Across the Fence #309
It’s very quiet in Sherpeland tonight. Sweeney, that lovable bundle of energy is back home with Amy and Tim. We were dog-sitting Sweeney while they were on their honeymoon in Ireland. Linda, who has Irish heritage, had offered to carry their bags, but they thought they could handle that job by themselves.
After the wedding, Sweeney came home with us. She’s spent time with us in the country before, but never for two weeks. When the kids were young, we had a Sheltie named Toby. He was the best dog and it really spoiled us. Some dogs can be a real challenge. Sweeney falls into the same category as Toby. She was a joy to have around and no trouble.
All you dog lovers should be able to relate to everything in this story. You know you’re loved and missed when you have a dog. The minute you open the door, you’re attacked, jumped on, licked, and kissed. Even if you’ve only been gone for an hour, you’d think they hadn’t seen you in a month. This greeting can go on for several minutes while you try to work your way into the house. When I came home from work, she was into the front seat and wildly greeting me before I could even get out of the car. Then we had to play in the front yard and throw the Frisbee before I could go inside. She also ran in circles as fast as she could, around me, around the car, and sometimes around the outside of the house. What is it about a dog that makes them chase in circles like that? Every dog I remember has done that.
All this chasing around can be interesting for a guy like me who has a few years on this old body. It doesn’t react like a twenty-year-old body, or even a fifty-year-old body. I must have pulled a groin muscle during one of our chasing and playing escapades. My body can no longer stop on a dime and do a quick turn without something snapping, crackling, or popping. I sound like a bowl of Rice Krispies walking down the street! I’m still walking rather gingerly. A friend informed me it’s gonna’ take a long time to heal, especially at my age. Thanks, I needed to hear that.
You can’t let a little pain interfere with your fun, so Sweeney and I spent a lot of time exploring the fields and wooded areas around our place. She loves to explore as much as I do. As you dog lovers know, there’s something about gross and stinky things that attracts a dog and compels them to roll in it. It can be half a mile away and they head for it like a heat-seeking missile. Unfortunately, the honey wagons were busy spraying liquid manure on the fields around us while Sweeney was with us. I don’t have to tell you what that smell can do to a dog’s fur. It’s a toss up between being sprayed by a skunk or rolling in liquid manure, as to which is the more offensive smell. It’s one of the perks of living in the country.
Sweeney also loves to go for rides in the car. Almost every evening we went for a ride around the countryside. Dogs love to have their nose out the window, sniffing the air. I wonder if they ever get a bug up their nose while going fifty miles an hour? That would tend to hurt. She rode in the back seat, with her head always between us as she observed everything we passed: cows, Amish buggies and horses, lamas, squirrels, deer, and of course, cats that commanded her utmost attention.
Every day, she helped Linda get the mail, and had to carry a piece of mail to the house. Junk mail and political flyers were her specialty. She also carried her dish to the dishwasher after finishing eating. She’s a well-trained dog and wants to help do things.
Sleeping was an adventure. She slept in her bed on the floor in our bedroom, at least for the first part of the night. Sometime during the night, she’d hop up on our bed and plop down between us. I guess she found it more cozy having company. I’d wake up with a paw in my face or her tongue cleaning my ears, face, and neck. Sometimes she rested her head on my neck. I preferred that to her butt-end in my face. When the alarm rang, she was ready to greet the day at full speed. The first order of business, after sniffing the morning air, was a trip to the hayfield. She trotted off to do her duties in the privacy of the tall grass. Better there than in the middle of the lawn.
I guess I failed to mention that Sweeney is half German Shepherd and half Collie, so she’s a good sized dog. Those are known as two of the smartest breeds of dogs and it really shows in her. She’s smart, affectionate, rambunctious, curious, helpful, and a joy to have around. But then all people say that about their grandchildren, and in our case our granddog.
As much as she liked being with us, she went wild when she saw Amy and Tim. You just can’t beat a dog for a faithful, loving companion.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Fall Harvest Is Shocking
Across the Fence #308
Corn shocks stand like lonely sentinels, guarding the last memories of a vanishing lifestyle. A backdrop of changing colors in the woods bordering the cornfield signals the arrival of fall. A flock of geese passing overhead completes the picture as they talk among themselves. It’s fall and the harvest has begun.
The sight of corn shocks and pumpkins in a field represents what the fall season is to me, in the pictures in my mind. Today, corn shocks are as scarce as hen’s teeth around the countryside, unless you head for Amish country. We have a large Amish community within a few miles of Westby. As we drove around the area last weekend, we were once again treated to the sight of fields filled with corn shocks. It was a welcome sight and brought back memories of how farming used to be on most farms.
Today I can watch monstrous combines going through the fields around us, day and night, as they clear huge fields of soybeans in a fraction of the time it used to take. Soon they’ll be stripping the cornfields bare, shelling the corn as they go, and filling semi trucks that haul it from the fields. Today, fall harvesting is big, fast, and in many ways impersonal.
Many of you can still remember when small farms of one hundred acres, or less, were the norm. Corn shocks were not a novelty in those days. It wasn’t shocking to suddenly come across a field filled with them. What would us young Prairie Ghosts have done on Halloween if we couldn’t have tipped over a few corn shocks? I’m not saying we ever did, but there’s something about a corn shock that attracts young boys and shouts out, “Tip me over!”
Another thing I remember about fall and corn harvesting was helping dad clean up the field of corn that had escaped the corn picker. We used a curved husking peg or knife that was strapped to the palm of a heavy, leather strap that fit around our hand. We used it to rip open the husks, break off the corncob, and throw it in a wagon. In those days, nothing was wasted. Perhaps some of you can remember when you picked whole fields of corn using the husking peg and threw the ears against a “bang board” on a wagon pulled by horses. I wish I could find one of those husking pegs back. The old ones we used must have been relegated to the dump long ago.
I also remember harvesting as being a neighborly event, with lots of good food involved. It was a time when neighbors got together and helped each other with the harvest. Meals were looked forward to and every farmer knew who the best cooks in the neighborhood were. Sometimes long tables and chairs were set up on the lawn because there wasn’t enough room in the house. The women slaved over the hot cooking stove all day preparing the meals. There were large bowls of mashed potatoes, rich gravy, big platters of meat, home-grown vegetables, pickled beets, cole slaw, home-made bread and lefse, topped off with fresh pie and steaming cups of coffee. My mother was known for her great meals and pies. No one ever went away hungry. The meals, shared by the neighbors, were a big part of the harvest. I suspect the men doing the harvesting today, and running those big combines and semis on corporate farms, are missing out on the best part of the fall harvest… the wonderful meals and neighbors working side by side as they helped each other.
When I feel the brisk winds of fall, as darkness begins to envelope the land, I remember sitting in an empty wagon at the end of the cornfield. It’s dark and cold. The stars shine brightly overhead in the clear, crisp sky. The light from the tractor makes strange, scary shadows dance among the corn stalks. The air is filled with the distinctive “putt-putt-putt” of the idling John Deere B tractor. In the distance I see the lights of the corn picker coming through the corn stalks. I hear the hum of the machine as it severs the stalks, and the continual “clunk, clunk, clunk” of ears of corn landing in the wagon box. The corn picker finally reaches us. Among the sounds and lights from the tractors and corn picker, there’s a flurry of activity as the full wagon is exchanged for the empty one. Throw in some snowflakes dancing in the lights, and it becomes a magical scene.
When a wagon was full, we hauled it from the field to the corncrib, where we shoveled the corncobs into the crib. It was heavy, hard work, especially when I was younger. Now most corncribs are gone, along with one and two row corn pickers. Gravity boxes replaced the old wood wagons, and now large trucks and semis are replacing the gravity box. Those huge combines have replaced the need for neighbors to get together and help each other with the harvest.
All this mechanization has allowed farms to get bigger and the harvest go faster, with fewer people involved. But to me, fall harvest is still represented by those shocks of corn, standing tall and reminding us of another time and place, where neighbors even talked across the fence.
Corn shocks stand like lonely sentinels, guarding the last memories of a vanishing lifestyle. A backdrop of changing colors in the woods bordering the cornfield signals the arrival of fall. A flock of geese passing overhead completes the picture as they talk among themselves. It’s fall and the harvest has begun.
The sight of corn shocks and pumpkins in a field represents what the fall season is to me, in the pictures in my mind. Today, corn shocks are as scarce as hen’s teeth around the countryside, unless you head for Amish country. We have a large Amish community within a few miles of Westby. As we drove around the area last weekend, we were once again treated to the sight of fields filled with corn shocks. It was a welcome sight and brought back memories of how farming used to be on most farms.
Today I can watch monstrous combines going through the fields around us, day and night, as they clear huge fields of soybeans in a fraction of the time it used to take. Soon they’ll be stripping the cornfields bare, shelling the corn as they go, and filling semi trucks that haul it from the fields. Today, fall harvesting is big, fast, and in many ways impersonal.
Many of you can still remember when small farms of one hundred acres, or less, were the norm. Corn shocks were not a novelty in those days. It wasn’t shocking to suddenly come across a field filled with them. What would us young Prairie Ghosts have done on Halloween if we couldn’t have tipped over a few corn shocks? I’m not saying we ever did, but there’s something about a corn shock that attracts young boys and shouts out, “Tip me over!”
Another thing I remember about fall and corn harvesting was helping dad clean up the field of corn that had escaped the corn picker. We used a curved husking peg or knife that was strapped to the palm of a heavy, leather strap that fit around our hand. We used it to rip open the husks, break off the corncob, and throw it in a wagon. In those days, nothing was wasted. Perhaps some of you can remember when you picked whole fields of corn using the husking peg and threw the ears against a “bang board” on a wagon pulled by horses. I wish I could find one of those husking pegs back. The old ones we used must have been relegated to the dump long ago.
I also remember harvesting as being a neighborly event, with lots of good food involved. It was a time when neighbors got together and helped each other with the harvest. Meals were looked forward to and every farmer knew who the best cooks in the neighborhood were. Sometimes long tables and chairs were set up on the lawn because there wasn’t enough room in the house. The women slaved over the hot cooking stove all day preparing the meals. There were large bowls of mashed potatoes, rich gravy, big platters of meat, home-grown vegetables, pickled beets, cole slaw, home-made bread and lefse, topped off with fresh pie and steaming cups of coffee. My mother was known for her great meals and pies. No one ever went away hungry. The meals, shared by the neighbors, were a big part of the harvest. I suspect the men doing the harvesting today, and running those big combines and semis on corporate farms, are missing out on the best part of the fall harvest… the wonderful meals and neighbors working side by side as they helped each other.
When I feel the brisk winds of fall, as darkness begins to envelope the land, I remember sitting in an empty wagon at the end of the cornfield. It’s dark and cold. The stars shine brightly overhead in the clear, crisp sky. The light from the tractor makes strange, scary shadows dance among the corn stalks. The air is filled with the distinctive “putt-putt-putt” of the idling John Deere B tractor. In the distance I see the lights of the corn picker coming through the corn stalks. I hear the hum of the machine as it severs the stalks, and the continual “clunk, clunk, clunk” of ears of corn landing in the wagon box. The corn picker finally reaches us. Among the sounds and lights from the tractors and corn picker, there’s a flurry of activity as the full wagon is exchanged for the empty one. Throw in some snowflakes dancing in the lights, and it becomes a magical scene.
When a wagon was full, we hauled it from the field to the corncrib, where we shoveled the corncobs into the crib. It was heavy, hard work, especially when I was younger. Now most corncribs are gone, along with one and two row corn pickers. Gravity boxes replaced the old wood wagons, and now large trucks and semis are replacing the gravity box. Those huge combines have replaced the need for neighbors to get together and help each other with the harvest.
All this mechanization has allowed farms to get bigger and the harvest go faster, with fewer people involved. But to me, fall harvest is still represented by those shocks of corn, standing tall and reminding us of another time and place, where neighbors even talked across the fence.
Saturday, October 2, 2010
A Very Special Moment
Across the Fence #307
Where does the time go? Where has the summer gone? What happened to the past year? Time marches on and it seems like the older I get, the faster the hands on the clock seem to go around. I guess I should expect it. I’ve been over the hill for many years now, and we all know an object picks up speed when rolling downhill.
I realized how fast the time has gone when I walked our daughter, Amy, down the aisle this past Saturday. It seems like only yesterday when I was there as she was born and got to carry her from the delivery room to the nursery. That was a memorable experience in fatherhood. Saturday I got to experience another of the great moments of being a parent. All you fathers who have walked your daughter down the aisle know what I mean. It’s a moment I’ll always remember.
Some friends asked if I was nervous or shed a few tears. I said no, I wasn’t nervous, and was very happy for Amy and Tim. Parents want only the best for their children and want them to be happy. This was a happy, wonderful day.
An outdoor ceremony was planned and the rehearsal late Friday afternoon became an unforgettable experience too. It was cold and very windy. It had rained almost every day of the week. Amy’s new in-laws from Mississippi must have thought they were in the middle of a Wisconsin winter. Saturday, it was cool and cloudy, but the wind and rain stayed away. I like to think all those ancestors who have entered the great unknown, were there in spirit and blocked the wind and rain from dampening the ceremony. The Force was definitely with us.
Tim’s best friend, Kevin, was the Best Man. He was also the officiating minister. Amy and Tim wanted him to handle both jobs and he did great. It’s not easy being in two roles. When it came to the ring part of the ceremony, he held the notebook containing the ceremony in one hand, while fishing in his pocket for Amy’s ring. As he pulled it out and handed it to Tim, he realized it was Tim’s ring. He smiled and said, “Not that ring,” put it back in his pocket and pulled out the other one. It was one of those great moments where everyone laughed and it added to the feeling of one big family celebrating the union of these two people.
Another interesting sidelight, Tim and his father are die-hard Arkansas fans. Kevin on the other hand, is an Alabama fan. They just happened to be playing each other in football as the ceremony was going on.
Our son, Erik, and Tim’s friend, Patrick, also had dual roles as Groomsmen and ushers. Amy’s best friend since first grade, Genny, was the Maid of Honor. Her cousin, Erin, and a college friend, Tracy, were Bridesmaids. I should note that all three of them had babies within the last five months. That must have made for an interesting time fitting the dresses.
Tradition has the father of the bride giving a toast at the reception. I’ve carved many Norwegian ale bowls for other weddings around the country, and wanted to give one to Amy and Tim too. I’ve had very little time for wood carving since moving to Westby, but wanted to get one carved in time for their wedding. I completed it three days before the wedding. Nothing like putting a little pressure on myself. I surprised them with the ale bowl at the reception, and drank the wedding toast from it. They also drank a toast from it. Luckily, none of us spilled any on our clothes. Linda was a little worried about that. It’s one thing for an old Viking to slobber all over himself while tipping up an ale bowl, but it wouldn’t do much for a wedding dress or tux.
Now the wedding of our daughter is history. We came away from it with a wonderful weekend of memories with family and friends. Every parent hopes their children will find someone to spend the rest of their life with and share experiences with, someone who will treat them good and love them unconditionally. Linda and I are happy for Amy and Tim. We wish them a long, happy life together. We also welcome his southern family into our northern family, but I don’t think they’ll be making many visits up here to the frozen tundra during the winter months.
Now we’re dog sitting while they’re on their honeymoon in Ireland. Sweeney should give me a lot of good material for future columns. She’s a great dog, but I don’t think I can keep up to her level of energy. Stay tuned.
Yes, time does fly. Life is filled with adventures and special moments. As I look back on life with Erik and Amy, I wonder where the time went. My advice to young parents is to enjoy every moment. It goes so fast. I don’t usually write about our kids because I want to respect their privacy. However, it’s not every day you have a child get married. I’m glad I’ve had the privilege of watching Amy blossom into a beautiful, young woman, and got to walk her down the aisle. It was a very special moment.
Where does the time go? Where has the summer gone? What happened to the past year? Time marches on and it seems like the older I get, the faster the hands on the clock seem to go around. I guess I should expect it. I’ve been over the hill for many years now, and we all know an object picks up speed when rolling downhill.
I realized how fast the time has gone when I walked our daughter, Amy, down the aisle this past Saturday. It seems like only yesterday when I was there as she was born and got to carry her from the delivery room to the nursery. That was a memorable experience in fatherhood. Saturday I got to experience another of the great moments of being a parent. All you fathers who have walked your daughter down the aisle know what I mean. It’s a moment I’ll always remember.
Some friends asked if I was nervous or shed a few tears. I said no, I wasn’t nervous, and was very happy for Amy and Tim. Parents want only the best for their children and want them to be happy. This was a happy, wonderful day.
An outdoor ceremony was planned and the rehearsal late Friday afternoon became an unforgettable experience too. It was cold and very windy. It had rained almost every day of the week. Amy’s new in-laws from Mississippi must have thought they were in the middle of a Wisconsin winter. Saturday, it was cool and cloudy, but the wind and rain stayed away. I like to think all those ancestors who have entered the great unknown, were there in spirit and blocked the wind and rain from dampening the ceremony. The Force was definitely with us.
Tim’s best friend, Kevin, was the Best Man. He was also the officiating minister. Amy and Tim wanted him to handle both jobs and he did great. It’s not easy being in two roles. When it came to the ring part of the ceremony, he held the notebook containing the ceremony in one hand, while fishing in his pocket for Amy’s ring. As he pulled it out and handed it to Tim, he realized it was Tim’s ring. He smiled and said, “Not that ring,” put it back in his pocket and pulled out the other one. It was one of those great moments where everyone laughed and it added to the feeling of one big family celebrating the union of these two people.
Another interesting sidelight, Tim and his father are die-hard Arkansas fans. Kevin on the other hand, is an Alabama fan. They just happened to be playing each other in football as the ceremony was going on.
Our son, Erik, and Tim’s friend, Patrick, also had dual roles as Groomsmen and ushers. Amy’s best friend since first grade, Genny, was the Maid of Honor. Her cousin, Erin, and a college friend, Tracy, were Bridesmaids. I should note that all three of them had babies within the last five months. That must have made for an interesting time fitting the dresses.
Tradition has the father of the bride giving a toast at the reception. I’ve carved many Norwegian ale bowls for other weddings around the country, and wanted to give one to Amy and Tim too. I’ve had very little time for wood carving since moving to Westby, but wanted to get one carved in time for their wedding. I completed it three days before the wedding. Nothing like putting a little pressure on myself. I surprised them with the ale bowl at the reception, and drank the wedding toast from it. They also drank a toast from it. Luckily, none of us spilled any on our clothes. Linda was a little worried about that. It’s one thing for an old Viking to slobber all over himself while tipping up an ale bowl, but it wouldn’t do much for a wedding dress or tux.
Now the wedding of our daughter is history. We came away from it with a wonderful weekend of memories with family and friends. Every parent hopes their children will find someone to spend the rest of their life with and share experiences with, someone who will treat them good and love them unconditionally. Linda and I are happy for Amy and Tim. We wish them a long, happy life together. We also welcome his southern family into our northern family, but I don’t think they’ll be making many visits up here to the frozen tundra during the winter months.
Now we’re dog sitting while they’re on their honeymoon in Ireland. Sweeney should give me a lot of good material for future columns. She’s a great dog, but I don’t think I can keep up to her level of energy. Stay tuned.
Yes, time does fly. Life is filled with adventures and special moments. As I look back on life with Erik and Amy, I wonder where the time went. My advice to young parents is to enjoy every moment. It goes so fast. I don’t usually write about our kids because I want to respect their privacy. However, it’s not every day you have a child get married. I’m glad I’ve had the privilege of watching Amy blossom into a beautiful, young woman, and got to walk her down the aisle. It was a very special moment.
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Earth: A Tiny, Pale, Blue Dot
Across the Fence #306
I have a book called Wisconsin Starwatch by Mike Lynch. It helps put some of the scientific and astronomical distances into perspective. For instance:
The Apollo spacecraft that traveled to the moon in the late 1960s and early ‘70s made the lunar voyage in about three days. Keep in mind that the moon is only 222,000 to 252,000 miles from the earth at any given phase in its orbit. At the rate Apollo traveled, it would take around 450 billion years for it to reach the Andromeda Galaxy... our next-door neighbor and closest galaxy! Just since the Hubble Telescope began searching beyond our galaxy, billions of galaxies, over 13 billion light years away, have been found. Just over eighty years ago, astronomers believed the Milky Way was all there was to the universe!
Mike Lynch likes to scale down sizes and distances to better understand them. For example, if you shrink the sun’s diameter from 864,000 miles to about the size of a period on this page, then on that same scale, the next closest star, Proxima Centauri, is more than 5 miles away, the diameter of the Milky Way is more than 120,000 miles, and the distance to the Andromeda Galaxy is 3 million miles.
Those are mind-boggling numbers and facts. No one can tell me there isn't other life out there somewhere. Things have changed drastically within our lifetime and have opened up whole new worlds. I find that very exciting, and it stimulates my thinking. I find it very hard to understand how some people still believe that life as we know it is only 10,000 years old!!
In 1990, after the Voyager 1 spacecraft was at the end of its primary mission, Carl Sagan lobbied NASA to turn the spacecraft around and take a photograph of earth from the distant edge of our solar system, the Milky Way Galaxy, at approximately 3.7 billion miles away.
The result was a picture showing earth as a fraction of a pixel, a tiny, pale blue dot in the vastness of space.
Later, in a commencement address delivered on May 11, 1996, Sagan related his thoughts on the deeper meaning of the photograph:
“Look again at that dot. That’s here, that’s home, that’s us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every politician, every “superstar,” every “supreme leader,” every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there – on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam. The Earth is a very small stage in a vast cosmic arena…
“Its been said that astronomy is a humbling and character-building experience. There is perhaps no better demonstration of the folly of human conceits than this distant image of our tiny world. To me, it underscores our responsibility to deal more kindly with one another, and to preserve and cherish the pale blue dot, the only home we’ve ever known.”
Carl Sagan covers a lot of ground with those words. This tiny, blue dot is our home. It’s been home for countless generations before us, and hopefully countless generations after us. When you look at earth from space there are no borders or fences on this tiny, blue dot. You don’t see different colors of people, different religions, different beliefs, and different political parties, that always seem to be arguing and fighting over who is right, and trying to kill each other.
Stargazing in the country on a dark, clear night, puts everything into perspective. In this time of big-city living, I’d be willing to bet that most people have never taken time to star gaze. Not that they could see anything, even if they tried. City lights block out the stars, imprisoning people in their own little world, unable to see the life and wonders beyond that narrow perspective.
Just as a prisoner needs to break free in order to experience life outside the prison walls, we need to break free and head to the countryside in order to see life beyond our earthly boundaries. This has become very evident to me since we moved to the country near Westby.
Here in the countryside, unhindered by city lights and pollution, we can look up and have the experience of seeing the night sky filled with stars, literally billions of them. It’s an awesome and humbling experience as a person contemplates the enormity of it all.
It puts everything back into perspective. When I look out at the billions of stars, I realize I’m a minor blip on this tiny, pale, blue dot. I’m not the center of the universe. But, I also feel special, knowing that I’m part of all this, and I marvel at the complexity of life forces that brought this entire world, and everything in it, into existence. Is all this merely chance, a roll of the evolutionary dice, or is this tiny, pale, blue dot part of some master plan?
Those are just some of my thoughts, as I stargazed on a clear, cool, autumn evening.
I have a book called Wisconsin Starwatch by Mike Lynch. It helps put some of the scientific and astronomical distances into perspective. For instance:
The Apollo spacecraft that traveled to the moon in the late 1960s and early ‘70s made the lunar voyage in about three days. Keep in mind that the moon is only 222,000 to 252,000 miles from the earth at any given phase in its orbit. At the rate Apollo traveled, it would take around 450 billion years for it to reach the Andromeda Galaxy... our next-door neighbor and closest galaxy! Just since the Hubble Telescope began searching beyond our galaxy, billions of galaxies, over 13 billion light years away, have been found. Just over eighty years ago, astronomers believed the Milky Way was all there was to the universe!
Mike Lynch likes to scale down sizes and distances to better understand them. For example, if you shrink the sun’s diameter from 864,000 miles to about the size of a period on this page, then on that same scale, the next closest star, Proxima Centauri, is more than 5 miles away, the diameter of the Milky Way is more than 120,000 miles, and the distance to the Andromeda Galaxy is 3 million miles.
Those are mind-boggling numbers and facts. No one can tell me there isn't other life out there somewhere. Things have changed drastically within our lifetime and have opened up whole new worlds. I find that very exciting, and it stimulates my thinking. I find it very hard to understand how some people still believe that life as we know it is only 10,000 years old!!
In 1990, after the Voyager 1 spacecraft was at the end of its primary mission, Carl Sagan lobbied NASA to turn the spacecraft around and take a photograph of earth from the distant edge of our solar system, the Milky Way Galaxy, at approximately 3.7 billion miles away.
The result was a picture showing earth as a fraction of a pixel, a tiny, pale blue dot in the vastness of space.
Later, in a commencement address delivered on May 11, 1996, Sagan related his thoughts on the deeper meaning of the photograph:
“Look again at that dot. That’s here, that’s home, that’s us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every politician, every “superstar,” every “supreme leader,” every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there – on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam. The Earth is a very small stage in a vast cosmic arena…
“Its been said that astronomy is a humbling and character-building experience. There is perhaps no better demonstration of the folly of human conceits than this distant image of our tiny world. To me, it underscores our responsibility to deal more kindly with one another, and to preserve and cherish the pale blue dot, the only home we’ve ever known.”
Carl Sagan covers a lot of ground with those words. This tiny, blue dot is our home. It’s been home for countless generations before us, and hopefully countless generations after us. When you look at earth from space there are no borders or fences on this tiny, blue dot. You don’t see different colors of people, different religions, different beliefs, and different political parties, that always seem to be arguing and fighting over who is right, and trying to kill each other.
Stargazing in the country on a dark, clear night, puts everything into perspective. In this time of big-city living, I’d be willing to bet that most people have never taken time to star gaze. Not that they could see anything, even if they tried. City lights block out the stars, imprisoning people in their own little world, unable to see the life and wonders beyond that narrow perspective.
Just as a prisoner needs to break free in order to experience life outside the prison walls, we need to break free and head to the countryside in order to see life beyond our earthly boundaries. This has become very evident to me since we moved to the country near Westby.
Here in the countryside, unhindered by city lights and pollution, we can look up and have the experience of seeing the night sky filled with stars, literally billions of them. It’s an awesome and humbling experience as a person contemplates the enormity of it all.
It puts everything back into perspective. When I look out at the billions of stars, I realize I’m a minor blip on this tiny, pale, blue dot. I’m not the center of the universe. But, I also feel special, knowing that I’m part of all this, and I marvel at the complexity of life forces that brought this entire world, and everything in it, into existence. Is all this merely chance, a roll of the evolutionary dice, or is this tiny, pale, blue dot part of some master plan?
Those are just some of my thoughts, as I stargazed on a clear, cool, autumn evening.
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Silos Are Filled With Stories
Across the Fence #305
This week the corn on the fields of the back forty behind our house, disappeared faster than Rolaids at a hot chili eating contest. Times have sure changed since the days of a one-row picker pulled behind a tractor. We thought things were really changing when we saw the first two-row picker mounted on the front of a tractor. When I think of those days, I can smell the sweet scent of corn silage, freshly chopped in the field.
We were always in school when the silo fillers came to chop the corn and blow it up into the silos. We’d hurry home from school so we could get in on some of the adventure. When we got to haul the wagons from the field to the silo we thought we had been promoted to the major league. It was fun, but scary too. It was tricky pulling the big chopper wagon filled with silage alongside the blower and stopping in the right spot.
After the wagon was in place, we pulled the silage from the back of the wagon, using curved forks, into the auger of the blower that sent the silage rattling up the pipe and into the silo. That was a dangerous job. Many farmers have lost an arm or leg, or been killed, when they got caught in the auger. It’s easy to see why farming is such a dangerous occupation. You’re always working around moving parts that can quickly entangle you and pull you in. Maybe it’s that sense of danger that added to the silo adventure when we were young.
Speaking of danger, this silo story about three of my friends from grade school at Smith, is filled with danger. One day the three girls decided to climb up the “outside” of the silo on one of their farms. They didn’t use a ladder. They climbed up the rungs around the silo. Uff da, I wouldn’t even try that. When they were near the top, the mother of two of the girls came out of the house and almost had a heart attack when she saw them. She didn’t dare to yell for fear they would become startled and fall. She walked to the base of the silo and in a calm voice said, “You girls better come down now.” I’d like to know what she said after they were safely on the ground!
I know another guy who climbed up the chute of an empty silo, and then walked around the top of that silo. That’s quite a balancing act. I think all four of those friends missed their calling in life. They should have joined the circus and performed death-defying feats on a high wire.
Silo stories have always generated comments and letters from readers. I received this note about silo adventures from Kathy in Iowa.
“I read your story in the Linn News-Letter about silos. It brought back several silo incidents, that at the time were not funny, but we can laugh about them now. My husband, Tim, and I milked between 60-100 head of Holsteins and Brown Swiss for 20 years. We have two 60-foot silos, both with roofs and silo unloaders. With that number of dairy cattle, for that length of time, we had many “silo experiences.” One of those days when the silo unloader wasn’t cooperating, Tim had to climb up the dark chute and get inside. My job was to remain below and listen for him to signal me to crank the unloader up or down, or turn it on. As he was pitching out some silage by hand, I stood back to let it fall in the bunk that I was standing in. There was a pause, then he yelled something. Not being sure what he had just said, I went under the chute and yelled up, ‘What did you say?’ Just as he started to speak again, a huge raccoon landed on my head and shoulders. I started screaming hysterically as the poor, frightened raccoon scampered off. Tim soon emerged from the chute laughing and asked me if I was OK. I shakily replied yes, then asked him what he had said when he yelled down the chute to me. He answered, ‘A raccoon is coming down!’ I can still remember the weight of it on my head and shoulders, and feel that fur in my face. I would prefer it in the form of a coonskin hat or collar.
“Both silos stand unused now. We no longer milk cows. One silo is empty, but the other has a some old silage left in it. Last fall I saw a raccoon climb up the side, onto the ladder, and duck inside the chute, probably looking for a place to hibernate for the winter.
“Keep up the great stories. Being raised on a farm that raised hogs, sheep, chickens, and dairy, has left me with many wonderful and colorful experiences. Raising our three children on the farm, has undoubtedly left them with many memories also. Your stories help me remember and make me smile. The one about the old barn is another story that really spoke to me.”
Yes Kathy, there are many stories to tell. Most of those old silos that were once filled with silage, now stand empty, but they are all filled with great stories.
This week the corn on the fields of the back forty behind our house, disappeared faster than Rolaids at a hot chili eating contest. Times have sure changed since the days of a one-row picker pulled behind a tractor. We thought things were really changing when we saw the first two-row picker mounted on the front of a tractor. When I think of those days, I can smell the sweet scent of corn silage, freshly chopped in the field.
We were always in school when the silo fillers came to chop the corn and blow it up into the silos. We’d hurry home from school so we could get in on some of the adventure. When we got to haul the wagons from the field to the silo we thought we had been promoted to the major league. It was fun, but scary too. It was tricky pulling the big chopper wagon filled with silage alongside the blower and stopping in the right spot.
After the wagon was in place, we pulled the silage from the back of the wagon, using curved forks, into the auger of the blower that sent the silage rattling up the pipe and into the silo. That was a dangerous job. Many farmers have lost an arm or leg, or been killed, when they got caught in the auger. It’s easy to see why farming is such a dangerous occupation. You’re always working around moving parts that can quickly entangle you and pull you in. Maybe it’s that sense of danger that added to the silo adventure when we were young.
Speaking of danger, this silo story about three of my friends from grade school at Smith, is filled with danger. One day the three girls decided to climb up the “outside” of the silo on one of their farms. They didn’t use a ladder. They climbed up the rungs around the silo. Uff da, I wouldn’t even try that. When they were near the top, the mother of two of the girls came out of the house and almost had a heart attack when she saw them. She didn’t dare to yell for fear they would become startled and fall. She walked to the base of the silo and in a calm voice said, “You girls better come down now.” I’d like to know what she said after they were safely on the ground!
I know another guy who climbed up the chute of an empty silo, and then walked around the top of that silo. That’s quite a balancing act. I think all four of those friends missed their calling in life. They should have joined the circus and performed death-defying feats on a high wire.
Silo stories have always generated comments and letters from readers. I received this note about silo adventures from Kathy in Iowa.
“I read your story in the Linn News-Letter about silos. It brought back several silo incidents, that at the time were not funny, but we can laugh about them now. My husband, Tim, and I milked between 60-100 head of Holsteins and Brown Swiss for 20 years. We have two 60-foot silos, both with roofs and silo unloaders. With that number of dairy cattle, for that length of time, we had many “silo experiences.” One of those days when the silo unloader wasn’t cooperating, Tim had to climb up the dark chute and get inside. My job was to remain below and listen for him to signal me to crank the unloader up or down, or turn it on. As he was pitching out some silage by hand, I stood back to let it fall in the bunk that I was standing in. There was a pause, then he yelled something. Not being sure what he had just said, I went under the chute and yelled up, ‘What did you say?’ Just as he started to speak again, a huge raccoon landed on my head and shoulders. I started screaming hysterically as the poor, frightened raccoon scampered off. Tim soon emerged from the chute laughing and asked me if I was OK. I shakily replied yes, then asked him what he had said when he yelled down the chute to me. He answered, ‘A raccoon is coming down!’ I can still remember the weight of it on my head and shoulders, and feel that fur in my face. I would prefer it in the form of a coonskin hat or collar.
“Both silos stand unused now. We no longer milk cows. One silo is empty, but the other has a some old silage left in it. Last fall I saw a raccoon climb up the side, onto the ladder, and duck inside the chute, probably looking for a place to hibernate for the winter.
“Keep up the great stories. Being raised on a farm that raised hogs, sheep, chickens, and dairy, has left me with many wonderful and colorful experiences. Raising our three children on the farm, has undoubtedly left them with many memories also. Your stories help me remember and make me smile. The one about the old barn is another story that really spoke to me.”
Yes Kathy, there are many stories to tell. Most of those old silos that were once filled with silage, now stand empty, but they are all filled with great stories.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
The Days of Part Summer, Part Fall
Across the Fence #304
We’re now enjoying the days that I refer to as part summer, part fall. One day it’s 90 degrees and short sleeve weather. Two days later a cold wave swoops down upon us, plunging temperatures into the 40’s and 50’s, and giving us thoughts of sweatshirts and long underwear. Cold, gray skies block the sun’s warmth, making it feel even colder. Jackets and sweatshirts replace t-shirts and shorts.
It’s September and the days are getting shorter and cooler. September reminds us that winter is just around the corner. If I had any say in the matter, I’d give us four months of beautiful, fall weather. That would take us into January. A couple months of snow and freezing temperatures would be enough winter for most people. Then March would transition us back into spring.
That sounds like a plan to me. The older I get, the harder it is to stomach six months of winter. At least it seems like six months to me. On a more positive note, temperatures in the 40’s during January or February would bring out the shorts and t-shirts and people would be sunning themselves on blankets laid out on the snow. We Northerners who don’t head south for the winter are an interesting species.
I know most of our feathered friends have packed up and headed south. One day they were all invading our bird feeders, like a swarm of locusts, and the next day there were only a few Mourning Doves and Sparrows to be found. That evening I watched as flock after flock of birds descended on the cornfield behind the house. The top of the corn became black and the noise from all the birds was a constant racket. Eventually they all rose, as if on command, and a black cloud that must have numbered in the thousands, filled the air. I guess they can feel the part summer, part fall days of September too. They have a long journey ahead of them as they seek out warmer, southern climates and need to get started on their journey. There’s safety in numbers and they have plenty of fellow flyers to chatter with during the long flight.
I have lots of questions about their trip. Who’s the leader of the pack? Is there an Alpha bird that all the rest follow, or do they take turns flying point and everyone else drafts on the leading birds? How do they find their way? Next spring, do the same birds come back to the same areas and nesting places? If they do, it’s truly amazing when you consider that us humans have trouble finding a location when armed with maps, written directions, and a GPS device. One more question, do they tell their friends where the best bird feeders were located the previous year?
Those are just a few of my questions as my mind bounces back and forth between summer and fall weather.
Another species that migrates south are butterflies, but they’re still plentiful around our place. The Monarch butterflies left on their long journey south to Mexico at the end of August, but the Clouded Sulphur, Cabbage, and Alfalfa butterflies are still around in great numbers. Butterflies are as fascinating as birds, and their ability to find their way is just as amazing. Did you know that the Monarchs that return in the spring are the third and fourth generation of those that left in August. Their normal lifespan is only two months? Scientists are still researching how they find their way back. Their flight patterns seem to be inherited or they have an internal sun compass. It’s too bad they don’t have a better radar system to avoid smashing into car windshields.
This was Labor Day weekend, and it always brings back memories of how we would spend the “holiday” laboring in the tobacco fields. Heavy dew on September mornings, reminds me of harvesting tobacco. Early in the morning, the tobacco piles would be wet with dew when we began spearing. It was also cold enough to require a jacket. By noon it was usually t-shirt weather and really hot in the peak of the shed. September can’t seem to make up its mind which way to go.
Lets hope the fickle winds of September blow in some nice, warm, sunny weather on September 25th. That’s the day I walk our daughter down the aisle in an outdoor wedding ceremony in Waukesha. September is always a month of change and transformations. It’s quite fitting to have a wedding during this time of year.
I think fall is my favorite season. The weather is usually mild enough to still go around in short sleeves. It doesn’t take half an hour to put on all the clothes needed for a simple trip to the mailbox, like it does in the heart of winter. I love all the sights, sounds, and smells of fall. Take a walk or bike ride in the country and enjoy the brilliant fall colors, listen to the wind as it rattles the leaves of a field of golden corn, hear the crunching of new-fallen leaves under your feet, and drink in the aroma of the many fall smells. It’s a great time of year, even September, when the migration of birds and butterflies has begun, and the cold winds remind us that change is in the air.
We’re now enjoying the days that I refer to as part summer, part fall. One day it’s 90 degrees and short sleeve weather. Two days later a cold wave swoops down upon us, plunging temperatures into the 40’s and 50’s, and giving us thoughts of sweatshirts and long underwear. Cold, gray skies block the sun’s warmth, making it feel even colder. Jackets and sweatshirts replace t-shirts and shorts.
It’s September and the days are getting shorter and cooler. September reminds us that winter is just around the corner. If I had any say in the matter, I’d give us four months of beautiful, fall weather. That would take us into January. A couple months of snow and freezing temperatures would be enough winter for most people. Then March would transition us back into spring.
That sounds like a plan to me. The older I get, the harder it is to stomach six months of winter. At least it seems like six months to me. On a more positive note, temperatures in the 40’s during January or February would bring out the shorts and t-shirts and people would be sunning themselves on blankets laid out on the snow. We Northerners who don’t head south for the winter are an interesting species.
I know most of our feathered friends have packed up and headed south. One day they were all invading our bird feeders, like a swarm of locusts, and the next day there were only a few Mourning Doves and Sparrows to be found. That evening I watched as flock after flock of birds descended on the cornfield behind the house. The top of the corn became black and the noise from all the birds was a constant racket. Eventually they all rose, as if on command, and a black cloud that must have numbered in the thousands, filled the air. I guess they can feel the part summer, part fall days of September too. They have a long journey ahead of them as they seek out warmer, southern climates and need to get started on their journey. There’s safety in numbers and they have plenty of fellow flyers to chatter with during the long flight.
I have lots of questions about their trip. Who’s the leader of the pack? Is there an Alpha bird that all the rest follow, or do they take turns flying point and everyone else drafts on the leading birds? How do they find their way? Next spring, do the same birds come back to the same areas and nesting places? If they do, it’s truly amazing when you consider that us humans have trouble finding a location when armed with maps, written directions, and a GPS device. One more question, do they tell their friends where the best bird feeders were located the previous year?
Those are just a few of my questions as my mind bounces back and forth between summer and fall weather.
Another species that migrates south are butterflies, but they’re still plentiful around our place. The Monarch butterflies left on their long journey south to Mexico at the end of August, but the Clouded Sulphur, Cabbage, and Alfalfa butterflies are still around in great numbers. Butterflies are as fascinating as birds, and their ability to find their way is just as amazing. Did you know that the Monarchs that return in the spring are the third and fourth generation of those that left in August. Their normal lifespan is only two months? Scientists are still researching how they find their way back. Their flight patterns seem to be inherited or they have an internal sun compass. It’s too bad they don’t have a better radar system to avoid smashing into car windshields.
This was Labor Day weekend, and it always brings back memories of how we would spend the “holiday” laboring in the tobacco fields. Heavy dew on September mornings, reminds me of harvesting tobacco. Early in the morning, the tobacco piles would be wet with dew when we began spearing. It was also cold enough to require a jacket. By noon it was usually t-shirt weather and really hot in the peak of the shed. September can’t seem to make up its mind which way to go.
Lets hope the fickle winds of September blow in some nice, warm, sunny weather on September 25th. That’s the day I walk our daughter down the aisle in an outdoor wedding ceremony in Waukesha. September is always a month of change and transformations. It’s quite fitting to have a wedding during this time of year.
I think fall is my favorite season. The weather is usually mild enough to still go around in short sleeves. It doesn’t take half an hour to put on all the clothes needed for a simple trip to the mailbox, like it does in the heart of winter. I love all the sights, sounds, and smells of fall. Take a walk or bike ride in the country and enjoy the brilliant fall colors, listen to the wind as it rattles the leaves of a field of golden corn, hear the crunching of new-fallen leaves under your feet, and drink in the aroma of the many fall smells. It’s a great time of year, even September, when the migration of birds and butterflies has begun, and the cold winds remind us that change is in the air.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Teachers Can Make A Difference
Across the Fence 303
School will be back in session by the time you read this. Teachers will be busy teaching and students will be listening intently to every word they say. I can “hear” all the teachers asking what planet I live on.
We’ve all had some good teachers and some “not so good” teachers along the way. Once in a while we even encounter a great teacher. These are teachers who have inspired us, have opened our minds, and created a fire in us to learn all that we can about life. I’ve had a few of those wonderful teachers. They made a difference in my life.
I’ve also had a couple of teachers who made me feel like I was the dumbest kid in class. It’s been proven time and again, that if you tell someone enough times that they’re dumb or can’t do something, they’ll begin to believe it and it becomes a reality. The same is true if you give someone encouragement and tell them they can do anything they set their mind to. Their confidence will begin to grow and you can sit back and watch them excel and achieve. A good teacher can make a big difference.
At our recent Smith School reunion, one of our teachers, Corrine (Fredrickson) Zable, mentioned that one of her teachers at the Normal School in Viroqua had been an inspiration to her. That teacher had given her confidence that she could be a teacher. We tend to forget that someone has to teach the students who are learning to be teachers.
The teacher, who had inspired and lit the fire in Corrine, was Naomi (Flugstad) Bekkum. It’s a small world, because Naomi has been a good friend of ours for many years. I never knew that she had been such an influence on Corrine, who was one of my teachers. I’ll put her in the “great teacher” category. I’m not alone in that evaluation. After listening to comments about Corrine at the reunion, it was easy to see that she had a positive impact on all of us who were lucky enough to have her as a teacher.
Now I find out that Naomi had been a big influence on her. I can’t help but think how much life is like a pebble that’s dropped in the water. The circles keep expanding outward, getting bigger, touching and impacting more people all the time. Never underestimate the impact your thoughts and actions may have on someone in the future, who doesn’t even know you.
Over the weekend, Naomi and her husband, Owen, were in Westby, and I had a chance to sit down with her and ask about her teaching career and what she remembered about Corinne, who had been one of her students.
Naomi grew up in Westby and I’ve known her family since I was young. After graduating from Westby High School she attended Luther College in Iowa, where she graduated with a bachelor’s degree in education. She taught for several years in Minnesota and Wisconsin, before being asked by the Vernon County Superintendent of Schools to come to Viroqua and teach at the Normal School, also known as the County Teacher’s College. She said it wasn’t an easy decision, because she was teaching elementary vocal music and high school choir in Richland Center, Wisconsin, and really loved it there.
Luckily, she decided to accept the position in Viroqua, where she taught English, Music, Art, Library, and was in charge of the year-end trip. I have a feeling that not what she taught, but how she taught, made a world of difference, not only to Corrine, but to countless other student teachers. This is where that circle keeps expanding. Her inspiring those student teachers had an impact on their students, and I suspect, that circle continues to expand and touch other people today. That’s why teaching is such an important profession. It’s too bad they aren’t paid what a professional athlete or Hollywood star is paid and vice versa. Our priorities are questionable in my mind.
I’ve always had a questioning mind. Maybe that’s why I was never good at mathematics. Instead of two plus two always equaling four, I’m looking for ways to find a different answer. I was lucky enough to have some teachers who allowed me to open my mind and search for answers, instead of just reciting old dogma. Those were great teachers, who allowed me to expand my horizons and thinking.
When Naomi told me about the year-end trip the student teachers took each year, I could relate. She was in charge of a school bus load of students for three weeks. The students raised the money for the trip, stayed in school gymnasiums at night, and brought canned food from home to eat. Each year was a different location. One year they headed west to Colorado, Wyoming, Yellowstone, and the Black Hills. Naomi said this was the first time many of them had been across the Mississippi bridge in La Crosse. It was a great history and geography lesson for them. They saw things they had only seen in books before. That life experience opened their eyes, expanded the circle, and made them better teachers. Those circles keep expanding.
If you have a teacher, who made a difference in your life, pick up the phone or write a letter and let them know.
School will be back in session by the time you read this. Teachers will be busy teaching and students will be listening intently to every word they say. I can “hear” all the teachers asking what planet I live on.
We’ve all had some good teachers and some “not so good” teachers along the way. Once in a while we even encounter a great teacher. These are teachers who have inspired us, have opened our minds, and created a fire in us to learn all that we can about life. I’ve had a few of those wonderful teachers. They made a difference in my life.
I’ve also had a couple of teachers who made me feel like I was the dumbest kid in class. It’s been proven time and again, that if you tell someone enough times that they’re dumb or can’t do something, they’ll begin to believe it and it becomes a reality. The same is true if you give someone encouragement and tell them they can do anything they set their mind to. Their confidence will begin to grow and you can sit back and watch them excel and achieve. A good teacher can make a big difference.
At our recent Smith School reunion, one of our teachers, Corrine (Fredrickson) Zable, mentioned that one of her teachers at the Normal School in Viroqua had been an inspiration to her. That teacher had given her confidence that she could be a teacher. We tend to forget that someone has to teach the students who are learning to be teachers.
The teacher, who had inspired and lit the fire in Corrine, was Naomi (Flugstad) Bekkum. It’s a small world, because Naomi has been a good friend of ours for many years. I never knew that she had been such an influence on Corrine, who was one of my teachers. I’ll put her in the “great teacher” category. I’m not alone in that evaluation. After listening to comments about Corrine at the reunion, it was easy to see that she had a positive impact on all of us who were lucky enough to have her as a teacher.
Now I find out that Naomi had been a big influence on her. I can’t help but think how much life is like a pebble that’s dropped in the water. The circles keep expanding outward, getting bigger, touching and impacting more people all the time. Never underestimate the impact your thoughts and actions may have on someone in the future, who doesn’t even know you.
Over the weekend, Naomi and her husband, Owen, were in Westby, and I had a chance to sit down with her and ask about her teaching career and what she remembered about Corinne, who had been one of her students.
Naomi grew up in Westby and I’ve known her family since I was young. After graduating from Westby High School she attended Luther College in Iowa, where she graduated with a bachelor’s degree in education. She taught for several years in Minnesota and Wisconsin, before being asked by the Vernon County Superintendent of Schools to come to Viroqua and teach at the Normal School, also known as the County Teacher’s College. She said it wasn’t an easy decision, because she was teaching elementary vocal music and high school choir in Richland Center, Wisconsin, and really loved it there.
Luckily, she decided to accept the position in Viroqua, where she taught English, Music, Art, Library, and was in charge of the year-end trip. I have a feeling that not what she taught, but how she taught, made a world of difference, not only to Corrine, but to countless other student teachers. This is where that circle keeps expanding. Her inspiring those student teachers had an impact on their students, and I suspect, that circle continues to expand and touch other people today. That’s why teaching is such an important profession. It’s too bad they aren’t paid what a professional athlete or Hollywood star is paid and vice versa. Our priorities are questionable in my mind.
I’ve always had a questioning mind. Maybe that’s why I was never good at mathematics. Instead of two plus two always equaling four, I’m looking for ways to find a different answer. I was lucky enough to have some teachers who allowed me to open my mind and search for answers, instead of just reciting old dogma. Those were great teachers, who allowed me to expand my horizons and thinking.
When Naomi told me about the year-end trip the student teachers took each year, I could relate. She was in charge of a school bus load of students for three weeks. The students raised the money for the trip, stayed in school gymnasiums at night, and brought canned food from home to eat. Each year was a different location. One year they headed west to Colorado, Wyoming, Yellowstone, and the Black Hills. Naomi said this was the first time many of them had been across the Mississippi bridge in La Crosse. It was a great history and geography lesson for them. They saw things they had only seen in books before. That life experience opened their eyes, expanded the circle, and made them better teachers. Those circles keep expanding.
If you have a teacher, who made a difference in your life, pick up the phone or write a letter and let them know.
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