Good Witch Or A Bad Witch?

Across the Fence #276

As Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz would say, “Are you a good witch or a bad witch?” In keeping with Across the Fence thinking, I would ask you, “Is that a good memory or a bad memory?”

I think the past is a little bit of both, depending on your feelings about where you’ve been and what you’ve experienced along the road of life.

A good friend recently wrote, “I love your column. It helps me think about the past, present, and future. I think we tend to mix the tenses, but there’s only one we can actually live in—the present. I’m reading a book about the Gold Rush to the Yukon. The book isn’t about longing for the good old days—it’s about living through those days and getting past them, to find the gold. It turns out, the gold has been inside us all the time.”

How right he is. It is inside us. How we view the past, present, and future is determined by our attitude and how we feel about life. Many people are so busy living in the past or waiting for the future to arrive, they miss out on living in the present. As most of you know, I’m still working. I hear so many people who can’t wait until they retire so they can start doing things. Then life will be great. The problem is, there’s no guarantee that there will be a future to enjoy. Maybe we all better start doing some things now.

During the past two months, I’ve lost several close friends, relatives, and family members of friends. Two of them occurred in the past few days. They spanned all age groups. Cancer, heart attacks, old age, and auto accidents were the enemies that cut them down. A few were expected and there was a relief that their suffering was over. Others were totally unexpected and it was a shock to receive the news. I especially think of two of them and how full of life they were. They weren’t living in the past or waiting for the future to arrive. They were enjoying the moment and making the best of it, because that’s all we really have.

Bill Woods made the best of his moments. He lost his battle with cancer this past weekend. He looked at his cancer as another challenge and fought hard. Bill had been a pilot and survived several close calls. He said he and our friend, Sid Podell, talked many times about death and dying. They both said they could “go any time” because they had good lives and had done everything they wanted. They died one year apart. Now Bill and Sid are both flying again, as their spirits soar free from the bodies that acted as vehicles for their spirit during this earthly journey.

Another friend was Jean Cheney Duesler. Jean’s heart gave out at the age of 85. I first remember her as an instructor in the nursing program that she helped develop at MATC in Madison, when I was an art student there. She had also been an instructor at the Madison General Hospital School of Nursing. I became a friend of her husband, Paul, who died several years ago. He was also an artist and writer, and we had a lot in common. He became a member of our Deadly Writer’s Patrol, a bunch of veterans who liked to write. We met once a week. When he became too weak from cancer to go out of the house, our writing group began meeting at their house in the Madison Arboretum. After his death, Jean insisted we continue meeting there each week.

Jean was a gifted writer of poetry, plays, and short stories. She had a heart of gold and wouldn’t hurt a fly. Her smile lit up a room. There again, the real gold is found within each person, it’s not some precious metal. Jean had many wonderful memories, as evidenced by her writing, but she lived in the present and made the most of it. She was an example of someone who wasn’t wasting a minute of her precious time on earth. She always maintained that nursing mentality, taking care of everybody. Our whole writing group thought the world of her.

I think too many people are hoping for a better life after this one ends, and forget to live and enjoy their present life. They waste much of the short time they have. Bill and Jean made the most of every day they were given.

How we view the past, present, and future is within each of us. It gets right back to Dorothy and the witches. Do we see life as a good witch or a bad witch? I think our attitude determines which one materializes and becomes reality for us.

Just like those miners, searching for gold in the Yukon, Dorothy and her companions were all searching for something; a brain, a heart, courage, and the way home. After much searching, each found the answer had been inside them all the time. Many of us spend a lot of time searching for something in our life, and forget to look within ourselves for the answers. When viewing your life, I hope you find good memories, good witches, a bright future, and plenty of gold inside you. Cherish yesterday, dream tomorrow, and live today!

Many Things Are Gone Forever

Across the Fence #275

Several recent stories seem to have touched the nerves of “Across the Fence” readers. I’ve received many letters and e-mails concerning the loss of quiet places and the way of life that so many of you grew up with. It reminded me of the words of Waheenee (Buffalo Bird Woman), a member of the Hidatsa in North Dakota. She was born around 1839 and died in 1932.

“I am an old woman now. The buffaloes and black-tail deer are gone, and our Indian ways are almost gone. Sometimes I find it hard to believe that I ever lived them. But for me, I cannot forget our old ways.

“Often in summer, I rise at day break and steal out to the corn fields, and as I hoe the corn I sing to it, as we did when I was young. No one cares for our corn songs now.

“Sometimes in the evenings I sit, looking out on the big Missouri. The sun sets, and dusk steals over the water. In the shadows I seem again to see our Indian village, with smoke curling upward from the earth lodges, and in the rivers roar, I hear the yells of our warriors, and the laughter of little children as of old.

“It is but an old woman’s dream. Then I see but the shadows and hear only the roar of the river, and tears come into my eyes. Our Indian life, I know, is gone forever.”

I find it sad that Buffalo Bird Woman reached the winter of her life and realized that the world as she had known it was gone, and would never return. I think many older people today are experiencing the same feelings. As I talked about in earlier columns, many changes have taken place during our lifetime. Most people wouldn’t want to go back to doing without things we’ve become accustomed to, but many of you expressed the feeling that you don’t think all the changes have been for the better. The world seems to be speeding through the cosmos at break-neck speed. Things are changing too fast for many of you, and just like Buffalo Bird Woman, you know that the world will never be the same as the one you grew up in.

Many of you were raised in a rural society. Barns, windmills, fences, milking cows, canning food from your own garden, rural schools, and outhouses, were part of your life. In the early days you didn’t have a television, computer, air conditioning, or cell phone, among countless other inventions. Many of you remember farming with horses before you had a tractor.

As I drive the country roads I notice all the old barns and farm buildings that now stand empty and are deteriorating. I wonder what stories we’d hear if those walls could talk? I think of our old barn that was demolished a year ago. Before it was torn down and buried, I wandered around in it, took many photos, and observed all the features that I had neglected to notice before. I realized that the old barn, and many others like it, are fast disappearing from the countryside.

The way of life that went on in those barns, not that many years ago, is gone forever on most farms. I close my eyes and listen: Gone is the sound of stanchions jangling as cows stretched to pilfer hay from a neighboring cow; gone is the sound of milk pails being emptied into a strainer; gone are the milk cans; gone is the sound of cow’s hoofs on cement as they hurried out the door after being milked; gone are most haymows piled full of bales; gone is the feeling of warmth in an old barn on a cold winter day.

I open my eyes and everything is quiet… and gone. The old barn is gone, the tobacco shed is gone, the chicken house is gone, the hog houses are gone, the granary is gone, the old log house is gone, the outhouse is gone, the windmill is gone, the cistern and pump are gone, most of the fences are gone, a way of life is gone… and it’s not coming back.

The evolution of life continues and changes with each generation. We can’t even imagine the many changes the next generation will see and experience. Our way of life will be as alien to them as the earth lodges of Buffalo Bird Woman are to our generation.

In the twilight shadows I see again the old buildings of our farm. I see the smoke curling up from the chimney of the old house I was raised in and hear the “putt, putt, putt” of the old John Deere tractors. Then, like Buffalo Bird Woman, I see only shadows where the past used to live.

Within those shadows of a disappearing way of life, we find some wonderful memories begin to emerge, like a beautiful butterfly from a cocoon. The overwhelming response I received from readers is that they cherish those memories and are glad they had the opportunity to live during that period. It was a hard, physical life, but it was a good life, where families worked together, and neighbors helped neighbors. That way of life may soon be gone, but it still lives on in all of us who were there.

Country Teacher Made A Difference

Across thew Fence #274

Corrine Zable has made a difference in many lives. She’ll always be “Miss Fredrickson” to those of us who had her as a teacher at Smith, our one room school, south of Westby. She grew up on a farm west of Viroqua and attended Vernon County Teacher’s College in Viroqua. I found out that another friend, Naomi (Flugstad) Bekkum, was one of her teachers there. Naomi also has fond memories of Corrine as a student and knew she would make a great teacher.

Corrine reads “Across the Fence” and I recently asked her for some of her recollections about teaching in rural schools. I hope her stories stir some memories in all of you who attended one-room schools.

Corrine said: “Valentine’s Day was a day when the mothers came to school in the afternoon! You kids helped me serve them coffee and a treat, so for once, they could just come and not have to bring something for a treat. Valentine’s Day meant ‘spring is nearly here!’ The hours of daylight were much longer and morning began earlier as well. It was a delightful time of year, for sure!! Kids made many of the Valentines they gave to each other. The smiles on some faces could tell which boy or girl was special to them, but no one was mean and nobody sent nasty valentines; nobody was left out.

“During my first year at Smith School, there were 29 students—some in every grade! You were a wonderful group of kids. I look back and smile and know you all gave me more than I gave you! I had taken a class for one credit at La Crosse—Folk dancing! All of you kids were such fun. As part of our music class, you kids cooperated without question and even seemed to enjoy learning how to dance; we must have had some music to dance by. That I've forgotten, but recall how you all were so cute doing the Virginia Reel!

“I recall when the three board members came to talk with me and asked what I would need that would help me in my work. I told them how much I could use an FM radio so we could tune in and learn from the programs given by the UW in Madison. They were so kind and helpful, as were ALL the parents in the community! Back then, people in charge went to the grass roots, listened, and learned from the people who knew what was needed.

“Mr. Sund, the County Supervisor, visited our school from time to time. He, too, was helpful. You kids did so many drawings, wrote poems, and did beautiful artwork for me to display. Each of you seemed pleased with one another’s good work. Mr. Sund noticed this too, but he said perhaps we put up too many things on the walls and bulletin boards! I wish I had saved some of the poems and writings you kids did! You also had fun adding more verses to songs such as Sweet Betsy from Pike.

“My mother used to say, ‘Get an education, because no one can take that away from you.’ One day while teaching at Smith School, an older fellow stopped by to see the school, and tell me that, years ago, he had taught school there. While chatting away, he told about the problem he had with one family. The kids were always missing school to work on the farm! ‘Finally,’ he said, ‘I went to their home and talked to their dad about the kids missing so much school.’ After listening to him the father said, ‘What do you think we had these kids for?’ I doubt that was ever a problem in later years, when most parents knew their children needed an education, as times changed.

“Children need to learn how to think. How right you are about finding a quiet place without noise. Maybe it’s the farm kids of some years ago, who cherish the quiet places? It’s the quiet places where our minds have a chance to hear what we’re thinking. This reminds me of a quote from Henry Ford that I liked to post in my classroom. He said, ‘Thinking is hard work. That's why so few people do it.’ A lot of noise blots out one’s thinking. I’m sorry for youngsters who, in today’s world, have a hard time finding a quiet place to think.

Corrine said it was a very sad time when she gave up her job at Smith School to go back to college to finish her four-year degree. “I know teaching a roomful of children in all grades was a time consuming job, with hours of preparation, and lots of energy, but it was a wonderful time!”

She said students made drawings on the side blackboard, where special sayings were written from time to time, such as this quote by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow: “Lives of great men all remind us we can make our lives sublime. And, departing, leave behind us footprints on the sands of time.”

Teachers can inspire young kids to reach for the stars and be all they can be. She certainly did that with us and prepared a bunch of country kids to excel in high school, college, work, and life. “Miss Fredrickson” has certainly left, and continues to leave, some very big footprints in the sands of time.

Decoding Those Valentine Messages

Across the Fence #273

Poor old Charlie Brown. How many times did he go to the mailbox in hopes of finding a valentine from the little red-haired girl that he had a crush on, but every time he checked, the mailbox was empty? Poor old Charlie Brown. I think he would have settled for any valentine from anyone, but his heart was always broken. Maybe the postal service misplaced his valentines.

Luckily, we never had to suffer through the agony that Charlie Brown went through. At our rural school, everyone received valentines. I recently saw a photo of some of those cutout valentines from the 1950’s. They were just like the ones I remember giving and receiving. There were usually around twenty students at Smith School and we gave a valentine to each student.

Ma would buy a pack of cards that contained many different designs. If I remember right, they only had printing on one side, and each card was die-cut around the design. The guys got generic verses from us, but we took special care in picking out the design and verse for the girls. It wasn’t a big deal when you were younger, but the older you got, the more important the right card was, especially if it was for a girl you liked. If you wanted, you could write an endearing message on the blank side, such as: Roses are red, violets are blue, you walk like a duck and you quack like one too. You have to understand that a derogatory poem or message on the card meant that you liked that person. Confusing, isn’t it?

At school, each of us decorated a shoebox and cut a slit in the top. On Valentine’s Day, each person put the card they had picked out for that person into their box. Remember, those individual cards didn’t come with envelopes. You had to be careful in delivering your valentines because you didn’t want anyone else to see what kind of card you’d picked out for someone. In a small school, everyone knew who each person liked or didn’t like, so I don’t know why it had to be such a big secret. There were no secrets in rural schools. I guess it was all part of the game we played. You never wanted to come right out and say you liked someone. We always had to beat around the bush, and pretend we didn’t care.

After we got home from school we opened our decorated valentine’s box and examined our cards. This was usually done in secret, although Ma always had to see our cards too. I’d try to analyze the cards from the girls to see if it looked like any of them liked me. The design of each card and the message were checked out. It was like symbologist Robert Langdon in The De Vinci Code trying to decipher the codes as he searched through cryptic messages.

Just like good old Charlie Brown, my heart was crushed if a girl I liked gave me a very generic card or wrote a cryptic message that I walked like a duck. I have to admit, I was very pigeon-toed when I was in grade school. It’s one of those wonderful genes I inherited. Luckily, that got corrected when I broke my leg in football. Just because you get a bad “break” in life, doesn’t mean that something good can’t come out of it. But, if I was pigeon-toed, why did they say that I walked like a duck? They should have said, “you walk like a pigeon and you coo like one too.” That would have made more sense. I think even Robert Langdon would have a hard time sorting through all the clues in our valentines.

Life becomes very confusing for young boys when they begin to discover an attraction toward girls who had just been school playmates up until that time. Most of us would pretend we didn’t like a girl even if our heart was racing when we were around her. It must be a guy thing. When we chose up sides for a game, we always picked the object of our infatuation, while loudly denying that she was a girlfriend when teased about her. There seems to be an innocence and excitement in youth that’s often lost, as we get older.

Another piece of the valentine puzzle is candy. Do you remember those little heart-shaped candies with words on them? They’ve been a part of Valentine’s Day since the Civil War and they’re still as much a part of the day as flowers and chocolate candy. You can buy and sort through the various messages until you find just the right ones to give to the girl you’re sweet on.

Here’s a side of the valentine puzzle you may not have heard about. In the Middle Ages it was felt that birds chose their mates on February 14th. So that day has been considered the official mating day for centuries. I guess I better keep an eye on our birds on Valentine’s Day and see if there’s any truth in that story.

Another thing to think about as we decode the valentine puzzle; if roses are so symbolic of romance and love, then why the thorns?

One more thing, when you get your valentine card this year, don’t try to decode the message, just enjoy it!

Searching for a Quiet World

Across the Fence #272

As I was snowshoeing on the trails at Norskedalen near Coon Valley, the silence that surrounded me was very welcome after a hectic week. I was the only person in the whole place on a beautiful Saturday morning when hoarfrost covered the trees and transformed everything into a winter wonderland. As I hiked uphill and down, across streams, and watched deer watching me, I started thinking about how much our world has changed in the last 100 years.

Lets time travel back to the early 1900s and visit the average home in America. It was a much quieter world. Most people had never seen or heard an automobile. The Ford Model T didn’t arrive on the scene until 1908. Only five years before that, the Wright brothers flew the first flight of their airplane at Kitty Hawk. Think how much those two inventions changed transportation around the world.

The first commercial radio broadcast didn’t occur until 1920, only 90 years ago. Before that time, people couldn’t sit around and listen to the radio to get the latest news and listen to entertainment. There wasn’t a radio in most homes until many years after that. When do you remember first listening to a radio?

The first talking movie, “The Jazz Singer,” came out in 1927, 83 years ago. Does anyone remember the silent movies or seeing this first talking movie? If you’re in your 90’s you may have seen it as a child. The movies have come a long way since then.

Television didn’t arrive in most homes until the 1950’s. I think we got our first TV around 1954. Before that time, the evenings were relatively quiet in the house. There was conversation, reading books, and playing games. Evenings in the summer, after chores were done, were spent sitting on the lawn under the maple tree because it was too hot in the house. Air conditioning wasn’t invented until 1932, and I don’t remember anyone with an air conditioner in their home, even in the 1960’s. When was the first time you encountered air-conditioning and what did you think? Now we even drive in the air-conditioned comfort of our cars. Our ancestors must be rolling in their graves when they see what wimps we’ve become.

Another invention that has changed the world is the computer. The first one (ENIAC) was built in 1945. I’m older than the computer age! I probably got my first computer around 1989. It completely changed the way I did my business. It must have been like a farmer going from farming with horses to using a tractor.

The Sony Walkman came along in 1979. Then we could not only listen to music in our homes and cars, but we could carry it with us everywhere we went. Now we have iPods, cell phones, and other devices that we carry with us. Instead of listening to the music of the wind in the trees and birds singing, people are tuned into the latest music blasting in their earphones, while out walking.

Think about all the items I’ve mentioned. Most have injected artificial sounds and noise into our daily life. Before the advent of radios, televisions, iPods, Walkmans, stereos, phonographs, Boom Boxes, telephones, cell phones, and numerous other sound devices, what did most people do? Perhaps they talked to each other. Can you older, or should I say, “more mature” crowd remember back to what it was like before television? Maybe some of you even remember when you didn’t have a radio in your home.

Think what a difference the addition of all these items that make noise have made in your home. I’ll bet that in most places, the television is constantly on when people are present. I notice the difference when I’m trying to write this column. Noise, and even music, can be a distraction. I can do some of my best thinking while on a walk or sitting someplace in nature where only natural sounds are heard.

Author Jerry Apps and I share a fondness for the words and thoughts of Henry David Thoreau. Jerry wrote in a recent blog, “Though his writing is sometimes difficult to grasp, these words by Thoreau, written in 1854, continue to resonate with me: ‘In wilderness is the preservation of the world.’ Those words were important in Thoreau’s day; they are even more important today. So I sit and read and ponder the layers of meaning in Thoreau’s writing, and their application to today’s frantic world.”

I also ponder those things whenever I get a chance. They came to the forefront as I hiked through the silent, snow-filled woods at Norskedalen. Snow softens everything, even sounds. Snow rounds off the sharp edges of the world and adds light to the dark places. There’s a peacefulness found in nature that’s hard to find in the world we’ve created with all the man-made sounds. Granted, not everyone likes the solitude of the small areas of wilderness that remain. Maybe that’s why I found myself alone in the woods in Norskedalen on a beautiful winter day when I thought more people would have been out enjoying the day. I like to think that this is the world my ancestors found when they came from Norway, a quiet, peaceful, picturesque world. There are still pieces of that world left if you look for them.

Trust Me, I Know What I'm Doing

Across the Fence #271

I had a dream. Well, it was more of a nightmare. I still have them every once in a while. They’re always Vietnam related. Many of them involve me being drafted again and back in Vietnam because the war is still raging. It usually has something to do with the army being short of medics so they’re calling up old buggers like me because we have experience.

Up until the other night, one of my more interesting dreams involved Roy Rogers. I had been drafted and sent to Vietnam again, where I was assigned to my old 4th Infantry unit. I was really ticked about it until I found out my Sergeant would be Roy Rogers. One night we were on an ambush patrol when we realized we were completely surrounded by the enemy. We could hear them out there in the dark as they crawled closer and closer. There were only six of us and it seemed like there were hundreds of them when they all opened up on us. We sat in a small circle, back to back, as bullets flew all around us. But, I wasn’t afraid because Roy Rogers was on our side. As they closed in on us, I woke up, so I don’t know if we survived or not! With Roy on our side, we must have won the battle.

The other night I had my most interesting nightmare. You guessed it. I was back in Vietnam again. We were getting ready to head out to the boonies for several days on another ambush patrol. My old buddy, Big Lee from California, was also a part of this adventure. As we were packing up, blackening our faces with camouflage, and loading our M-16 magazines, Big Lee said, “I’m getting tired of us going out there and getting shot at all the time. It seems like they always know where we are.”

“I know what you mean,” I said, “But I’ve got a plan.”

When we showed up at the chopper that would fly us to our drop-off point, I was ready. Big Lee took one look at me and said, “Doc, what the H… do you think you’re doing in that?”

“Trust me,” I told him. “I know what I’m doing.” I was dressed for battle in my deer hunting outfit. I was wearing my blaze orange coveralls, blaze orange stocking cap, and blaze orange gloves. I ‘d even tied blaze orange strips on my rucksack. You can’t go deer hunting without your long underwear, so I had put them on too. By the way, the temperature was approaching 100 degrees as we prepared to board the chopper, and I was already sweating profusely.

The other four patrol members arrived, Elmer Wischmeier, Harlan Springborn, Larry Skolos, and Don Hanson. Elmer from Missouri, said, “What the h…’s going on here. Is it Halloween already? Has Doc lost his marbles?”

“Trust me,” I told Elmer. “I know what I’m doing. Back in Wisconsin when we go deer hunting, everyone has to wear blaze orange so other hunters can see us and not shoot at us. Trust me. It works.” They all just shook their heads in disgust.

After the chopper dropped us off, we headed out single file into the brush. After walking for a couple hours, we came to what appeared to be an old, overgrown railroad bed. It looked very familiar. We followed it and came to a marshy area. As we began crossing to the other side, we came under heavy fire from the wooded area at the edge of the marsh. We dropped into the wet marsh and crawled for any cover we could find. Big Lee and I settled in behind a big log and started returning fire.

As I sighted my M-16 over the log, the area in front of me looked just like the edge of the marsh in Tanner Flowage near Black River Falls, Wisconsin. That’s why the old railroad bed had looked so familiar. We had hunted deer in that area for many years when I was young. I didn’t see any deer now, but the woods was full of guys in black, all shooting at us. It seemed like every one of them had zeroed in on me. The bark began peeling off the log as bullets slammed into it. Bullets were stripping the leaves and branches from the small trees around us. We just hunkered down behind the log hoping they’d run out of ammunition. I was sweating profusely from all the heavy clothes. An explosion shook the ground nearby. Now they were lobbing mortar rounds on us too. They came whistling in and exploded all around me. That’s when I realized I was all alone.

I looked around and saw my patrol buddies, Big Lee, Elmer, Harlan, Larry, and Don, sitting and relaxing in the shade of a nearby tree. They had broken out their c-rations and were eating and watching the fireworks, all directed at me. No one was shooting at them.

Then I heard Big Lee yelling to me above the din of the battle. “Hey Doc, you were right when you said we should trust you. Nobody’s shooting at us. This is great! You gotta’ wear your deer huntin’ outfit more often.” “Amen to that, brother,” the others yelled!

That’s when I woke up.

Snowshoeing In A Winter Woods photos