Historical Fact or Fiction?

Across the Fence #488

Aristotle said that fiction is more important than history, because history shows us only what was, whereas fiction shows us what could be and ought to be.

Pearl Swiggum says in Stump Ridge Forever, her “Pearl A Day Calendar” that I’ve been using since 1996, “Much is lost in the writing of history books because the writer wasn’t there.”

The nice part about writing fiction is that you don’t have to be concerned about the facts. You can manipulate the elements of a story to achieve the outcome you desire. Pretty much the same way politicians do when they spin the facts of an event into fairy tales in order to achieve the results they want. The water of historical fact and fiction often gets muddied and blurred during the telling and spin of a story.

How many of you have told a story over and over and with each telling, the event or object in the story gets bigger and bigger. The 28-inch Musky becomes the 38-inch monster that broke your line and got away. The four-point buck you missed gains another point with each retelling of the story. I rest my case! 

I dealt with the problem of historical fact or fiction with a job I did in the world of art and advertising while living in Madison. It came to a head with three posters I was working on for one of my “former” clients, a large company who shall go unnamed. For several years, I researched, illustrated, and wrote the copy for large posters and educational materials that were used in school systems throughout the country. 

It came to an end when the “fact checkers” who made sure the copy I wrote had the right information, wanted me to change history.

The set of posters I was working on dealt with Pueblo Indian life and how they were affected by the arrival of the Spanish Padres, soldiers, the development of the Spanish Missions, and their conversion to Christianity by the Catholic Priests. I had done the research, and written the copy to go along with my illustrations. The fact checkers then went over the copy and illustrations to make sure I had the facts right. However in this case, we ended up in a tug of war between the Native American fact checkers and the Spanish and Catholic fact checkers. Neither side was happy. The Native Americans didn’t think I was hard enough on how the Spanish priests had treated the Pueblo Indians. The Spanish Mission side wanted me to remove the references to how the Pueblos had been converted by the Catholic Church. I made some small changes, but neither side was happy with them. I finally said, “That’s history; and that’s the way it was. I’m not going to re-write history to satisfy every group who wants to be portrayed in a better light in today’s watered-down, politically correct version of history. That’s what happened and I don’t feel we should be re-writing history.”

Xerox copies of the original color posters.

I then talked with the Marketing Manager who assigned the jobs to artists. I told him that in our attempts to appease everyone, political correctness can go overboard and water down history. I told him that we’ll never please everyone on the issues presented in these posters. The Spanish and Catholics didn’t like the way they were portrayed in their treatment of the Pueblos. But that’s history. I didn’t want to water that area down. Then the Native American fact checker was angry that I didn’t take a hard enough line on how they were treated by the Spanish and the Catholic Church, and wanted me to list more of the abuses they suffered. I told the Marketing Manager there was no way we were going to appease both sides. This was a volatile issue and we’d already seen the deep-seated resentment on one side and the guilt feelings and wanting to keep these issues hidden, on the other side. I felt that many of these issues should be left up to teachers to explain and get discussions going from the points raised in the educational materials. I thought that was the purpose of the posters.

I said, “The fact checkers are not checking facts, they’re re-writing history as they would like it to have been. You can’t change history and I refuse to re-write it.”

That was a hard message to deliver because I enjoyed doing those posters, and felt it was one of the few things I did in my job of art and advertising that made a difference. They were teaching aids, helping to provide “facts” about history to students throughout the country, not just another piece of junk mail that people filed in the trash. But we have to make sure there are a few facts left, and not just watered-down, distorted history. Then we might as well change the name of the class from “History” to “Historical Fiction.” 

That was the last job I did for that client. I did an effective job of cutting my own throat. They found someone else who would re-write history the way they wanted it. It put a big dent in my pocketbook, but sometimes you’ve got to take a stand, tell it like it is, and do what you think is right, even if the consequences hurt you!

*   

Is Spring On the Way?

Across the Fence #487

It appears that winter is making a last stand and trying to hold on to the ground it’s covered since last November. But I’m hoping spring has backed it into a corner. The week you read this story is when spring arrives on March 20th. I hope the sun is shining, snow is melting, and water is running. I also hope this is the last time I mention winter for a long time, because I think most of us are ready to have winter take a long hike off a short pier.

It’s been a winter you’d like to forget if you got your snow blower stuck like I did. Yes, you read that right. I got my big, 24” snow blower stuck this week. After an overnight snowfall of around 4”, accompanied by the usual blowing and drifting, there was plenty of snow to remove from our driveway. That went OK but then I decided to open a path to our LP tank and the bird feeder in the trees beyond the tank. That was a bad decision on my part. The drifts were very deep and crusted on top, with layers of soft and hard snow under that cement-like crust. With a lot of effort and muscle power, I made it halfway to the LP tank. Then I got stuck. I had that sucker leaning at a 45-degree angle. The wheels spun as I tried to horse it out of the situation I found myself in. I couldn’t go forward or in reverse. I pushed, I pulled, I cussed. I got down on my knees to get more leverage and pushed some more. I only succeeded in getting it more bogged down. I huffed and I puffed, and sweat rolled down my face and formed icicles in my mustache as the cold wind continued to blow and the air turned blue as I let Mother Nature and Old Man Winter know what I thought of the wonderful winter they had blessed us with this year. I finally gave up before I had a heart attack, and retreated to the garage to get a shovel. It was either that or leave that sucker buried in the snow until the spring thaw finally freed it from winter’s death grip. 

It would have been quite a Kodak moment to see someone shoveling out a snow blower. Luckily, no one was around with a camera to record that momentous occasion. I finally removed enough snow to clear a path and was able to set it free and return it to the garage. I’m hoping that’s the last time I’ll need to use it this winter, but I’m not going to hold my breath. 

That path I had opened to the LP tank and bird feeders was drifted shut by that evening. I waved the white flag of surrender. Now I’m back to using my snowshoes when I feed the birds. I don’t know if birds can think or if they’re clueless as to how the food magically appears for them to eat each winter day. All I know for sure is they have very good appetites. Except for the chickadees that will sometimes eat out of my hand, most birds get lost until I head back to the house. There are hundreds of birds at our feeders during the course of a day. Most of them are juncos, sparrows, chickadees, cardinals, and woodpeckers of one kind or another. This year even the crows have come looking for a meal. One morning I counted 28 mourning doves feeding on the ground at the same time.

After getting home from work in the evening of the day I got the snow blower stuck, I donned my snowshoes and headed for the grove of trees with birdseed. I was surprised when several pheasants started squawking and took flight. Then I heard the familiar honking of a goose. I looked up and there was one, lone goose skimming the treetops right over my head. It was headed north. I searched the surrounding gray, overcast sky for other geese, but there were none, just that one lonely goose. Where was the rest of the flock? I can’t help but wonder if it got separated from the flock and got left behind. Maybe he overslept and the rest of the flock took off without him that morning and he was still trying to catch up. The flock was probably anxious to get back to the North Country after spending a tough winter down south, lounging around in the sun and swimming in the warm water! 

I hope that goose was eventually reunited with its traveling companions. It was such a lonesome sight as it continued heading north, all alone, in search of his companions, or maybe he was hoping to find spring, just like we are. I think Mother Nature forgot to tell the geese that winter still hasn’t abandoned the Frozen Tundra. I’m hoping that lone goose flying low over our yard; was sent by Mother Nature as a sign to let me know that spring is on the way. Maybe she felt sorry for me, even though it was my stupidity that got my snow blower stuck in the first place. Hey, I’m sorry I called you and Old Man Winter all those names.       

*

I'm Really Ready for Spring

Across the Fence #486

Last fall, a government survey crew came to Ole’s farm one day and asked permission to enter his property in order to do some surveying. Ole agreed to let them do their work. When they were finished, Lena offered them coffee, along with an assortment of Norwegian baked goods and desserts.

After a long, bitterly cold, and snowy winter (sound familiar?), the survey crew foreman returned in the spring and told Ole, “Because you were so kind to us last fall, I wanted to come and give you this bad news in person instead of by letter.”

Ole replied, “What’s da bad news?”

The surveyor said, “Well, after reviewing the work we did here, we discovered that your farm is not in Wisconsin, but is actually in Minnesota.”

Ole looked at Lena and replied to the surveyor, “By golly, dat’s the best news I’ve heard in a long time. I was yust telling Lena dis morning dat I don’t tink I can take anudder winter like dis, living in Wisconsin!”

That pretty much sums up the attitude of most people as this long, endless winter begins to wind down. At least we hope it’s winding down. Someone asked me how cold it was at our place this morning. I told them it was 14 degrees when I got up. We don’t even bother mentioning that it was 14 below zero. Everyone knows you’re talking about below zero. It seems like just about every night has been below zero for the last month or more. It’s been brutal. Can you blame Ole for wanting to move and not spend another winter like this?

As I write this story on March 4th, Lent is about to begin. Ole and I have decided to give up winter for Lent this year. I’m not sure how this is going to work out, but it’s worth a try. In the meantime, I’ll have to deal with all the snow that covers the ground. This year much of that snow is packed as hard as cement. It must be tough for the animals to get around and find food. It’s also tough for the birds. The snow is too hard for the birds to break through and get at the food sources buried under it. Even the crows have been coming to our bird feeders and eating the seeds on the ground. I imagine a lot of birds have frozen to death this winter if they haven’t been able to find a source of food to keep their body temperature up at night. After all the money we’ve spent on birdseed this winter, I think we should be able to proclaim them as dependents on our tax returns. 

I’ve given up trying to keep a path open to the bird feeders behind the house and in the grove of trees next to the house. The drifts are too deep and the paths keep drifting shut every day. Now I just slip on my snowshoes and walk on top. This has been a winter where we have to adapt to whatever Mother Nature throws at us. Just roll with the punches. You’ll only get frustrated if you try to fight it. Mother Nature usually wins. 

It’s been a tough winter for the deer herd too. Every field seems to be filled with deer trails. They emerge from the edge of the woods, and criss-cross the snow-covered fields wherever we look. Some trails are like cow paths and I can picture the herd of deer following each other across the fields in search of food. One thing I’ve always loved to do is go in search of animal trails and signs after a fresh snowfall. Snowshoes allow me access to places that aren’t normally accessible in heavy snow. But now I’m ready to hang them up for another year and go looking for spring. I know it’s out there someplace, buried under all that snow.

Speaking of buried, last week as I drove by the spot where our old barn is now buried, I thought of the huge manure pile that used to be buried under the snow behind our old barn. A winter like this one, when it was hard to haul the manure out on the fields, created lots of extra work in the spring. Then we had to haul that huge pile to the fields, one spreader load at a time. My father didn’t have a skid steer or front-end loader on the tractor in those days. We used pitch forks to load the spreader. That was hard work. Spring break for a farm kid wasn’t lying on a beach in Florida… it was standing in the barnyard, surrounded by manure, not bikini-clad girls, and experiencing the wonderful, sweet smell of spring.

You know it’s been a long winter when you’d rather be back there pitching manure than shoveling another flake of snow. Uff da! I’m waiting for the day, along with everyone else, when we hear the sound of running water and know the snow is finally starting to melt. I might even celebrate by splashing through the water like a young kid and be the captain of a tobacco lath boat, as it sails in the ditch alongside the road. Spring and running water… I’ll be watching for them to arrive. Lets hope it’s real soon.

* 

A No School Snow Day

Across the Fence #485

My goal in writing this column is to try and stir up memories in you about things that have happened in your life. Once a story also becomes your story, and not just mine, I’ve accomplished what I try to do each week. I also hope those memories are good ones.

I’d like to share with you a letter I received from a reader in Iowa, who shared her winter memories with me. I think you’ll enjoy it too.    

After reading your Across the Fence column this week in the Linn News-Letter, I wanted to write to you. To this day a wave of excitement surges through me when I hear of an approaching snowstorm. It must be because as a kid it meant a “No School Snow Day.” The road would be drifted shut and we were not going anywhere! We went to bed thinking how it would look outside when we woke up. When morning dawned, we peered through the frosty windows to see a winter wonderland. We could hardly wait to get into those big drifts. First we had to eat our breakfast and go help dad with the chores of feeding the calves, pigs, chickens, sheep, and our rabbits, since it was going to take him extra long with all the snow. Sometimes we had to help him clean out the cow gutter in the barn, and when it was too nasty to turn the cows out, there was plenty of manure to pitch.

But back to the fun stuff…the snowdrifts. The wind whipping the snow around the buildings had created eerie looking mountains to conquer. Sometimes the snow crust was so hard we could walk on top and go right over the fences. Sometimes the livestock had the same idea. We could even climb right up on the hog roof.

Then there were the tunnels and forts we could build in the drifts and have them connected to each other. Even the dog and cats had to get in on the fun. After digging for what seemed like hours of fun, it was time to go in for dinner. We’d take off our cold, soggy mittens and lay them over the big furnace ducts (insulated on the outside with asbestos), which were connected to the big stoker furnace. Mom would have delicious homemade vegetable, chicken noodle, or chili soup, and toasted cheese sandwiches waiting for us, plus brownies, pie, or cake for dessert. After our tummies were full and we were warmed up, we’d get all bundled up again, pull on our now toasty, warm, dry, stiff mittens and head outside for some more fun. 

When I was a teenager, my three brothers, my sister, and I came up with the idea of using metal hog feeder lids, flipped over, for sleds. They were shaped like the plastic disc sleds that kids use today. We tied them together with a good length of bailing twine and begged our dad to pull us around in the field, behind his tractor. The rider in the back always had the best ride because they’d whiplash around more. The one in the front lid usually got sprayed with lots of snow. Later, my oldest brother took an old hood off a truck and a bigger and better sled was invented. We’d tie three or four car or truck hoods together using haymow rope, because it was heavier. We filled gunny feed sacks with straw to sit on and could get at least four friends in each hood. Dad loved pulling us and had as much fun as we did. Many times someone would roll off and the sled behind went over them, usually with no injuries, because the snow was so deep. We had quite a few sledding parties with our UMYF youth group from church and 4-H clubs. Who says you need a hill for sledding? Afterwards we’d go in the house for hot cocoa and sandwiches that I’m sure my mom invented. She would grind up bologna and Colby cheese, mix in some mayonnaise, grind up some of her homemade sweet pickles, and spread it on open face hamburger buns and put them under the oven broiler until the cheese was bubbly. Oh so good!

When our children were kids, a “No School Snow Day” meant the same. The chores were a little easier, but the fun was the same, tunneling in drifts around the buildings and down our long lane. Our youngest daughter went sledding off the roof of our cow maternity pen into the drifts, using her plastic sled of course, but I’m not sure it survived. Many times the school decided the buses would take only the hard surface roads, so our kids usually had an extra day off.

Today I look out at the high, eerie drifts that the wind whipped together last night after our new foot and a half of snow, and think…I’ll just go out and take some pictures, watch our grandchildren from next door play in them as they create their own memories, and maybe I’ll just jump in. After all, it’s a “No School Snow Day!” Thank you for helping me to remember, and the opportunity to write it down and share with you.

Thank you, Kathy, for sharing your memories with us!

*