, the honey wagons were busy spraying liquid manure on the fields around us while Sweeney was with us. I don’t have to tell you what that smell can do to a dog’s fur. It’s a toss up between being sprayed by a skunk or rolling in liquid manure, as to which is the more offensive smell. It’s one of the perks of living in the country.
Sweeney also loves to go for rides in the car. Almost every evening we went for a ride around the countryside. Dogs love to have their nose out the window, sniffing the air. I wonder if they ever get a bug up their nose while going fifty miles an hour? That would tend to hurt. She rode in the back seat, with her head always between us as she observed everything we passed: cows, Amish buggies and horses, lamas, squirrels, deer, and of course, cats that commanded her utmost attention.
Every day, she helped Linda get the mail, and had to carry a piece of mail to the house. Junk mail and political flyers were her specialty. She also carried her dish to the dishwasher after finishing eating. She’s a well-trained dog and wants to help do things.
Sleeping was an adventure. She slept in her bed on the floor in our bedroom, at least for the first part of the night. Sometime during the night, she’d hop up on our bed and plop down between us. I guess she found it more cozy having company. I’d wake up with a paw in my face or her tongue cleaning my ears, face, and neck. Sometimes she rested her head on my neck. I preferred that to her butt-end in my face. When the alarm rang, she was ready to greet the day at full speed. The first order of business, after sniffing the morning air, was a trip to the hayfield. She trotted off to do her duties in the privacy of the tall grass. Better there than in the middle of the lawn.
I guess I failed to mention that Sweeney is half German Shepherd and half Collie, so she’s a good sized dog. Those are known as two of the smartest breeds of dogs and it really shows in her. She’s smart, affectionate, rambunctious, curious, helpful, and a joy to have around. But then all people say that about their grandchildren, and in our case our granddog.
As much as she liked being with us, she went wild when she saw Amy and Tim. You just can’t beat a dog for a faithful, loving companion.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Fall Harvest Is Shocking
Across the Fence #308
Corn shocks stand like lonely sentinels, guarding the last memories of a vanishing lifestyle. A backdrop of changing colors in the woods bordering the cornfield signals the arrival of fall. A flock of geese passing overhead completes the picture as they talk among themselves. It’s fall and the harvest has begun.
The sight of corn shocks and pumpkins in a field represents what the fall season is to me, in the pictures in my mind. Today, corn shocks are as scarce as hen’s teeth around the countryside, unless you head for Amish country. We have a large Amish community within a few miles of Westby. As we drove around the area last weekend, we were once again treated to the sight of fields filled with corn shocks. It was a welcome sight and brought back memories of how farming used to be on most farms.
Today I can watch monstrous combines going through the fields around us, day and night, as they clear huge fields of soybeans in a fraction of the time it used to take. Soon they’ll be stripping the cornfields bare, shelling the corn as they go, and filling semi trucks that haul it from the fields. Today, fall harvesting is big, fast, and in many ways impersonal.
Many of you can still remember when small farms of one hundred acres, or less, were the norm. Corn shocks were not a novelty in those days. It wasn’t shocking to suddenly come across a field filled with them. What would us young Prairie Ghosts have done on Halloween if we couldn’t have tipped over a few corn shocks? I’m not saying we ever did, but there’s something about a corn shock that attracts young boys and shouts out, “Tip me over!”
Another thing I remember about fall and corn harvesting was helping dad clean up the field of corn that had escaped the corn picker. We used a curved husking peg or knife that was strapped to the palm of a heavy, leather strap that fit around our hand. We used it to rip open the husks, break off the corncob, and throw it in a wagon. In those days, nothing was wasted. Perhaps some of you can remember when you picked whole fields of corn using the husking peg and threw the ears against a “bang board” on a wagon pulled by horses. I wish I could find one of those husking pegs back. The old ones we used must have been relegated to the dump long ago.
I also remember harvesting as being a neighborly event, with lots of good food involved. It was a time when neighbors got together and helped each other with the harvest. Meals were looked forward to and every farmer knew who the best cooks in the neighborhood were. Sometimes long tables and chairs were set up on the lawn because there wasn’t enough room in the house. The women slaved over the hot cooking stove all day preparing the meals. There were large bowls of mashed potatoes, rich gravy, big platters of meat, home-grown vegetables, pickled beets, cole slaw, home-made bread and lefse, topped off with fresh pie and steaming cups of coffee. My mother was known for her great meals and pies. No one ever went away hungry. The meals, shared by the neighbors, were a big part of the harvest. I suspect the men doing the harvesting today, and running those big combines and semis on corporate farms, are missing out on the best part of the fall harvest… the wonderful meals and neighbors working side by side as they helped each other.
When I feel the brisk winds of fall, as darkness begins to envelope the land, I remember sitting in an empty wagon at the end of the cornfield. It’s dark and cold. The stars shine brightly overhead in the clear, crisp sky. The light from the tractor makes strange, scary shadows dance among the corn stalks. The air is filled with the distinctive “putt-putt-putt” of the idling John Deere B tractor. In the distance I see the lights of the corn picker coming through the corn stalks. I hear the hum of the machine as it severs the stalks, and the continual “clunk, clunk, clunk” of ears of corn landing in the wagon box. The corn picker finally reaches us. Among the sounds and lights from the tractors and corn picker, there’s a flurry of activity as the full wagon is exchanged for the empty one. Throw in some snowflakes dancing in the lights, and it becomes a magical scene.
When a wagon was full, we hauled it from the field to the corncrib, where we shoveled the corncobs into the crib. It was heavy, hard work, especially when I was younger. Now most corncribs are gone, along with one and two row corn pickers. Gravity boxes replaced the old wood wagons, and now large trucks and semis are replacing the gravity box. Those huge combines have replaced the need for neighbors to get together and help each other with the harvest.
All this mechanization has allowed farms to get bigger and the harvest go faster, with fewer people involved. But to me, fall harvest is still represented by those shocks of corn, standing tall and reminding us of another time and place, where neighbors even talked across the fence.
Corn shocks stand like lonely sentinels, guarding the last memories of a vanishing lifestyle. A backdrop of changing colors in the woods bordering the cornfield signals the arrival of fall. A flock of geese passing overhead completes the picture as they talk among themselves. It’s fall and the harvest has begun.
The sight of corn shocks and pumpkins in a field represents what the fall season is to me, in the pictures in my mind. Today, corn shocks are as scarce as hen’s teeth around the countryside, unless you head for Amish country. We have a large Amish community within a few miles of Westby. As we drove around the area last weekend, we were once again treated to the sight of fields filled with corn shocks. It was a welcome sight and brought back memories of how farming used to be on most farms.
Today I can watch monstrous combines going through the fields around us, day and night, as they clear huge fields of soybeans in a fraction of the time it used to take. Soon they’ll be stripping the cornfields bare, shelling the corn as they go, and filling semi trucks that haul it from the fields. Today, fall harvesting is big, fast, and in many ways impersonal.
Many of you can still remember when small farms of one hundred acres, or less, were the norm. Corn shocks were not a novelty in those days. It wasn’t shocking to suddenly come across a field filled with them. What would us young Prairie Ghosts have done on Halloween if we couldn’t have tipped over a few corn shocks? I’m not saying we ever did, but there’s something about a corn shock that attracts young boys and shouts out, “Tip me over!”
Another thing I remember about fall and corn harvesting was helping dad clean up the field of corn that had escaped the corn picker. We used a curved husking peg or knife that was strapped to the palm of a heavy, leather strap that fit around our hand. We used it to rip open the husks, break off the corncob, and throw it in a wagon. In those days, nothing was wasted. Perhaps some of you can remember when you picked whole fields of corn using the husking peg and threw the ears against a “bang board” on a wagon pulled by horses. I wish I could find one of those husking pegs back. The old ones we used must have been relegated to the dump long ago.
I also remember harvesting as being a neighborly event, with lots of good food involved. It was a time when neighbors got together and helped each other with the harvest. Meals were looked forward to and every farmer knew who the best cooks in the neighborhood were. Sometimes long tables and chairs were set up on the lawn because there wasn’t enough room in the house. The women slaved over the hot cooking stove all day preparing the meals. There were large bowls of mashed potatoes, rich gravy, big platters of meat, home-grown vegetables, pickled beets, cole slaw, home-made bread and lefse, topped off with fresh pie and steaming cups of coffee. My mother was known for her great meals and pies. No one ever went away hungry. The meals, shared by the neighbors, were a big part of the harvest. I suspect the men doing the harvesting today, and running those big combines and semis on corporate farms, are missing out on the best part of the fall harvest… the wonderful meals and neighbors working side by side as they helped each other.
When I feel the brisk winds of fall, as darkness begins to envelope the land, I remember sitting in an empty wagon at the end of the cornfield. It’s dark and cold. The stars shine brightly overhead in the clear, crisp sky. The light from the tractor makes strange, scary shadows dance among the corn stalks. The air is filled with the distinctive “putt-putt-putt” of the idling John Deere B tractor. In the distance I see the lights of the corn picker coming through the corn stalks. I hear the hum of the machine as it severs the stalks, and the continual “clunk, clunk, clunk” of ears of corn landing in the wagon box. The corn picker finally reaches us. Among the sounds and lights from the tractors and corn picker, there’s a flurry of activity as the full wagon is exchanged for the empty one. Throw in some snowflakes dancing in the lights, and it becomes a magical scene.
When a wagon was full, we hauled it from the field to the corncrib, where we shoveled the corncobs into the crib. It was heavy, hard work, especially when I was younger. Now most corncribs are gone, along with one and two row corn pickers. Gravity boxes replaced the old wood wagons, and now large trucks and semis are replacing the gravity box. Those huge combines have replaced the need for neighbors to get together and help each other with the harvest.
All this mechanization has allowed farms to get bigger and the harvest go faster, with fewer people involved. But to me, fall harvest is still represented by those shocks of corn, standing tall and reminding us of another time and place, where neighbors even talked across the fence.
Saturday, October 2, 2010
A Very Special Moment
Across the Fence #307
Where does the time go? Where has the summer gone? What happened to the past year? Time marches on and it seems like the older I get, the faster the hands on the clock seem to go around. I guess I should expect it. I’ve been over the hill for many years now, and we all know an object picks up speed when rolling downhill.
I realized how fast the time has gone when I walked our daughter, Amy, down the aisle this past Saturday. It seems like only yesterday when I was there as she was born and got to carry her from the delivery room to the nursery. That was a memorable experience in fatherhood. Saturday I got to experience another of the great moments of being a parent. All you fathers who have walked your daughter down the aisle know what I mean. It’s a moment I’ll always remember.
Some friends asked if I was nervous or shed a few tears. I said no, I wasn’t nervous, and was very happy for Amy and Tim. Parents want only the best for their children and want them to be happy. This was a happy, wonderful day.
An outdoor ceremony was planned and the rehearsal late Friday afternoon became an unforgettable experience too. It was cold and very windy. It had rained almost every day of the week. Amy’s new in-laws from Mississippi must have thought they were in the middle of a Wisconsin winter. Saturday, it was cool and cloudy, but the wind and rain stayed away. I like to think all those ancestors who have entered the great unknown, were there in spirit and blocked the wind and rain from dampening the ceremony. The Force was definitely with us.
Tim’s best friend, Kevin, was the Best Man. He was also the officiating minister. Amy and Tim wanted him to handle both jobs and he did great. It’s not easy being in two roles. When it came to the ring part of the ceremony, he held the notebook containing the ceremony in one hand, while fishing in his pocket for Amy’s ring. As he pulled it out and handed it to Tim, he realized it was Tim’s ring. He smiled and said, “Not that ring,” put it back in his pocket and pulled out the other one. It was one of those great moments where everyone laughed and it added to the feeling of one big family celebrating the union of these two people.
Another interesting sidelight, Tim and his father are die-hard Arkansas fans. Kevin on the other hand, is an Alabama fan. They just happened to be playing each other in football as the ceremony was going on.
Our son, Erik, and Tim’s friend, Patrick, also had dual roles as Groomsmen and ushers. Amy’s best friend since first grade, Genny, was the Maid of Honor. Her cousin, Erin, and a college friend, Tracy, were Bridesmaids. I should note that all three of them had babies within the last five months. That must have made for an interesting time fitting the dresses.
Tradition has the father of the bride giving a toast at the reception. I’ve carved many Norwegian ale bowls for other weddings around the country, and wanted to give one to Amy and Tim too. I’ve had very little time for wood carving since moving to Westby, but wanted to get one carved in time for their wedding. I completed it three days before the wedding. Nothing like putting a little pressure on myself. I surprised them with the ale bowl at the reception, and drank the wedding toast from it. They also drank a toast from it. Luckily, none of us spilled any on our clothes. Linda was a little worried about that. It’s one thing for an old Viking to slobber all over himself while tipping up an ale bowl, but it wouldn’t do much for a wedding dress or tux.
Now the wedding of our daughter is history. We came away from it with a wonderful weekend of memories with family and friends. Every parent hopes their children will find someone to spend the rest of their life with and share experiences with, someone who will treat them good and love them unconditionally. Linda and I are happy for Amy and Tim. We wish them a long, happy life together. We also welcome his southern family into our northern family, but I don’t think they’ll be making many visits up here to the frozen tundra during the winter months.
Now we’re dog sitting while they’re on their honeymoon in Ireland. Sweeney should give me a lot of good material for future columns. She’s a great dog, but I don’t think I can keep up to her level of energy. Stay tuned.
Yes, time does fly. Life is filled with adventures and special moments. As I look back on life with Erik and Amy, I wonder where the time went. My advice to young parents is to enjoy every moment. It goes so fast. I don’t usually write about our kids because I want to respect their privacy. However, it’s not every day you have a child get married. I’m glad I’ve had the privilege of watching Amy blossom into a beautiful, young woman, and got to walk her down the aisle. It was a very special moment.
Where does the time go? Where has the summer gone? What happened to the past year? Time marches on and it seems like the older I get, the faster the hands on the clock seem to go around. I guess I should expect it. I’ve been over the hill for many years now, and we all know an object picks up speed when rolling downhill.
I realized how fast the time has gone when I walked our daughter, Amy, down the aisle this past Saturday. It seems like only yesterday when I was there as she was born and got to carry her from the delivery room to the nursery. That was a memorable experience in fatherhood. Saturday I got to experience another of the great moments of being a parent. All you fathers who have walked your daughter down the aisle know what I mean. It’s a moment I’ll always remember.
Some friends asked if I was nervous or shed a few tears. I said no, I wasn’t nervous, and was very happy for Amy and Tim. Parents want only the best for their children and want them to be happy. This was a happy, wonderful day.
An outdoor ceremony was planned and the rehearsal late Friday afternoon became an unforgettable experience too. It was cold and very windy. It had rained almost every day of the week. Amy’s new in-laws from Mississippi must have thought they were in the middle of a Wisconsin winter. Saturday, it was cool and cloudy, but the wind and rain stayed away. I like to think all those ancestors who have entered the great unknown, were there in spirit and blocked the wind and rain from dampening the ceremony. The Force was definitely with us.
Tim’s best friend, Kevin, was the Best Man. He was also the officiating minister. Amy and Tim wanted him to handle both jobs and he did great. It’s not easy being in two roles. When it came to the ring part of the ceremony, he held the notebook containing the ceremony in one hand, while fishing in his pocket for Amy’s ring. As he pulled it out and handed it to Tim, he realized it was Tim’s ring. He smiled and said, “Not that ring,” put it back in his pocket and pulled out the other one. It was one of those great moments where everyone laughed and it added to the feeling of one big family celebrating the union of these two people.
Another interesting sidelight, Tim and his father are die-hard Arkansas fans. Kevin on the other hand, is an Alabama fan. They just happened to be playing each other in football as the ceremony was going on.
Our son, Erik, and Tim’s friend, Patrick, also had dual roles as Groomsmen and ushers. Amy’s best friend since first grade, Genny, was the Maid of Honor. Her cousin, Erin, and a college friend, Tracy, were Bridesmaids. I should note that all three of them had babies within the last five months. That must have made for an interesting time fitting the dresses.
Tradition has the father of the bride giving a toast at the reception. I’ve carved many Norwegian ale bowls for other weddings around the country, and wanted to give one to Amy and Tim too. I’ve had very little time for wood carving since moving to Westby, but wanted to get one carved in time for their wedding. I completed it three days before the wedding. Nothing like putting a little pressure on myself. I surprised them with the ale bowl at the reception, and drank the wedding toast from it. They also drank a toast from it. Luckily, none of us spilled any on our clothes. Linda was a little worried about that. It’s one thing for an old Viking to slobber all over himself while tipping up an ale bowl, but it wouldn’t do much for a wedding dress or tux.
Now the wedding of our daughter is history. We came away from it with a wonderful weekend of memories with family and friends. Every parent hopes their children will find someone to spend the rest of their life with and share experiences with, someone who will treat them good and love them unconditionally. Linda and I are happy for Amy and Tim. We wish them a long, happy life together. We also welcome his southern family into our northern family, but I don’t think they’ll be making many visits up here to the frozen tundra during the winter months.
Now we’re dog sitting while they’re on their honeymoon in Ireland. Sweeney should give me a lot of good material for future columns. She’s a great dog, but I don’t think I can keep up to her level of energy. Stay tuned.
Yes, time does fly. Life is filled with adventures and special moments. As I look back on life with Erik and Amy, I wonder where the time went. My advice to young parents is to enjoy every moment. It goes so fast. I don’t usually write about our kids because I want to respect their privacy. However, it’s not every day you have a child get married. I’m glad I’ve had the privilege of watching Amy blossom into a beautiful, young woman, and got to walk her down the aisle. It was a very special moment.
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