A Magical Ride In the Moonlight

Across the Fence #476

One year comes to an end and another year opens up with all new adventures and opportunities for us. The past and the future are divided by the present as the ball is dropped in Times Square each year. Sometimes the past and present converge into a magical moment in time. That happened for Linda and me this week when we were invited to go on a bobsled ride. 

I’m old enough to remember when we had draft horses on the farm, but I don’t remember if we had a sleigh or bobsled. My cousin, Sandy, and I got to ride on the horses while Dad worked the fields or they pulled a wagon loaded with hay. We hung on for dear life to the collar and brass balls on the hames. It was a long way to the ground for little kids sitting on the back of Belgian draft horses. I was too young to harness them up or do any work in the fields with them, although I do remember helping my grandmother handle the reins as one of the horses pulled the rope that brought the hay up into the barn, after Dad had set the hayfork. I was too young to be trusted with handling the horses alone. This was all before he bought his first tractor, a John Deere B.

Those memories of draft horses are all in the past. My experiences of working in the fields are of using tractors, not working with horses. My experience of being around horses was limited to my early years, but I’m still fascinated with watching them work. Linda and I both enjoy driving around Amish Country and seeing them working in the fields using horses. For me it’s a trip back to my childhood years. 

The Amish Country around Bloomingdale, Knapp Valley Road, and Wang Ridge Road are my Wang and Hanson roots on my mother’s side. It was back to this area where my great grandparents, grandparents, and my mother lived, that we headed one evening for our bobsled ride.

It all started one day at our office when a young Amish man, Jacob Schrock, recognized me and said that he reads my column in the Westby Times each week. He loves reading my stories about how life was lived, and how farming was done in this area years ago. He realized from reading my stories that we have a lot in common. We had a wonderful conversation. I showed him a drawing I have hanging on my office wall. It’s a drawing I did of old buildings in a winter setting on the farm where my mother grew up on Wang Ridge Road. An Amish family now lives on the farm. Jacob lives at the lower end of Wang Ridge Road, but knows where the old Hanson farm is located near the upper end of the road.

A week after we met, Jacob called one day and was wondering if Linda and I would like to go on an evening bobsled ride. The moon was almost full and the weather was supposed to be nice for a couple days and it would be a great time to go for a ride. Of course, I said we would love to go.

Two days later we had two inches of fresh snow. The next evening, Linda and I headed for Lower Wang Ridge Road. It was a beautiful, full moon night, with a star-filled sky. We met Jacob at his farm in the valley and went to the barn with him where he harnessed the two, large draft horses that would pull the bobsled. He had hung the lantern he carried on a hook attached to a ceiling beam. It reminded me of the one light bulb we had hanging in our barn when I was young, except we had electricity instead of a lantern. He grabbed the lantern and we followed the horses out of the barn to the bobsled, where he hitched them to the sled. Then Linda and I climbed in and sat down, covering ourselves with a heavy blanket. Jacob stood in the front of the bobsled and guided the horses as we headed out across a snow-covered field.

Linda and Howard in the bobsled on a moonlit night.

We crossed Highway P and headed up a narrow road that took us over the creek, up the hill, and through the woods. The moon and stars shining through the bare trees and reflecting on the snow, along with the jangle of the harness, and the sound of the sled on the snow, created a magical moment. It was cold, but we were protected from the wind as we went up the trail, with gullies on one side. When we reached the ridge near Pa’s Road, Jacob got off to open the gate and I drove the team through the gate. They even stopped when I said, “Whoa!” It was more windy and cold on the ridge, but the view was wonderful. We traveled along Eagle’s View Lane and then on narrow trails that took us back down into the valley. 

We had a wonderful conversation with Jacob during the hour ride. It really was a magical night as we experienced what my ancestors had before me in these same hills and valleys. Linda patted and thanked the horses before we left. For one hour, the past and the present had come together to create a magical moment we will always remember.

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How Cold Is Too Cold To Play Outside?

Across the Fence #475

At what temperature is it too cold for kids to go outside and play during recess? The answer to that question seems to have changed since I was in school.

Recently I was in La Farge on business and headed to Cashton, with stops at the high school and the Organic Valley distribution center, before heading back to the office in Westby. I decided to take the back roads shortcut that eventually took me through Amish Country. I often travel those roads through the heart of the Kickapoo and Driftless Area. This is wild country, where you get the feeling you’re time-traveling back to how this country looked when our ancestors first arrived here. The countryside is breathtaking.

From La Farge I traveled north on Hwy. 131 through the Kickapoo Valley Reserve. I turned west on County P and continued along the winding road that runs alongside Weister Creek and Wolf Valley. The temperature was zero and the wind chill had to be much lower. When I reached the intersection of P & D, I turned north on D, heading through Amish Country. During that trip, I didn’t meet any other vehicles. Was everyone staying inside because it was too cold to venture outside?

I passed the intersection of D and Wang Ridge Road. From there I could see the farm on Wang Ridge Road where my mother grew up. I passed the old Clinton School that my mother attended. Someone lives in it now. As I continued toward Cashton I passed a one-room Amish School. The children were outside playing during recess. It was one below zero! The girls were sliding down a hill next to the school on their sleds. They didn’t have long pants or snowsuits on. They all wore their traditional dresses. The boys were engaged in a lively game of hockey on a small frozen pond below the school. Some had ice skates and others just had boots on. All the students looked like they were having a ball. 

The Amish school and sledding hill in the background

The pond where the boys were playing hockey.

I didn't take photos when the children were playing 

because the Amish don't want their photos taken.

The scene reminded me of my days at Smith School, a one-room country school. We were also outside playing in all kinds of weather, regardless of the temperature. We didn’t even know about the wind chill factor in those days. It was just “really cold,” but that’s what winter in Wisconsin was like. You got used to it and dressed accordingly.

We played Fox and Geese in the snow, built elaborate forts and had snowball fights, dug tunnels and caves in the huge snow banks, walked to Birch Hill to ski jump and sled, and hiked through snowy fields to the pond in our back forty, where we played hockey. None of us had skates or equipment. We made hockey sticks from tobacco laths. I don’t remember what we used for a puck. There were no rules because none of us knew anything about hockey, except that you scored by hitting the puck into a goal. Our goal posts were tobacco laths stuck in the snow at the ends of the pond. We slid around on the ice in our boots, often taking some nasty spills. Those were not organized sporting events with adult coaches. They were simply a bunch of kids of all ages, choosing up sides, making a few rules, and having fun.

When the bell rang, recess was over and we headed inside to thaw out. We got cold, we got wet, sometimes we got banged up a little, but we had fun doing all those activities with our friends. Seeing the Amish children playing outside on a cold winter day brought back memories of those same types of activities from my school days.

When I got back to the office I was telling people about the Amish children playing outside. I was told that the children in area schools had to do inside activities that day because it was too cold for them to play outside. I can understand the concern for safety in cold weather, but I thought it was quite a contrast between the two cultures. Given a choice between the two approaches to recess in cold weather, I’ll have to side with the Amish children because that’s the way we were brought up. That cold weather built character and toughness. It seems like we’re raising a nation of couch potatoes, who aren’t allowed to do anything that has an element of danger or may cause them discomfort. Many kids don’t even know how to organize and play a game unless a grownup coaches them and tells them what to do.

So how cold should it be before kids aren’t allowed to play outside? I looked on the Internet and was astounded by some of the replies. One said they should stay inside if the temperature was below 40 degrees. Another said below freezing (32 degrees). Others said below ten degrees and below zero. I think those first answers came from southern climates and the latter from the upper Midwest. As one person said, “If kids can’t go outside unless its at least 32 degrees, they won’t have recess all winter.” Amen to that.

There’s an old Norwegian saying, “There’s no such thing as bad weather, just the wrong clothes.” So bundle up and try to enjoy the winter. Otherwise it’s going to be a long five months. 

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The Kingdom of Driftless Beauty

Across the Fence: Christmas Issue Story for the Westby Times
The Circle of Life Cooperative

Much corn had been planted during the spring on Sunshine Prairie in the Kingdom of Driftless Beauty. The summer season had seen much rain, and the vegetation on the prairie was as lush as anyone had seen in many years. The fall harvest had yielded a bumper crop. All this should have been great news for all the critters that feasted on the corn that was left over, but there had been much tension in the Kingdom of Driftless Beauty.

Fairy Princess Sonja sat on her favorite spot near Three Rock Chimney, the highest point of Sunshine Prairie. From there she could survey the entire kingdom. The birds and critters always knew where to find her if they needed help or advice. Ole, the green-striped frog, could always be found sitting beside her. Ole was having trouble getting around because his arthritic frog legs were hurting again. There had been a drastic change in the temperature, as a blast of winter weather approached. Ole’s relatives over in Frogtown, near Chipmunk Coulee, had sent word that there had been a lot of trouble in the coulee lately. Gray Squirrels from Gamle Oak Ridge, had invaded Chipmunk Coulee and were stealing the winter supply of corn that the chipmunks were stockpiling. There were reports of a battle being waged as they fought back to protect their food supply.

Sonja had sent Carrot Top, the red-headed Bald Eagle, and the White Dove of Peace to do a fly-over of the area and see what was happening. When they returned they had Uncle Ho, the leader of the Chipmunk Coulee Clan with them. After they landed, Uncle Ho hopped down from Carrot Top’s back. 

“It’s good to see you again, Uncle Ho.” Said Princess Sonja. “I understand there’s been trouble in your coulee. Tell me what’s been happening.”

“It’s been tough,” said Uncle Ho. “Because of all the rain this summer, much of my time was spent dealing with water control and drainage in our tunnel complex. As you know, we have a huge underground tunnel system where we live. Normally, our storerooms would be full of corn, seeds, and nuts at this time of year. Once winter arrives we live exclusively underground. But we’ve been spending so much time repairing our tunnel system that we got way behind on gathering food supplies. Then a couple weeks ago, Chipmunk Coulee was invaded by an army of Gray Squirrels. They were stealing all the corn in the fields near us, and running off with all the acorns and nuts that had fallen on the ground. We tried to fight them off, but we were outnumbered and they were so much bigger than us. We needed help so I contacted the Red Squirrels up on Red Rover Ridge.  

“I spent considerable time in conversation with our Native brothers and they came to our aid. As we all know, but too many have forgotten, most of our Chip ancestors hitchhiked along with the European and Scandinavian immigrants when they came to this part of the country. We’re native here now, but it wasn’t always this way. The Red Squirrel Clan are the “real” Natives. Their ancestors were here long before our ancestors hitched rides with the immigrants. 

“I’ve been meeting and talking with many of those Natives since our struggles with the Gray Squirrel Clan began. It’s been most enlightening and I found there’s much we can learn from them in our struggles with both the humans and other critters that want to harm us.

“I’ve learned from my meetings with them, that war and fighting is not the answer to solving our problems. We must start by looking within. We all know that humans are not as smart as us critters, but maybe we can get their attention so we can reason with them too, and make them stop trying to kill all of us. As we have seen in listening to their political squabbles, reason is not a strong suit among many humans. They are very opinionated and seem to believe that fighting is the only way to settle differences. Granted, we in the critter world have our problems too, but I think on a whole, we are much more civilized than the humans. At least that’s the conclusion we have all come to during my conversations with the Native Red Squirrels.

“One of the Natives that I’ve been meeting with is “Runs Fast With Tail In Air.” We call him “Runs Fast” for short. After I related our problems to Runs Fast, he contacted his cousin who lives in South Dakota and is the Spiritual Leader of their clan. His name is “He Who Walks the Walk and Talks the Talk,” “Walky-Talky” for short. After Walky-Talky heard about our fight to save our food supply, he caught the first non-stop Eagle flight out of the Black Hills. 

“I’ve found it most inspiring, sharing ideas and thoughts with our Native friends. I was feeling that there was little we could do to change things, but now I feel that hope–and help–is on the way. 

“I’ve found that our Native brothers and sisters look at things differently than we who have ancestors that hitched rides to this Kingdom of Driftless Beauty. Even though we live with nature all around us, we have become so blind that we no longer notice. As you and I have discussed before, too many of our brothers and sisters in the Critter World rely too much on handouts from the humans and forget how to survive on their own. The Natives have tried to remember to include nature in their world. Granted, Runs Fast and Walky-Talky say that many of their clan have also fallen into the trap of relying on the humans for handouts, and have forgotten how to forage for themselves. They also get into trouble when invading the homes of the humans looking for food, just like we do. When in reality, there’s plenty of free food around, we just need to work a little to find it.

“Walky-Talky told me of a great leader of their Red Squirrel Clan, who lived many years ago. His name was “He With A Black Tail Who Thinks Deep.” It is said that he lived in a tree near a great Spiritual leader of the Red Humans, called Black Elk. He often sat outside the tent of Black Elk and listened as he departed his wisdom and insight to his people. Great spiritual leaders from other tribes would also come and meet with Black Elk and they would share their wisdom. Black Tail Thinks Deep became so in awe of the wisdom of this great Red Human, that he decided to change his name to Little Black Elk. He would then gather the Red Squirrel Clan around him, and sit for hours, telling them of the great wisdom of Black Elk. 

“One important thing he learned from them is that life is a circle. Black Elk said, ‘You have noticed that everything an Indian does is in a circle, and that is because the Power of the World always works in circles, and everything tries to be round... The sky is round, and I have heard that the earth is round like a ball, and so are all the stars. The wind, in its greatest power, whirls. Birds make their nest in circles, for theirs is the same religion as ours... Even the seasons form a great circle in their changing, and always come back again to where they were. The life of a man is a circle from childhood to childhood, and so it is in everything where power moves.’

“Little Black Elk began to think about his own life. The holes they made in tree trunks were round. Their nests were round to better envelop and protect them from the elements. Then he remembered what another Red Human, Chief Dave, of the Oglala Lakota Nation said about the circle. ‘The Circle has healing power. In the Circle, we are all equal. When in the Circle, no one is in front of you. No one is behind you. No one is above you. No one is below you. The Sacred Circle is designed to create unity. The Hoop of Life is also a circle. On this hoop there is a place for every species, every race, every tree, and every plant. It is this completeness of Life that must be respected in order to bring about health on this planet.’

“The circle, thought Little Black Elk, is so simple and yet so profound. From that time on, he traveled throughout the Dakotas, telling the Native Critter Clans about the importance of the circle of life. When there were disagreements, they no longer stood in opposing lines, but gathered in a circle. It soon became hard to tell friend from foe, leader from follower. They became as one. And as one, they became more united. Soon they were finding ways to help each other instead of hurt each other. As the Red Human, Black Elk had said, ‘Power moves in a circle. As the destructive power of the wind, moving in a circle shows, the circle can also be destructive, just as every action can be turned into evil and destructive if the heart of the doer is inclined in that direction.’

“Princess Sonja, you and I have heard of what the humans call atomic power. If used for good it can produce energy to light the world. If used for evil, it can produce energy to wipe out all the lights of the world! The choice is left to the humans.

“Little Black Elk also told his fellow Natives, ‘…there’s a place for every species, every race, every tree, and every plant. It is this completeness of Life that must be respected in order to bring about health on this planet.’ 

“Little Black Elk also told of another important lesson he learned from the Red Humans. An ancient Red Human Proverb says, ‘Treat the earth well: it was not given to you by your parents, it was loaned to you by your children. We do not inherit the Earth from our Ancestors, we borrow it from our Children.’

“That is another important thing I learned after meeting with Runs Fast and Walky-Talky. We can’t continue fighting every time we have a disagreement. It’s a no win situation and will only bring grief and suffering. I knew it was time to start listening to the wisdom of our Native brothers and sisters. We must start thinking of the circle of life. It is a circle that began with our birth and will continue in our lives until we die. But the circle will continue even after we are no longer walking the circle path. Others will continue after us, and we must remember to leave this place as good or better than we found it. 

A week ago, Runs Fast, Walky-Talky, and I sat down with the leaders of the Gray Squirrel Clan. We sat in a circle and talked through the night and into the next day. We found that we all had the same concerns, hopes, and dreams. We found that each of us had things we could do to help the others. All of us in the Chip Clan could tunnel underground to build shelters. The squirrels could climb high in the trees to reach nuts and seeds that we couldn’t reach. Instead of collecting and hoarding our supplies, we began to help each other and share. By the end of the week, all our storerooms were filled and the Gray Squirrels had plenty of food buried for the winter too. It was so much easier and fun when we all cooperated. We even invited the rabbits, mice, birds, and other critters to join us and we all formed a Circle of Life Cooperative and plan to work together from now on.  

“Now when I think of the circle of life, and all of us trying to walk that circle together as one, I see a ray of hope that I didn’t have before. Help and hope are found in the circle when we embrace each other, not confront each other.”

Fairy Princess Sonja smiled. “You have learned well, Uncle Ho. This Kingdom of Driftless Beauty is a wonderful place, and it’s good to hear that all of you who inhabit it are working together to make it a better and more peaceful place for all of us. And I might add, many Humans who live here have their hearts in the right place too, providing a wonderful paradise for all the critters. It sounds like the circle of life is alive and well here, thanks to all of you. This Christmas season we who live in the Kingdom of Driftless Beauty can truly say, ‘Peace on earth and good will to all humans and critters.’”

* 

Christmas Is Family and Feeling Connected

Across the Fence #474

Most of my memories of Christmas have been times spent with family. There’s something about the season that brings family members from the far corners of the country back home again.

When I was young, Christmas was excitement and anticipation as we thought of Santa and his reindeer flying through the air and hopefully finding our house. Not just finding our house, but bringing me that Lionel train that I asked Santa for each year. I have to admit that I coveted our neighbor’s Lionel train set with the cattle car where the little black cattle went in and out of the car. Thompson’s also had a refrigerated car with a little man that set a milk can from the car onto a platform. If anyone is going to end up in h-e-double-ll for the sin of coveting, it will definitely be me. I know all about coveting.

Each year Christmas came and went, with no Lionel train. Santa must have misplaced my list with only one item on it… a Lionel train. I tried to be a good little boy most of the time. There were a few times when I got into trouble and Santa, or one of his spies, must have been watching. At least I always got something from Santa and not just a lump of coal in my stocking, like he supposedly left for naughty boys and girls.

When I’d mention that I’d been hoping this would be the year that Santa would bring me a Lionel train set, my father would tell me I was too young for a Lionel train. Then one year, I had become too old! I was confused. What was the right age for a Lionel train?

As I got older, getting together with all our family took on more importance. Aunts, uncles, and cousins would all gather together at Grandpa and Grandma Hanson’s on Christmas day. After the milking and chores were done, we got all cleaned up and decked out in our Sunday clothes and went to the Christmas service at the Coon Prairie Lutheran Church. Then we headed to the family get-together. Even Uncle James came home from Indianapolis. That seemed like a foreign country to those of us who had never been farther away from home than La Crosse, about twenty miles away.

Christmas was the one holiday that brought many family members home again. Christmas is a time of family togetherness. I did spend two years away from home at Christmas when I was in the army. One was spent in basic training at Fort Lewis, Washington and the other in Vietnam. Christmas spent alone, without family, is not the same. I still remember the loneliness I felt during those two Christmases spent far away from home and family.

I feel we’re losing some of that family togetherness as we become spread out all over the country. I think the days when aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents all got together have gone the way of small family farms. Except in Amish Country, family farms are few and far between. I feel we’ll lose an important part of who we are if we lose that connection to the family circle.

Christmas has also become so much more commercial. Buying lots of presents has become such a big part of Christmas. Now we have Black Friday, Cyber Monday, and as if that wasn’t enough, we begin the shopping frenzy on Thanksgiving Day. We may as well do away with Thanksgiving and start the shopping madness on Halloween. 

For those of us raised in the Frozen Tundra, we need a little cold weather and snow to feel like Christmas is coming. During this cold weather and snow we’ve been experiencing, I was reminded of a remote cabin we came across while fishing in Canada one year. It was far from the cabin we were staying in. I wondered if it was the home of a backwoodsman who lived there year ‘round. Perhaps he lived off the land, hunting, fishing, and trapping. I thought, ‘what a lonely life he must lead.’ I wondered if he spent all winter alone, isolated in that little cabin. Did he spend Christmas alone too? Or, did he have family someplace where he went to spend Christmas?

I thought of that old trapper again this evening as I went out in the dark and five below zero weather to feed the birds. He must have led a very tough life to survive in these winter conditions. The stars were shining brightly in the sky. It was going to be a very cold night. Then I heard the honking of geese heading south with only the stars to guide them through the dark night. I was the trapper standing outside my cabin on that remote northern lake, listening to the geese passing overhead, and being surrounded by the majesty of all those stars. I wasn’t alone. I was one with nature, a small part of the vast world we inhabit.

As that old trapper gazed at the star-filled sky around him, and listened to the geese breaking the silence of the night, perhaps he felt and experienced the spirit of Christmas like few of us will ever experience. I have a feeling that the old trapper didn’t feel alone and was very much at peace as he felt connected with the world he was a part of.

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Thoughts While Sitting On A Stump

Across the Fence #473

As I mentioned in my last column, I went deer hunting this year for the first time in close to 40 years. Maybe I should call it stump sitting instead of deer hunting since I never saw a deer and never fired my rifle during the opening weekend of the season. It sounds like I was in good company in that category. The extremely cold weather for November and lots of standing corn around this part of the country gave the deer a distinct advantage. It helps that deer are very intelligent animals too.

Truth be told, I’m glad I didn’t see a big buck and have to decide whether to shoot it or let it live another day. I still can’t bring myself to say harvesting deer. You harvest a crop of corn or soybeans, you shoot and kill a deer. Might as well tell it like it is. We always called it deer hunting, not deer harvesting. That thought went through my mind as I sat on a stump in our ten-acre woods that cold morning. My son-in-law, Tim, was sitting about 100 yards up the trail from where I was sitting. Tim wanted to go deer hunting this year. He likes venison, or “deer meat” as he likes to call it when he sees photos I’ve taken of deer. I prefer shooting them with a camera. I still have two rifles and didn’t want him to hunt alone. He used my 30-30 and I used an old Marlin 35 that I had used as a kid when I first started hunting. I positioned Tim along intersecting heavily used deer tails that head down the valley to the West Fork of the Kickapoo River, where there’s plenty of water for them. The woods slopes downhill from the road on two sides and is full of deep gullies. Those trails were hardly used during the nine-day deer hunting season.

It was still dark as we sat and waited for the dawn and the beginning of the hunt on opening morning. As I sat on a snow-covered, cold stump, I reflected on what I was doing. I was sitting there with a loaded rifle lying across my lap and my mind wandered back to a time many years ago when an M-16 and a .45 were my constant companions. I spent many nights sitting on ambush with my M-16 cradled across my lap as we waited for enemy soldiers, not white-tailed deer, to appear. It’s one of the reasons I gave up hunting. I was tired of death and killing of any kind. 

Sitting, waiting, thinking, and freezing.

I have nothing against hunting and I’m happy for those who enjoy it. Unfortunately, the Vietnam War destroyed many things for many people. The love of hunting is one thing it destroyed in me. Some memories still have sharp edges. I found that 47 years hasn’t softened those edges for me.

As I sat on the stump and waited, the first light of dawn began to filter through the trees. The wind had also picked up and was whistling through the remaining leaves. It was cold, but I sat unmoving, only my eyes scanned back and forth, looking for any sign of movement. It’s just like sitting on an ambush waiting for a target. 

My cold body was frozen in time, but my active mind continued to wander. I thought of the soldiers in World War II and Korea who had to live and fight in conditions like this with snow and freezing temperatures. I can’t imagine how they must have suffered. Unlike us deer hunters, who could leave the woods and go someplace to thaw out and warm up, those soldiers couldn’t abandon their post or foxhole. They had to stay there day and night and try to survive as they battled the enemy and the elements. We don’t give them enough honor and recognition for what they endured for all of us. I was lucky. We lived in hot, humid, and wet conditions. I’ll take that any day over snowy, sub-zero, windy, cold conditions.

When you’re sitting on a snow-covered, cold stump, with a frozen butt, cold fingers, cold feet, cold nose, and your glasses fogging over from your warm breathe in the cold air, you have those kinds of thoughts. Visions of a warm fire and a hot cup of coffee danced through my head. I could smell and taste the coffee my mother would bring to the barn, along with sandwiches, while we were stripping tobacco on cold winter days. There was something special about that coffee and I can still smell and taste it.

I could also feel the warmth from the old wood stove in the kitchen when she would open the front oven door and we’d sit with our cold, frozen feet resting on the door and let the heat thaw them out. I remember the stinging pain, as my feet began to thaw out. Four-buckle boots didn’t provide much insulation against the cold. Luckily, I now have insulated boots.

After a couple hours of daylight, we finally abandoned our stumps, left the woods, and headed to Nelson’s Agri-center where we bought some hand and foot warmers. For the afternoon hunt, we also brought red stadium cushions from home to sit on. We didn’t get any “deer meat” for Tim, but at least we were warmer.

*

We Had Turkey for Thanksgiving

Across the Fence #472

“Over the river and through the woods to grandmother’s house we go, the horse knows the way to carry the sleigh through the white and drifted snow. Over the river and through the woods, oh how the wind does blow! It stings the toes and bites the nose, as over the ground we go.”

This holiday song is familiar to most people who have a few years behind them. Lydia Maria Child originally published it as a poem in 1844.

I remember singing it in grade school. I associate the song with Thanksgiving, when we went to my grandparents home, Oscar and Julia Hanson. I can still see the house where they lived when I look out the back window of the room where I sit and do most of my writing. There’s no river or woods between us and I never traveled to their place by horse and sleigh, and yet I still associate that song with going there for Thanksgiving, along with all my uncles, aunts, and cousins on my mother’s side of the family.

Things have changed a lot since those days. It’s a lot harder for families and extended families to get together these days because all the relatives don’t live within a few miles of each other like they did when I was young. Now we go to Amy and Tim’s home near Ixonia, a three-hour drive by car from Westby. And we can’t forget our grandson, Sean, and granddog, Sweeney, who also live there. Our son, Erik who lives in Madison will also join us. I wonder how long that trip would take by horse and sleigh? I’d have a real healthy appetite by the time we arrive, and would probably have a good case of frostbite from the wind that bites the nose and stings the toes.

Speaking of cold toes, nose, and fingers, the opening of deer hunting season in Wisconsin took place this past weekend and always seems to coincide with Thanksgiving week. It was January weather instead of November case weather.

I have to admit that I haven’t been deer hunting for close to forty years. Deer hunting was a family tradition and I always looked forward to it. Those nine days always went much too fast. Then Vietnam came along and when I returned, hunting was no longer fun. I won’t go into details, but after trying it again, more for my father’s sake, I put my rifle in its case and there it sat for all these years.

This year, our son-in-law, Tim, wanted to come up and go deer hunting in our woods. I didn’t want him to go alone. When we moved from Madison I had finally thrown all my old deer hunting clothes and boots. I hadn’t used them for many years and I was in a throwing mood as we packed up for the move to Westby. I went to Bethel Butikk in Westby and found an orange coat, stocking cap, and insulated boots that I could fit into. Actually, I wasn’t too worried about how I looked or how things fit. I just wanted to be as warm as possible and be visible in the woods so nobody would mistake me for a deer. 

Next stop was to find some ammunition. The bullets I had for my two rifles were over fifty years old, and I didn’t want to see if they would still work. I managed to find a box of 35’s and a box of 30-30 shells. Boy, ammo prices have really increased since 50+ years ago! A real uff da. On the up side, my license only cost me $5.00 because I hadn’t hunted in the past ten years. I guess the DNR is trying to get new hunters or past hunters to try it again so they can make more money. To make sure that I didn’t do something wrong, I read the entire rulebook. After all, a lot of things have changed in forty plus years. I found one thing that hadn’t changed… the feeling that there’s still a bullet out there searching for me that missed me in Vietnam.

As we headed for the woods in the pre-dawn darkness, the temperature was eight degrees and you could hear the wind howling. It was cold! When we reached the woods we loaded our rifles in the dark. I told Tim we’d only load three bullets. If a person can’t get a deer with three shots, you may as well stay home. We didn’t chamber a round until we reached the spot that we would hunt from. You can’t shoot until it gets light anyway. Those are safety rules I learned from my father many years ago. I got Tim situated on a point along a well-used trail and I went to another area and found a snow-covered stump to sit on. Then we waited… in the dark… in the cold… with the wind howling through the trees. It was cold. My butt was cold from the stump, my hands were cold, my feet were getting cold, and my nose was cold. Did I mention it was cold? 

After a couple of hours with no sign of a deer and very little shooting around us, we decided a hot cup of coffee and a warm stove would feel good. Thanksgiving was just four days away. Turkey sounded a lot better than "deer meat," and a whole lot warmer.

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