Lightning Bugs and the Beauty of July

Across the Fence #554


Sometimes life boils down to simple pleasures, like watching lightning bugs (Fireflies to some people) as they light up our backyard. Observing them is like a simple, childlike experience, filled with curiosity. How can all those little bugs light up? As children we’d run after them, catch them, and put them into a Mason jar with air holes punched into the lid. After we had captured several and watched in wonder as they lit up the jar like a lantern, we released them so they could be free to fly again. Off they would go into the dark, but always letting us know where they were headed as they continued to light up and glow.

The warm, humid evenings of July are when lightning bugs love to become active. Many people don’t like the heat. I like it. I think we tend to over air-condition our lives. As a result, it feels so much hotter when we do venture outside. I’ve been some places where I have to go outside to warm up. 

Along with that, if you don’t go outside in July, you’re missing so much. You need to sit in the cool shade and listen to the wind in the trees. Watch and listen to the wind moving through tall grass along fence lines. Listen to the joyous sounds of all the birds. Watch butterflies darting among the flowers. Enjoy the evenings when the night comes alive with wonderful sights and sounds. Watch the fireflies put on their light show, lie back and gaze up at the star-filled sky, and let the crickets, frogs, and tree toad chorus serenade you. July evenings are something special.

Sometimes I think we all need to get back to the innocence and curiosity about the world around us that we had as children. We lose much of our wide-eyed wonder about the world as we grow older and more skeptical and cynical.

It's curiosity and wonder at the world around us that keeps the creative juices flowing. Without creativity we’re just a bunch of robots following the lead of those embedded in old thinking and ideas, and afraid to venture outside the safety of the box and try new things and embrace new ideas.

Watching lightning bugs is a good place to start. They remind me that I don't need to know how something works to enjoy the beauty and mystery of it. Again, it’s still the simple things in life that are the big things that make life magical. Those are the moments we don't want to miss. For me they become spiritual experiences.

If I could begin the calendar year, I’d never begin the year on January 1st. It’s often bitterly cold, the world is covered in a layer of white, and very few people or animals are active. Animals and birds with any sense, are either hibernating or have flown south for the winter. I’d start at the halfway point… I’d start with July. It’s a beautiful time of year. The world is alive with color and life. Trees and bushes are filled with leaves of every shade of green. I like to say 101 shades of green. Crops in the fields are growing. Corn is usually knee-high or more by the 4th of July. This is when the earth is alive, and it rubs off on all who inhabit the land. Who could venture along a tree-lined country road, where the ditches are filled with colorful wildflowers, and feel depressed?

But I’m also a realist and know that not everything about July is positive to everyone. I don’t care much for all the mosquitoes and pesky bugs either, especially the gnats. After the rain we’ve had lately, there should be no shortage of mosquitoes. On the positive side, the birds love them. The barn swallows have a field day as they swoop and dart about snatching the bugs out of the air as I walk through the grass stirring them up.

*

Living In Rural America Is Special

Across theFence #553


I like to think back to the way it was when people were still visiting across the fence and their neighbors were like family. If someone became ill or got hurt and couldn’t do their chores or harvest their crops, neighbors quickly pitched in and helped harvest the crops for them.

Howard and Pete Erikson visit across the fence.

You often hear people say that when you live in a small town, everybody knows your business. They know what you’re doing and if they don’t know what you’re doing, they make something up. That’s OK too. As long as you’re not doing something illegal, or causing harm to people, why should we care what people are saying about us. Who knows, maybe they’re saying positive things.

When I was young most of us cousins lived close together. Everybody was like one big extended family. Now we’re scattered to the four winds of the country. It’s a global world and sometimes in the global world the small contact between people gets lost as we all get caught up in our lives. Nobody knows what we’re doing or what’s going on in our lives. We tend to drift apart. Those close family ties get harder to maintain.

This new adventure I find myself on has given me a chance to sit back and re-evaluate a lot of things. One thing I’ve learned these past couple weeks is that the spirit of helping and support from family, friends, and neighbors is still very much alive and well in small town, rural America. I’m proud to be a small part of that culture. It’s something we should all wear with great pride. I’ve always been proud of being a country boy, a farm boy at heart.

We hear and see so much on the news about the cruelty and intolerance of people to each other. It’s all about me and what I want. There’s a divisive, non-cooperative attitude that seems to have invaded politics and has spread like a cancer into society. People need to visit rural America. I have seen a positive side in people that gives me much hope again.

I once heard a saying by the Dali Lama that pretty much sums up how I feel about things; “The purpose of life is to help people, if you can’t help them, at least don’t hurt them.” I’ve tried to make that a goal in my life since the first time I heard it. That would make a pretty good epitaph on anyone’s tombstone too.

We need to become better, more caring, supportive, and tolerant neighbors. Not just across the fence, but to people around the world. I was lucky when I was in the army, because they decided I would be a medic. That put me in a position where I was able to help people, instead of just hurt them. I think I’m still in medic mode a lot of the time. I may not be able to help them medically anymore, but I can be there to listen and offer support when needed. I’m still Doc and always will be to my Vietnam Brothers. I can’t tell you how supportive they’ve been since they found out about my health problems. We need to look for the positives in every situation–even a very negative experience like Vietnam. In a way it was a blessing. I would never have made those close friendships that are just as strong today as they were almost 50 years go.

I received a phone call from a friend of our son, Erik, who battled cancer for many years. He’s now cancer free. He said he’s come to view his cancer as a blessing because it changed his life and what is now important to him. I’m starting to look at this cancer in the same way. Instead of it being a curse, I hope to emerge as a better person who looks at the world in a very positive light. We can’t let negative people and their thinking bring us down. 

I feel that living here in small town, rural America where neighbors still care and we can visit across the fence with each other, gives me an advantage. Life is good and I don’t want to waste a moment. There is so much to do and experience in all the small moments in life, that really add up to the moments that mean something, the ones that touch our soul and lift our spirit; the beauty of a sunset, rain gently falling on the leaves, the wind blowing through the trees, watching rabbits in our yard chasing each other–after all it is spring, watching a newborn fawn totter along behind it’s mother on wobbly legs, appreciating the beauty of wild flowers along the roads and lanes, hearing the frog chorus down by the pond, watching as darkness begins to envelop the land and solitude arrives. There is a peacefulness that comes over me as the stars come out and I gaze around and observe the majesty and mystery of it all. It’s all those small details in our lives that we need to appreciate. Those of us who live in rural America have the advantage because nature is a big part of who we are.

*

The Empty Haymow

Across the Fence #552

Haymows around the country will soon be filling up with hay again. Most people look at the haymow of an old barn as a place where hay was stored, and then fed to the cows during the long, winter months when cows were kept in the barn.

But, the haymow was also a playground for farm kids, especially on rainy spring days, when it was empty before haying began.

We had an old barn with a timber frame structure, just like most barns were constructed in those days. Now barns are built different and don’t lend themselves to the activities we engaged in.

I know we weren’t the only kids who played in an empty haymow and I bet many of you could tell me stories about the things you did. Of course you always hear stories about farm boys and neighbor girls playing in the haymow and perhaps that’s where they experienced a first kiss. In order to protect the guilty, I won’t ask any of you to divulge your secrets and I’ll plead the 5th amendment also!

Our barn had heavy timber beams that ran the width of the barn. They were probably about ten feet above the floor of the haymow. We’d climb up the wood timber braces to reach that horizontal beam. Then the fun began and it was just high enough to be a little scary too. You could pretend you were a circus high-wire aerialist and walk the beam from one side of the barn to the other.

I should point out that there was just enough loose hay left on the floor of the haymow to cushion your fall if you lost your balance. I guess we never considered the possibility of falling headfirst and breaking our neck!

Those cross beams were also the perfect place to pretend you were a paratrooper, jumping boldly out of an airplane. Of course we were tough Norwegian kids. We jumped without a chute. Or maybe that shows a lack of brains instead of courage! When you’re young, standing on a narrow beam ten feet above the landing area, it seemed like a long way down. Add another five feet or so above that, up to where our eyes were looking down from, and it was downright scary. We yelled, “Geronimo!” when we jumped. That must have been something we picked up from war movies of real paratroopers jumping out of airplanes. Even with all that practice I never had the desire to jump out of a perfectly good airplane. More power to all of you who did go airborne, but for me, I’ll stick to ground-pounding.

Another source of fun and adventure in an empty haymow was the hay rope. It ran the length of the barn up in the peak, but the end hung down and we could climb on it or swing from it. We played Tarzan with that rope. Standing on that cross beam again, we’d grab the rope, and swing out over the empty haymow. If we were lucky, we’d swing back far enough to grab the beam again, although sometimes we crashed into it.  I’m really surprised we never hurt ourselves seriously.

Other times we’d make a mound of hay on the floor. As we swung out and reached the highest point of the arc, we’d let go and try to land in the middle of the pile below. It worked best if you gave the Tarzan yell as you launched out into the air, but it turned into a scream as you plummeted to the floor of the haymow! I don’t know how to spell the Tarzan yell, so you’ll just have to yell it out as you read this to get the full affect. Then add a very long, blood-curdling “Aaaaahhhhhh!” as you let go of the rope. Next, imagine a loud thud and the air being suddenly forced out of a body as it smacks into the floor, just short of the pile of hay. We’d stagger to our feet, fighting for breath and say, “Uff da, that was really a dumb thing to do,” and then climb back up and do it again!

But, that wasn’t the most dangerous or dumb thing we did. Sometimes, we shimmied up the rope to the peak of the barn and grabbed hold of the wooden track that ran the length of the barn. That’s what the pulley that carried the hayfork ran on. From that point we could boost ourselves up into the tin cupola on the top of the barn, where the pigeons lived. Did I mention this was very high up in the air in an empty haymow.  If we’d fallen from that height it would probably have killed us… not the fall, but that sudden stop at the bottom. We must have thought about that possibility, but when you’re young, you know it could never happen to you.

If Dad had known some of the stupid things we did in that empty haymow, we’d have had bigger things to worry about than falling!

Now, the kind of adventures and fun we had in those old haymows, where our imaginations created our world, seems to be another thing of the past. As I drive by an old, abandoned barn, I like to imagine kids playing in the empty haymow and I wonder, “What kind of wonderful adventures did they have?”

*

Stop and Smell the Dandelions

Across the Fence #552


This is the time of year when all those little yellow flowers start appearing in lawns all over the country, including ours, but we live in the country now and don't have any close neighbors that have to worry about our dandelion seeds blowing onto their yards.

 I'm not going to worry about the dandelions this year. I might even go out, pick a few, and smell them. When we lived in Madison, we had neighbors surrounding us. If their lawns were nice and green, they didn’t appreciate dandelions. I also spent a lot of time, money, and effort trying to kill them. But this year things have changed. 

I recently came across a speed bump on the Uff Da Bahn of life. Everything looks a lot different to me right now. As some of you already know from comments made by editors, I’m dealing with some health problems.

 I’d like to address those problems so you have an idea what’s going on. I don't plan to hide anything. I can tell you right now, before I go any farther, I plan to keep writing this column as long as I can and as long as there are people who want to read it. 

During the past couple months, I started having problems with the left side of my body and my left hand. I always write my stories longhand first on a yellow pad and then type it into the computer. My handwriting greatly deteriorated. I’d try and reread what I had written so I could type it into a file. I had problems using my computer. Everything came out wrong. I thought something was wrong with my computer and had that checked. Linda could use it just fine. I started knocking over coffee cups, and dropping things. It was like carpal tunnel in my left hand. I’ve had that before and couldn't open a gas cap or the top of a bottle. Many little things were piling up. Then I noticed my thinking and reasoning was not as clear. Linda realized when we were out driving that my decision-making was slow. The light would turn green and I'd still be sitting there. A lot of little things were cropping up. I was still walking 2 to 3 miles a day, but found it was getting harder and harder to find the energy to start. I was unsteady on my feet. 

We were scheduled to leave on a 8-day bus trip to NewYork City on May 16. I knew it was not a good time to be going on a trip. Thankfully, we decided to cancel.                                                                                                       

On May 21, I tried getting off my riding mower and couldn't move my left leg. I came in the house and Linda said we’re going right to the clinic. Dr. Fouts was there and able to see me. They did some testing and blood tests. It was decided I should have an MRI. On Saturday, May 23 at 12:30, I had a full body and brain MRI scan. An hour later I was on my way to Gundersen Health Center ER in La Crosse. I would spend the next week at Gundersen on the neurology science floor. I walked in. The nurse said to me, “People don't usually walk in here. They ride in a wheelchair.” I told her, “I plan to walk out too.” 

Steroid treatment was begun immediately to shrink the swelling in my brain. Other tests were done to see what kind of movement I still had left on my left-hand side and they did therapy sessions twice a day to help me do things I had trouble doing. I had another MRI scan to better isolate what was going on. The surgeons had a very good idea what I had from studying the scans. The plan was to do exploratory surgery and a biopsy. On Thursday, May 28th, I had surgery that confirmed what the doctors expected. I have a malignant brain tumor called Glioblastoma. To put it mildly, if you're going to have a brain tumor it’s not the one you want. It’s probably the most aggressive, fastest-growing brain tumor you can have. It’s situated on the right hand side of my brain on the control panel for the left-hand side of my body. Surgical removal is not an option. The plan is to use radiation and chemo drugs to try and slow down the growth and hopefully reduce the size to keep more pressure off my control center. Now it ‘s wait until June18th when they remove the staples and make sure the incision in my skull has healed properly. Then we can begin radiation treatments every day for six weeks. At the same time, I’ll also be undergoing chemotherapy treatment every day. After that we go to chemo only for the next month and then another MRI to see where we are.

I’m in full fighting mode! I come from a long line of Viking warriors. The VC and NVA in Vietnam couldn‘t kill me, and I plan to battle this hitchhiker in my brain and kick the crap out of it too.  

People who thought I didn’t have brain, will now have to eat their words. The surgeon found one. 

By the way, I did walk out, when I was released after surgery. The nurse let me walk out my door into the hall, where I agreed to ride in the wheelchair so she wouldn’t get in trouble. That was important to me.

So that's where we are. There are many things I can't do with my left hand at this point, including operate a computer. Just drinking a cup of coffee can be a challenge. 

The worst part has been not being able to write. I couldn’t write longhand or on the computer. I'm very lucky, this past weekend my son-in-law Tim, installed the Dragon program on my computer, a voice recognition program, so I'm writing this story by sitting here and talking into a microphone and it converts what I say into words. It will take some practice getting used to, but it’s working great. Across the Fence is back in business.

Photo by friend and relative, Jon Olav Andersen in Toten, Norway.

Meanwhile, I urge everyone to stop and smell the dandelions. Look around you and enjoy all the little details in your life. Live life to the fullest and don’t waste a precious moment.

*