Consequential Strangers

Across the Fence #257

During the past week, I did four book reading/signing events. They’re always enjoyable because I get to meet and visit with people who read this column each week. I even get new story ideas from you.

Last Saturday I was at Dregne’s Scandinavian Gifts in Westby, Wednesday at the Cashton Library, Thursday at the Black River Falls Library, and Sunday at Norskhaven near Gays Mills during Ridge Fest. Thank you all for inviting me. Also thanks to the Viroqua Women’s Literary Society, who invited me to speak to their group two weeks ago.

I wish I had more time to get around and meet all of you who read “Across the Fence,” but I do have a “real” job that consumes a lot of my time. Rumors that I retired after I moved back to Westby are greatly exaggerated. Some weeks it’s even hard to find time to sit down and write. When I finally kick back, get comfortable, and prepare to write, I often find myself sawing logs instead of writing. Lately I think I’ve sawed enough firewood to heat this house for a year. I don’t think I snore, but Linda claims I do!

There I go, sailing up a different fjord again. Lets get back to those people I meet at book signings. I met Tom Nelson at Norskhaven on Sunday. He was also there with his books. He writes a column for The Fennimore Times called “That’s My Story and I’m Sticking To It.” We had a wonderful conversation about people we meet, not just at book signings, but every day of our lives. There’s a term for it called “Consequential Strangers.” I wasn’t familiar with the term, but after Sunday I understand it.

Consequential strangers is a term used to describe all relationships other than family and close friends. Also known as “peripheral” or “weak” ties, they occupy the vast territory between total strangers and those with whom we have close personal ties. They’re also known as acquaintances.

The people who read our columns feel they know us, but the vast majority of our readers are strangers to us. One way to change that is to interact with those strangers. When people stopped at our tables, we engaged them in conversation, asking them questions about themselves, instead of talking about ourselves. It was amazing. Suddenly we found out we had many things in common with the person. When I’d ask where they lived or were raised, we often found mutual connections to places and people. Even if we didn’t find a common connection, we found a background and experience connection.

It was usually a growing up on a farm mutual experience. We had started out as strangers, but after visiting together, we parted as consequential strangers who had a connection, if only for a short time.

I thought back to other signings this week and realized I’d been involved with many consequential strangers. We are no longer strangers after meeting and visiting together. We now share a mutual bond.

There was the couple at Black River Falls who visited with me after my talk. He asked if I was going to do a story on outhouses and lilac bushes. When we started discussing the subject, I realized there’s definitely a story there. I won’t go into it now, but stay tuned; we’ll talk about it across the fence one of these coming weeks. I told you I get good ideas from readers. The key is to keep my mouth shut and my ears open. We learn a lot more when we do that.

How many encounters with strangers have turned them into consequential strangers in your life? They’re the people who aren’t close friends with you, but they’ve played a role on the stage of your life. It’s like the minor players in a stage production. You may not even know their names, but they have a vital supporting role in the total production. Sometimes we only encounter those people one time, but others come into our life on a regular basis.

The wonderful thing about writing a column like Across the Fence is meeting and hearing your stories. I realize how similar our experiences have been. These aren’t just my stories; they’re our shared stories and experiences. They’re also your stories. You just have to change the names and locations. But it’s also important that you tell your own story. I’ve talked about this with many of you. Don’t take your stories to the grave with you. They will forever be lost to future generations. What would you give to have some stories written by your grandparents or great grandparents? Wouldn’t you like to know what their life was like and what they were thinking? I know I would. Every story is important.

I greatly appreciate all of you who took time out of your busy schedules to show up for my book signings. It gives me renewed energy when you tell me you enjoy the column, and look forward to reading it each week. We may not be close, personal friends, but we’re no longer strangers, we’re consequential strangers and you’re important to me. I look forward to visiting with you each week, across the fence.

The Red Fox, A Kindred Spirit

Across the Fence #256

My mind is on a red fox tonight. I’ve had four encounters with this fox since early this summer. I feel very fortunate. How many people are lucky enough to see one red fox in the wild during their lifetime? They are quite elusive.

I’ve always been fascinated with wolves and foxes. Perhaps it’s because they’re both so elusive and we seldom have the opportunity to see them. In grade school when we could order books from the Teen Age Book Club (TAB), I sent for several books about wolves and foxes. I still have some of them. One of those paperbacks is titled “Red Fox“ by Charles Roberts. That poor fox had many adventures. He was pursued by dogs, shot at by hunters, fought with other animals, hunted for food for himself, his mate, and their pups, and through all the adversities and hardships, managed to survive.

I don’t think the same can be said for the fox I’ve been seeing. During the last two encounters, it appears that he’s developed mange. This will not be a “He lived happily ever after” ending. He was really suffering yesterday when I watched him. The poor fellow is now so distracted by the disease that he didn’t bother running away. I was able to get very close and took many photos of him as he hunted for food. He has become very thin and looks like he’s starving. He was making a meal of grasshoppers and other bugs he could find.

I watched as he stalked each grasshopper and then pounced on it. It will take a lot of bugs to satisfy his appetite and provide the nourishment he needs. Whenever he looked in my direction, his eyes appeared half-closed and it looked like he was having difficulty seeing. The eyes looked so sad. They weren’t vibrant and full of life, but had a haunted, sad feeling. He appeared to be a lost, bewildered soul, trying to hang on and survive.

Sarcoptic Mange is a skin disease caused by microscopic parasitic mites that embed themselves under the skin of the animal. They cause extreme itching, loss of sleep, open sores, and reduced immune response. In the late stages, the fox will become distracted, sick, and starve to death.

I suspect “my fox” is nearing that final stage. That’s why he’s on my mind tonight. I hate to see any animal suffer. The red fox is such a graceful, beautiful animal when it’s healthy.

I saw my first fox many years ago while deer hunting. I was sitting quietly at the base of a tree near the crest of a hill. I had a commanding view of the hillsides and valley below me. It was late in the afternoon when I saw the fox slowly making his way through the woods a short distance from where I was sitting. He appeared to be hunting for a meal. After several minutes he finally spotted me and quickly headed down the hill, his bushy tail flowing out behind him. What a magnificent sight. The images of that first close-up encounter with a red fox have stuck in my memory bank all these years.

Since that time, I’ve seen several red foxes and it’s always a special thrill. They’ve had dens on this farm over the years and we’d see one occasionally. But as I said at the start, they can be very elusive and hard to spot.

I hope my little friend has a den some place where he’s bedded down this evening. It’s cold and rainy outside tonight and I hope he’s dry and as comfortable as he can be, given the terrible shape he’s in. I’ll keep an eye out for him and monitor his deteriorating condition. If this was a domesticated dog, the mange could be easily treated, but the fox is a wild animal. You can’t just shove a pill down his throat. All we can do is watch him suffer from a distance. In observing a case like this, I realize how different life in the wild is. This is survival of the fittest. As much as I’d like to, I realize we can’t save every animal.

I watched that fox hunt for food. He needed food to survive and other creatures needed to die so he might live. He would stalk a possible meal, then gather himself up and pounce on it. Sometimes he came up empty, but other times he was chewing on whatever meal he had found. The strong survive. The weak and inattentive perish. Animals get sick and die. It’s all part of the life cycle. I think those of us who were raised in the country and on farms, and people who spend time in the woods and wild country, are more aware of this. Life and death are part of our world.

I hope all of you have the chance to observe a red fox and other animals in the wild, in their natural habitat. Observing a wild animal in the captive environment of a zoo is not the same. I still get a thrill whenever I come across an animal in the wild. I always try to have a camera with me and have managed to capture some great photos of wildlife roaming free, in the wild. I feel a real kindred spirit with them. It’s a great feeling!

I Don't Get It. What's the Point?

Across the Fence #255

I was sitting on our back deck this evening, listening to the wind. The sun had set, but there was still a reddish-pink glow on the horizon, peeking through the dark clouds.

It was cool and there was a very light mist in the air, but I didn’t want to miss the magic of the moment by sitting inside. The wind roared through the trees like giant waves crashing against the shore. I closed my eyes and could hear great gusts of wind coming through the corn before smashing into the trees, and rattling the siding on the house.

Darkness had set in and individual, green trees merged into a solid mass of black. Dark clouds floated overhead and the half moon kept emerging and disappearing as the wind pushed the clouds along. It’s one of those moments that, when written about, doesn’t mean much to someone who’s never experienced it. But if you’ve also witnessed such a moment, I hope this brought those images and sounds back to you.

As I experienced those sounds and images, it reminded me of the response I received from an editor to one of my stories. A couple months after beginning this weekly column, almost six years ago, I sent some sample stories to the editor of a newspaper in a community with a rural, Norwegian population. I thought the things I write about would be of interest to those readers too; especially after many people in that community told me I should have my column in their paper. The young editor had only been at the paper for a few months. I suspect he didn’t come from a rural background and had never spent much time on a farm. His response was, “I’m not sure what the message of the barn/milking column was supposed to be. I don’t get it. What’s the point?” He was referring to a story called “Night Lights.”

Sometimes you need life experiences, like listening to the wind in the trees and watching the moon play hide and seek in the clouds, in order to understand. I have no doubt the majority of readers of that paper could have related to my stories, but they never had a chance. I tried again, a year later, but he still wasn’t interested in running my column.

“I don’t get it. What’s the point?” My point with the milking column was to try and raise memories in all those who’ve been there in the past, and record the experience for those who hadn’t. Also, to let people know that when the day’s work is done, take time to relax, look at the vast universe around you, and hopefully you’ll feel a peace within, realizing that you’re a small, but vital part, of the big picture. A lot of readers did get it. I’ve had many of them tell me it was one of their favorite columns. If you have my first book, “Across the Fence,” it’s on page 59.

That was a story I read today, when I was invited to be the guest author at the Viroqua Women’s Literary Club. They got it, and also brought up some interesting questions about writing a weekly column. One question dealt with how I deal with exposing my thoughts and memories to a large readership, especially in the local community where people know me.

Any time a person puts their writing and thoughts out in public for all to see and read, it’s like a dog or cat rolling over on it’s back and exposing the soft underbelly. Some will rub it and some will attack such an exposed position. That’s also what makes life interesting. Taking chances, as long as you’re not hurting anyone, by actions or words. I’ll never ridicule or attack someone in a story. I do poke fun at my misadventures, and myself, but that’s OK. Many of those incidents make much better stories than if I’d experienced great success.

One lady said she felt she knew my family and me after reading the stories. I assured her and the group that there are plenty of stories that will never see the light of day. Every writer has stories that would make great reading, but some stories are personal or might hurt somebody, and are best left untold. I try to keep my stories upbeat. People have to deal with enough negatives in daily life. Many readers have told me they like the positive spin on the stories I write.

One editor thought my best stories are the ones where I stir up some controversy and make people think. Those are also the stories that get the most response. It’s usually from people who disagree with my thoughts, and would like to run me out of town, tarred and feathered, and tied to a rail. Writing a weekly column is not for the feint of heart.

As the one editor said, “I don’t get it. What’s the point?”

Perhaps the point is very simple. We meet here once a week and talk across the fence, just like good neighbors have always done. I hope we never lose that neighborliness. If I do my job right, my story also becomes your story, as the words release sights, sounds, and smells from your memory bank. I hope your memories are good ones. I’ll see you again next week.

Hunters and Gatherers

Across the Fence #254

It's hard to believe it’s already October, the month of the Hunter’s Moon. Where did the summer go? Where did this year go? I feel like Rip Van Winkle, who suddenly woke up after a long sleep and wondered where the time had gone.

As I drive around the countryside, I notice a lot of leaves already starting to turn. Fall is a beautiful time of year, but it goes by much too quickly. I’d like to spread fall out so it lasts as long as winter does here in the upper Midwest. However, that’s about as likely as Brett Favre retiring for good and not un-retiring when training camp is over. As my friend, David Giffey, would say, “But that’s another story.”

Fall triggers memories of harvesting crops and helping Ma bring in vegetables from the garden, back when I was young. By the time the Hunter’s Moon was hung in the sky, the tobacco crop, hanging in the shed, was slowly curing and turning brown.

Silo filling was the next great adventure. When I was young, Dad didn’t have his own chopper, wagons, and silo unloader. He hired a farmer who had the equipment and went from farm to farm, doing the harvesting.

It was always an exciting time when they arrived with the silo unloader and started running the pipes up into the silo. We were usually in school when silo filling took place, but got to help out when we got home. I got to drive the John Deere B or 50 and hauled wagons from the field to the silo. Then helped unload the wagons by pulling the silage from the back end of the wagon into the unloader. An auger would push the silage into the blower and it would shoot up the pipe into the silo with a rattling sound. It was a dangerous job and you had to be careful not to get your clothes caught in the auger. That could lead to a quick amputation of a limb. Many farmers are missing an arm or a leg because of silo filling accidents.

When I think of silo filling. I can still smell the sweet scent of the silage. There’s something about smells that conjure up all kinds of memories associated with that smell. The smell of silage brings back memories of silo-filling, throwing down the silage in the middle of winter, and finally that sickening smell from the fermented silage in the bottom of the silo at the end of the year. I bet those same smells come drifting back from your memory bank as you read this.

This time of year was also canning time for Ma and Grandma Inga. They put up a wide variety of vegetables and fruits in Mason jars. The sealed jars sat on shelves in the cool cellar until it was time to retrieve them and bring the rewards from the summer garden, upstairs to enjoy in the dead of winter. It also helped remind us that there was a world beyond all the snow and cold weather that surrounded and imprisoned us. When I went down in the cellar a couple years ago to look around, there were still unopened jars filled with vegetables that Ma had gathered together and canned many years ago. She’s been gone for seventeen years now. Those cans were filled many years ago, while she was still healthy.

I can picture her working and slaving over the hot stove, preparing the food for canning. Like so many guys, I never paid much attention to the canning process, but I know it was a lot of work. I just reaped the benefits of all her hard work. Unfortunately, I never thanked her for all she did to keep her family fed. Each fall when harvest and canning time comes around, I’m reminded of my taking those things for granted. Now when I see those old Mason jars sitting on the rotting shelves in the cellar, they aren’t just jars of food. They carry the imprint of the caring, skillful hands of Ma as she prepared and carried them down the cellar steps so her family would never go hungry.

Yes, the images and smells of fall certainly bring back memories for all of us. The birds are flocking together in preparation for their trip to warmer climates for the winter. We’ve seen power lines full of birds. When they take to the air, it’s like a black cloud. I always wonder how they keep from having mid-air collisions. I also heard a flock of geese flying overhead. I’ve said many times that I consider it one of the great sights and sounds of nature.

Along with the Hunter’s Moon will come the sound of gunfire and smell of gunpowder in the air. Fall certainly brings out the hunter/gatherer in man as we store up food and meat for the long winter ahead. Most city inhabitants do their hunting and gathering in big supermarkets. Many rural people still do their hunting and gathering just like their ancestors did, and their ancestors before them.

The world and attitudes are quickly changing as we go from a rural to an urban society. But out here in the countryside, you still find people gathering a bountiful harvest from their gardens and preparing their equipment for the upcoming hunt. Hunters and gatherers… they’re still a part of life.

The Dog Days of Autumn

Across the Fence #253

A friend recently asked, “How come you’ve never written about dogs?” “Perfect timing,” I said. “We’re dog-sitting this week for our daughter, Amy, and Tim’s dog.

Welcome to the world of Sweeney, a rambunctious, nine month old, loveable bundle of energy, German Shepherd/Collie mix. They adopted Sweeney at the Milwaukee Humane Society when she was three months old.

She’s been having fun exploring and running around the fields near our house. She’s used to country air and long walks because Amy and Tim take her on walks almost every day.

I’m a dog lover and I love to see dogs able to roam and explore the world, and interact with people around them. When you include a dog in your daily activities, give them attention and love, they’ll return that love to you. You can be gone for an hour and when you return, your dog greets you like you’ve been gone for a month. What other creature will greet you with such enthusiasm every time they see you?

I hate to see dogs penned up or chained day and night. That would be like being in prison for me. Dogs aren’t meant to be imprisoned like a criminal. That’s for someone who’s done something wrong.

One of the papers where Across the Fence runs is the Standard-Gazette in Fairfax, Minnesota. Another of their columnists is Suzy Wurtz. I think she said it best in a column she wrote entitled “Dog Days,” about a barking dog she was contending with. Suzy said, “ Your dog’s barking bothers people daily. Your dog does not get enough human interaction and does not get enough exercise. He is confined to a kennel or a leash (chain) for long periods. He may not have enough food, water, or shade as well. Your dog is lonely, bored, frustrated, and not well trained. Naturally your dog barks. I would bark too!”

She goes on to say, “If you don’t exercise your dogs daily, spend some time with them each day, and just keep them chained or penned up all the time, you shouldn’t own a dog.”

I agree with everything Suzy said. Dogs, especially large dogs, hunting dogs, are not meant to be confined and imprisoned all the time. If we did that to a fellow human being we’d be hauled off to jail for cruel and inhuman treatment. Unfortunately, a lot of dogs do suffer that fate.

If I was one of those dogs, I’d rather you take me out and euthanize me or just shoot me. That would be the more humane thing to do. The only alternative is to howl and bark constantly, and hope someone hears you and comes to your rescue. Dogs like to be free just like we do.

The dog days of summer and autumn that I remember on the farm, were ones where our dogs were always with us. A dog loves to be included in the action. On the farm, our dogs helped get the cows from the pasture, and were always around at milking time. They rode on the hay wagons with us, in the back of the pickup, and even on the tractor. They laid beside us in the shade of the maple tree, and followed us when we got up and returned to work. They didn’t bark constantly, but they did bark when someone came to the house. That’s what a good watchdog does. If they kept barking, we’d make them be quiet and not disturb all the neighbors. People need to have respect for their neighbors. This is especially true for dog owners.

When we lived in Madison we had a Sheltie for eleven years when the kids were young. Toby was a wonderful dog and an important part of our family. He loved to run. Madison had a leash law and you were supposed to have your dog on a leash at all times. When we went for walks and runs, I carried the leash along, but never had to use it. He was well-trained, or maybe he was just smart and let me think I had trained him. When I said, “Stop,” he stopped and waited until I said, “Go.” Then he’d take off and run again. He loved the interaction with our family. We also trained him not to bark all the time and disturb our neighbors when he was out in the yard. If that had happened, I have no doubt the police would have been frequent visitors at our home. I can’t imagine us ever chaining him up or confining him in a pen with no human contact except at feeding time. That would have been cruel. When Toby died from cancer, it was like losing a member of our family.

Anyone who’s ever owned a dog knows how smart they are. Dogs seem almost human at times. Sometimes I think they’re smarter than a lot of people. Sweeney’s a smart dog and often seems to know what you’re saying. Amy and Tim have done a good job of training Sweeney and giving her love and affection. She returns that love and affection back to them.

During these Dog Days of Autumn, do your dogs a favor. Treat them the same way you would want to be treated if the roles were reversed. It’s the humane thing to do. Your dog will love you for it.

The County Fair, A Magical Place

Across the Fence #252

There’s nothing like a county fair for sights, sounds, and smells. When you mix them all together, they make for a magical, enjoyable time for children of all ages. Whether you’re five or one hundred and five, the county fair is a special place for everyone.

This week is the Vernon County Fair. It’s always the last fair of the season in Wisconsin. When I was young, we always attended the fair. We were members of the Seas Branch Smithies 4-H Club, and when I was in high school I was in the FFA. Every year I showed dairy cattle and hogs. The fair was the culmination of all the work we put into our projects. It was a fun and exciting time.

After I left the farm, I was seldom around during the fair. When our kids were young, we took them to the Vernon County Fair a couple of times. Somehow, the fair, and especially the midway, seemed a lot smaller than it was when I was young. But there was still a magical quality about it.

Now I’m back to spending every day at the fair again. I don’t show cattle any more, but I’m at our company’s booth in the co-op building ten hours a day. I don’t spend all the time at our booth talking business. I still take time to enjoy the sights, sounds, smells, and tastes, especially the tastes. By the time the midway is shut down for another year and the last cow is on a truck headed home, I’ll probably have eaten at every food stand more than once. I’ll have sampled Hub’s Fries, fried cheese curds, hamburgers, cheeseburgers, Bar-B-Qs, baked potatoes with chili or pork, and several kinds of pie–some with ice cream. Uff da, it’s a tough job eating fair food for five days! I should probably have my cholesterol levels checked after fair week is over.

One thing that’s as scarce as hen’s teeth at the fair is decaf coffee. If any food stand is serving decaf, let me know. A friend tells me, “If you’re not going to drink real coffee, why bother drinking it at all.” He has a point. There’s no caffeine kick in decaf! But that’s another story.

I also like to walk through the barns and watch some of the cattle judging. It brings back memories of when I showed cattle. I like to watch how the kids show off their animals. A good showman can make an average animal look better than a fine animal in the hands of a poor showman. An award I’m proud of is the top showmanship award I received one year at the fair.

After showing our cattle, we were able to take more time to explore the other aspects of the fair. I wasn’t much for the rides. The tilt-a-whirl was enough excitement for this old midway warrior. It was best enjoyed when in the company of a girl you wanted to get to know better. Sharing the ride with a bunch of your guy friends just wasn’t the same. The fair was the one time of year when you could get up the nerve to ask a girl to accompany you on a ride, without feeling like you were going to throw up. That part came after going in too many circles on a ride, or upside down. That wasn’t the way to impress a girl! In our defense, I should note that the rides usually followed eating too much fair food. Large amounts of fair food and wild, midway rides just don’t mix.

At least now I don’t have to worry about going on the rides. I can just concentrate on eating my way from one side of the fair to the other.

While I’m doing that, it’s also fun to stroll down the lane in front of all the carny barkers and hear them trying to entice people to play their game and win a prize. I mentioned earlier that this is the last fair of the year, and many of the carny people look like they can hardly wait to pack up and head south for the winter. I imagine it’s been a long, hard season for them. It doesn’t help that it’s often cold or wet during a Mid-September fair.

I often wonder how these people got involved in following the midway from one fair or festival to the next. Maybe it’s the writer in me, but I want to know their story. I’ve seen some of these same people at the fair for many years. Maybe this is the year when I’ll strike up a conversation with some of them and find out their story. Everyone has one. I think I’d find some interesting and fascinating life stories around the midway. I’ll probably have to play a few games first, in order to start a conversation. If you see me walking around with a teddy bear under my arm, you’ll know what I’ve been up to.

I love observing people at the fair. I think we older generations are in search of the sights, sounds, smells, and tastes that live in our memories from earlier fairs. This year we’ll add some new ones. County fairs are one of the remaining staples of rural America. It’s a melting pot of the past, present, and future. Experience it and enjoy it!

Back To School Transitions

Across the Fence #251

It's back to school time, that transitional period that signals the end of summer and the beginning of the fall season. It’s also a transition between elementary and middle school, middle school and high school, and high school and college. Baseball season is winding down and football season is hitting full stride, although all the sports seem to overlap and go on forever these days. The birds are starting to flock together for the trip south and the wildflowers are losing their beauty. Soon the trees will be turning, as they transition from green to a full palette of fall colors.

Those transitions from one chapter of our life to the next, especially where school is concerned, can be both exciting and scary. I attended a one-room school as most of you know, and that eliminated a few of the transitions that city kids and the present generation of students have to go through. We didn’t worry about going from one grade to the next, where we’d have a new teacher and many new students. All our grades were taught in that one room and we knew everyone in school. Of course, when there were only twenty students in all eight grades, it was much easier knowing everyone. The only new students were the first graders. If a new family moved to a farm in the school district, we might get some new students, but they generally came in the spring when farmers would move from one farm to another.

I was lucky. We moved to a new farm when I was around ten years old. It was less than a mile away and I didn’t have to change schools. It must have been tough for students who had to leave old friends behind and go to a new school. I think of Margaret, Janice, Howard, and Anita Lee, who moved to our school district in the spring. Margaret and Janice joined Donna Gilbertson and me in seventh grade. That must have been hard for them. To their credit, they quickly fit in and we’re still friends.

In country schools, one teacher taught all eight grades. If you were lucky, the teacher might stay for several years. Then when you advanced to the next grade, you didn’t worry about who the new teacher would be. On the flip side, if you didn’t like the teacher, you were in for another long year. Fortunately, we had some wonderful teachers at Smith School while I was there. I have great memories of those eight years.

High school is another story. That wasn’t the best time of my life. One of my classmates, Monte Nelson, and I were talking about our high school experiences recently. Monte said, “High school was the worse 12 years of my life!” I can relate to that. It didn’t help that I was a shy, farm boy, and then broke my leg in football when I was a freshman. That put a real limp in those four years, or 12 years as Monte said. That broken leg, the ripped muscles, and the ankle that was torn out of the socket, pretty much put an end to high school sports for me. My ankle still goes out more than I do!

Those transitions were nothing compared to heading off to the big city of Madison and the University of Wisconsin. Talk about feeling like a fish out of water. Despite all the transitions we go through, we manage to survive and move on to the next chapter of our life.

When we were in school we never realized the pain our parents went through as we entered each new chapter. I discovered all those feelings when our children, Erik and Amy, started each new chapter. Before we knew it, they were graduating from high school and heading off to college. That was a big transition for them and also for us. I wrote the following in 1993 after we moved our daughter, Amy, into her dorm room at the University of Wisconsin-Whitewater, and headed home to an empty nest.

When Did You Grow So Old?

“I stand in the door leading to the empty room. The boom box is silent now, no music fills the air. When did you grow so old? Wasn’t it only yesterday I carried you, just minutes old from delivery to the nursery, so small and helpless, every need dependent on us. Crawling, sitting up, standing on wobbly legs, first steps, first words, first tooth… so many firsts. Soon all the new things you learned became routine. Before we knew it, there was nursery school, then kindergarten. First grade, quickly became fifth. Middle school was a whole new adventure. Three quick years and the high school years began. Sweet sixteen and a license to drive. When did you grow so old? High school passed so quickly, and graduation was here. The road to a new adventure stretched out before you. And now you’ve begun the journey. That’s why I stand in the doorway leading to your empty room. You left for college today, and we went home without you. Things will never be the same. When did you grow so old?”

I think everyone can relate to those words. Each year at this time, the back to school transition opens new chapters in the lives of children, and for parents too.