Letter To Sister and Daughters

Okay, here's the deal. Some of you will understand, some of you will roll your eyes and say, "Oh MOM!" Just so you know up front that I do realize...

Here's what happened:

First Page:

It's time for me to pay the property taxes on the Studio so I went up to the courthouse to do that. It was more than I had thought so I had to go to my bank and hope there was enough money in my other account to make up the difference. Turns out I needn't have bothered as the money was already there in the account it needed to be in; almost the exact amount I needed for the taxes had been added to that account and I DID NOT DO IT.

I almost hit the floor on my knees then and there, let me tell you. Relief and gratitude vied for the upper hand; neither won. I'm still kind of in shock. The tax money did not have to come out of my budget at ALL.

Second Page:

I finally got the little S10 pickup paid for so Mary and I went to Harvey to see if we could at least test the battery to see if it was maybe going to be all right once it got charged (otherwise I'd have to buy a new battery). I had talked to the guy I bought it from so we could get the keys; he was out of town and he said the keys were locked in his house so we were just going to check it over as best we could without them. We got there, checked the battery, put cables on it to charge it, and it seemed to be hopeful that it would work. When I checked inside one last time, for no logical reason, the KEYS WERE HANGING IN THE IGNITION. However it did not start when I tried it. At least it didn't until I tried pushing the clutch in, LOL.

Since the tires needed air we went looking for a can of air, just enough to get that one tire up so I could drive it to a gas station to finish filling it. We found no can of air, but Mary's eagle eye spied a portable air tank (on sale for fifteen bucks). A quick stop at the gas station got her car's tank filled and the air tank filled as well.

Back we went to the S10, got air into the low tire, stopped back at the gas station to top off the others, and headed out to the farm to finish charging the battery with their charger. Meanwhile, BIL Brian was coaching us via phone.

We took the S10 for a test drive on the back country roads, drove down a prairie trail, and took it across a field or two (checking the 4WD which works great) and it performed just fine.

Side note: I was running on empty myself from having gotten two hours of rest the day before and three hours that morning.  Mary fed me good stuff and a lot of it.  Kudos to her and Brian, again and again and again !!!

Page Three:

When I was at the courthouse one of my favorite people, whom I call Texas, said she had just mailed me a letter to see if she could buy my Studio. I told her I'd sell her the house instead, so we'll see what happens with that.

Anyway, my point is that God is GOOD; I credit Him with having gotten the tax money into the right account (and no I did not request it to go into that account - all deposits go through my OTHER account) just when I needed it; I credit Him with making the timing of me getting the S10 at EXACTLY the time my car seems to have gone kerplooey once and for all; I credit Him with having Mary's eye land on that air tank and not just pass over it; I credit Him with Texas being just at the time and place where I would run into her.

Taken separately, maybe coincidence explains it; taken together, the past couple of days, to me, renew my faith.

When Someone says "Be still and know that I am God" listening and obeying is a good thing to do.

Just sayin' ...

Love you, Remember the Rules (safety, respect, kindness)

SheMom

A man asks God: Why do women cry so easily?

My friend Twyla finds these things and posts them on Facebook; most of them make me cry and all of them make me grateful to have a friend like her. 

Twyla Delzer

A little boy asked his mother, "Why are you crying?" "Because I'm a woman," she told him. "I don't understand," he said. His Mom just hugged him and said, "And you never will."

"All women cry for no reason," was all his dad could say. The little boy grew up and became a man, still wondering why women cry.

Finally he put in a call to God.

When God got on the phone, he asked, "God, why do women cry ...so easily?"

God said: "When I made the woman she had to be special. I made her shoulders strong enough to carry the weight of the world, yet gentle enough to give comfort.

I gave her an inner strength to endure childbirth and the rejection that many times comes from her children.

I gave her a hardness that allows her to keep going when everyone else gives up, and take care of her family through sickness and fatigue without complaining.

I gave her the sensitivity to love her children under any and all circumstances, even when her child has hurt her very badly.

I gave her strength to carry her man through his faults and fashioned her from his rib to protect his heart.

I gave her wisdom to know that a good man never hurts his woman, but sometimes tests her strengths and her resolve to stand beside him unfaulteringly.

And finally, I gave her a tear to shed. This is hers exclusively to use whenever it is needed."

"You see my son," said God, "the beauty of a woman is not in the clothes she wears, the figure that she carries, or the way she combs her hair. The beauty of a woman must be seen in her eyes, because that is the doorway to her heart - the place where love resides."

Wooly Bears

These Little Guys are Supposed to be Predictors About Winter

Tradition has it that these caterpillars are indicators of the winter to come. 

This year I was beginning to worry about the little guys as I hadn't seen ANY.  I was afraid the cold flooding of the spring and summer had killed them all off.

Needless to say I was greatly relieved to find these while mowing Duke's yard at the Studio on September 8th, 2011. 

The story is that the earlier they show up, the larger they are, and the more narrow the band of brown around their middles, the harder and longer the winter will be. 

The year of the historic snowfall of winter and the historic flood of the Red River of the North the following spring, I started seeing them in June. 

Last year it was July and we had a rough winter. 

This year it's September.  These wooly bears are about average in length, not too fat, not too skinny, and their belly bands are about normal.  That they haven't shown up until September gives me hope.  According to my little friends, this year's winter won't be as bad as last year's. 

Everyone says this winter is going to be worse than last winter.

I'm hoping the Wooly Bears are right and everyone else is wrong.

My Sister's Farm: DAKOTA MORNING

Dakota Morning Farm is where Mary Kittelson lives and works.  A typical sunrise finds her outside, whether it is a stunningly beautiful summer sunrise or no actual sunrise at all because a blizzard is in progress. 

She steps outside her door and is surrounded before it closes behind her.  Dogs, cats, a goose or two, maybe a horse if one has managed to open the gate again and of course any of the kids who aren’t in with the rest of the herd yet. 

Kids indeed.  These kids technically belong to the goat does who gave birth to them, but they are Mary’s kids.  She laughs and says, “I tell my sons they’ve been replaced by goats!”  The goats require about the same amount of attention as raising children, maybe more. 

Suffering from ‘empty nest syndrome’ in the spring of 2005, Mary figured out a way to help ease it.  She noticed the big barn, on the farmstead where she and her husband Brian Kittelson live, was also suffering from ‘empty nest syndrome’.  She began thinking of ways to fill it up.  Filling up her time was also a goal. 

After some research Mary Kittelson decided to try dairy goats.  She narrowed her field further to the Alpine breed, a mountain goat that can take the North Dakota weather.  She found a source in Minnesota, ordered two registered does (females) and one wether (neutered male) via the internet. 

The barn got cleaned and renovated in anticipation of its new occupants.  Fences got fixed and reinforced.  Goats can and will climb, jump, go under and through just about any obstacle.  Mary grins and chuckles, saying, “If you can’t find your goat, look on top of your vehicle!” 

After picking up the ‘babies’ Mary bottle fed them and watched them grow and become bonded with her.  They also bond with their guardian dog Athena, a Great Pyrenees who takes her responsibility seriously.  It’s in her breeding, and she lives up to the reputation for protectiveness of her charges.  Nobody’s going to hurt HER kids! 

When the does got old enough, Mary ordered a registered Alpine buck.  Her herd is now 28 goats strong and she has been selling some of them. 

Goats are versatile.  They are used for meat, milk, and cheese.  They can be trained to be pack animals for camping/hiking expeditions.  Mary mentions, “I want to train them to carry my tools and supplies for me when I go out to fix fence.”

A goat makes a wonderful 4H project.  A wether from a breed used for meat would be the best choice for a project as it can be sold at the end of the season.  Registered animals are not required for 4H projects. 

Goats also make great professional companions for race horses, a tradition that got started for a good reason. It works.  A goat can calm another animal, provide the soothing ‘herd animal’ contact for a more high-strung companion.  Mary suggests that’s where the phrase ‘get your goat’ comes from.  A horse might become upset if someone stole his security blanket, and not run as well. 

Mary milks the does daily.  Her original two does give her more than a gallon per day each. 

The milk is used for feeding the kids after pasteurization, to meet Mary’s strict rules for keeping every step in her program sanitary.  It’s also healthier for them and is a natural way of socializing them with humans.  Since the kids don’t require all the milk produced Mary drinks some of it, gives some away, and makes soap with some of it. 

Goat milk produced at Dakota Morning Farm comes from goats that have never been given antibiotics.  Kittelson chooses holistic treatments for any problems, using natural salves and adding nothing that is not natural to treatments or feed. 

Goat milk is very similar to cow milk but much more easily digested.  The smaller size of the particles makes the difference.  Studies on Crohn’s Disease have shown that one of the factors in the smaller rate of occurrence in Europe as opposed to the United States is the customary use of goat milk in the general population.  Statistically it seems to decrease the chance of developing the disease, and also can decrease the symptoms. 

In most places in the United States raw (unpasteurized) milk can’t be marketed, including North Dakota at the present time.  It can be used by individuals, however.  The most common use is soap-making.

The home-made soap is high in glycerin, which is a humectant that draws moisture to the skin.  It is very mild, has none of the harsh chemicals of a detergent-based bar of soap.  The natural fat particles of goat milk soften skin. 

Kittelson would like to address some rumors regarding goats.  “Goats have gotten a bum rap,” she says.  “They do not eat tin cans, for example.  As for stinking, a buck in rut is the only time that happens! They do, however, prefer flowers to grass, so use a fence!”

Goats need to be properly cared for, trained, socialized, and perhaps most importantly well-fenced!  As pets, the best place for them is outside.  While Mary brings new-born kids into her home for feeding and socialization, as soon as they’re able to get up onto the couch out they go!  Goats require regular hoof-trimming, and should be de-horned at a young age.  They love attention from their people and respond in kind.

“Goats are the funnest, most personable, loving and kind animals,” says Kittelson.  “I had eleven kids in the house.  One of them had a problem with her back leg strength and couldn’t get up onto her feet.  One of the others was ALWAYS with her, not always the same one.  It’s like they took turns keeping her company while she couldn’t get up to play with them.  She was never left all alone.  And the buck will protect the herd.”

Athena, the Great Pyrenees in charge of the farmyard, is an effective backup for the protective buck.  She’s big, beautiful, and instinctively knows her business.  She’s friendly and happy to meet new people, but until she’s sure there’s no threat to her charges, she will somehow manage to remain between a visitor and those she’s there to protect. 

Dakota Morning Farm is a great place to visit.  You can contact Mary at dakotamorning@gmail.com if you'd like.  Watching the goats at play is a treat; they're very photogenic.  Some are outright hams!

Nine Eleven

Ten years ago  there was no time for me to cry; we were re-building part of an Interstate highway and under the (almost) silent sky we listened to radio reports of the unfolding of the day's events and somehow managed to just keep doing what we had to be doing. 

At least the drivers and others listened.  My radio was turned off shortly after reports started coming in; I couldn't listen and continue working.  It didn't take long for the drivers to stop their radio chatter about it, or for them to stop up-dating me.  Being one of very few women on the project I reckon they were 1) being protective; and 2) following orders to prevent me from falling apart and effectively shutting down operations.

Now the tears come, as they have come on this date in other years.  Because now I can weep. 

Part of it is grief, for the ones lost and their families.  Part of it is mourning the loss of a sort of innocence that day shattered for me.  Part of it is sentimental patriotism, the kind that makes my eyes leak every time I see a flag being saluted, or hear our National Anthem.  Part of it is pride for the heroes of the day, for the crew I was working with that day, for all of us who felt that tragedy in our country as we have felt other tragedies before and since, to the DNA in our cells, because we are Americans.  Because we do what we have to do no matter what. 

You can put us down, you can shoot us down, you can take us down, but YOU CAN NOT KEEP US DOWN.

We the People will ALWAYS get back up again.  No matter what.  We may go to our knees, but we'll stay there only just long enough to say a prayer before we're on our feet taking our stand.   

Anyone who thinks otherwise doesn't know the same farmers that I know.  They don't know the same construction workers, the same women and children, the same ordinary everyday Americans that I know. 

Until that day I had never really had reason to wonder about the patriotism, or the readiness to bear arms in defense of the United States, of the ordinary everyday Americans around me.  I suppose I just took it for granted. 

That day I learned not to take it for granted.  By the end of that day, NOBODY had to wonder.

On my way home from work to my daughters that evening I stopped for gas.  There were more than the usual number of people at the gas station.  On that evening there was none of the usual bantering, no laughter, no jokes, not a smile to be seen.  The faces of those people were not afraid.  They were not overtly angry.  The faces I saw that day and that evening, and in the following days, were not in shock.  They were steady on, quietly determined, and they were the faces of ordinary everyday Americans  who were very READY.  Ready for anything that anyone wanted to throw at them.

I heard discussions about weapons and ammunition.  I saw nods of approval when the airforce planes (the only movement in our sky) made themselves known.  North Dakota has two air bases, one in Minot and one in Grand Forks.  I listened to snatches of conversations about family preparedness plans. 

What I did not see that day or in the days following is an impressive testament to ordinary everyday Americans.  I did not see weeping and wailing.  I did not see anyone cowering in fear.  I did not see anyone throwing tantrums of rage. 

Yes there was anger, and there was rage, but it wasn't loud.  It wasn't the yelling and screaming kind of anger.  It was that quiet deadly rage that ought to instill fear in anyone in the cross-hairs.  Nobody was going to go off half-cocked, but everyone had their finger on the trigger. 

I would venture to wager (if I were a gambling sort of person) that there are as many weapons in ND as there are people, maybe more - and that's not counting the military presence. 

Until that day it was another thing I had never really given much thought to.  Everyone hunts; that's been sort of a given for all of my life.  Deer, varmints, birds ... whatever.  That's just the way it is.  Bows, black powder, shotguns, rifles - they're not exactly uncommon in this neck of the woods.  It's nice to know that our people are ready willing and able to use them for defense as well as sustenance.

Just sayin' ...

When I got home that evening, I gathered my girls close.  Because that was what making it through that day was all about.  That's the bottom line, for me and for everyone else.  Our children, our families.  As indivuals, as a whole, as a people, as a nation - just as our families have done since they came here to develop and sustain this country, We the People stand ready.  Woe to anyone who doubts us. 

Just in case anyone is wondering, it's not just the military of the United States that has the right to bear arms.  We PREFER peace and prosperity for all, liberty and justice for all.  We are not apt to up and start blasting away for no good reason.  But be assured that, pushed too far, triggers will be fingered and safeties will be off. 

That's one lesson I learned ten years ago on this day, from ordinary everyday Americans much like myself.  Cold hard faces with hot dry eyes are reassuring to those they shelter; they are to be feared by those who threaten.

The grieving for the lost ones never really stops, you know.  It pops up at odd moments out of the blue, just as that day seemed to.  We do not forget those who are gone from us.  What we do is find a way to remember them, to honor them, that is worthy.  Each of us has a life to live, one moment at a time to give, to pay homage to those who are gone on ahead as well as to show respect to our selves and others. 

That Friday we had gotten word from management that there would be no pause in our day, at the time set aside for America to silently acknowledge and reflect on the events of that day, regardless of what we wanted.

When the time came I got on the business radio and announced that the scale was closed for thirty minutes.  Just that, no explanation, no embellishment, no reason.  I expected the trucks to start piling up but they didn't.  Later the reason came clear.  None of the drivers, not one, failed to immediately stop wherever he was.  My end of the project was shut down.  The operator of the milling equipment, on the other end of the project, had come to the same conclusion that I had and had stopped his eqiupment, and his end of the project, at the same moment I had shut down the scale.  We were worlds apart, for all practical purposes.  I don't think I ever laid eyes on the man, and the only communication between us was that I think I asked the drivers to get a message to him from me, a simple two word message:  Thank you.

There was never a word of remonstrance from management, it was not ever mentioned again, but we had our thirty minutes of reflective silence regardless of what the bosses wanted.  At the end of the thirty minutes, everything resumed immediately as we all carried on as usual. 

That's another thing I learned.  By our collective will, we took those few moments to honor our country, our fellow-Americans, and each other.  We didn't discuss it, we didn't debate it, we didn't sit down and talk about planning it; we just did it.  Two people making independent personal choices - and the collective will of everyone else involved - got the desired result. 


It was a very small thing in the much larger picture, but it is of such small things that bigger things are made. 


Everywhere across our country, at that particular time on that particular day, everyone had a personal choice to make:  to take a few moments for reflection or not to. 


I had no way of knowing that I was not alone; I did it anyway.  I chose.  Every one of us on that project chose. 


Ordinary everyday Americans chose and, in the choosing, took their stand. 


Let it be remembered. 


Remember nine eleven. 


Remember the ones lost.  Remember the silent sky.  Remember the cold hard faces and the hot dry eyes.  Remember the quiet rage.  Remember the choices of the ordinary everyday Americans. 


We do remember. 


We choose to remember.  We choose.  We the People.  We do the choosing. 

Coping With a Storm

What used to be a grain bin lies near the underpass at the east side of Fessenden. Trees and tree branches have been displaced from where they’re supposed to be. The water that flowed over curbs abated quickly, leaving the debris of leaves and small branches behind for home-owners to pick up.

Water also flooded the underpass, which was closed for a time to assure safety while the drains did their job.

Several places in Fessenden will have new landscaping due to the sudden absence of the trees that once provided grace and beauty as well as shade.

The city park got a dousing and the golf course lost a few trees.

Part of City Hall’s new roof took a flying leap.

Now there are blue skies with some clouds; the storm was short-lived but savage in its intensity. 

Fessenden people take it in stride. In this neck of the woods (although there are few woods, and apparently Mother Nature has chosen to subtract a few more) storms are not uncommon.

Undaunted, as soon as the skies clear, people are busy picking up the pieces and putting them away. Chain saws are also not uncommon. Pickups and trailers are put to good use and the city dump will get another large pile of storm-related debris. 

A man pauses in his clean-up efforts. “I saw that the tree in the next door yard was down, then looked out in my front yard and one of mine was down too,” he says.  “The wind sounded like a big train going by.”  He laughs and adds, “I was going to take down those two other trees, and now this one is gone. I don’t know if I’ll still take out the others or not.” The truck he has standing by is filling with branches, not the first load to go out to the dump.

Another man says he was lucky.  “Only lost this one big branch.” The remains of the branch fill a pickup bed, another load for the dump. 

One couple has a new look for one of their evergreens.  The wind broke the top off and dropped it in their yard.  With the help of a niece, they glove up and get busy cutting and carrying to load a trailer.  It will be yet another dump run for them. 

A woman looks at a neighbor’s tree, now caught in one of hers.  She says, “The wind was blowing in exactly the right direction for that tree to catch the one that went down. It could have landed on the house instead.” The sidewalk is broken from the tree’s roots tearing out of the ground beside it.

South of town one of a local farmer’s new bins lies in ruins. A few miles down the road and around the corner another one has taken a hit.  The bins will have to be replaced as mending them is impossible. 

After this storm, as after many, the goal is clear:  clean up the mess and get on with life as usual. 

The City Work Boss gets busy with the street sweeper to neaten up the community’s streets while residents cut and carry big branches or trees, pick up twigs that litter their yards, mow lawns, and fill holes left by now absent tree roots. 

“What the heck, it’s just another storm,” says one resident.  “We can cope with this.  We’ve had to cope with lots worse things and we’re still standing.  We have to be strong and so we are.  We help each other when we need it.  That’s all there is to it.” 

Dakota Harvest Bee

An old-fashioned Harvest Bee took place August 24, 2010 near Chaseley, North Dakota. Wells County did itself proud though the efforts of a number of friends of the Heintz family. Mother, Lorraine Heintz, and son Henry Heintz, farm near Chaseley.  Lorraine’s health condition has kept the family busy traveling in search of treatments. Friends, aware of the stress, have pitched in to offer support.

Londa and Rick Neumiller of Bowdon; Tom Nudd, Bruce and Lexi LaPlante of Harvey; and Leon Klocke of Fessenden, got together with Henry and his sisters, Twyla Delzer of Fessenden, and Kayme Melby of Bowdon. 

Twyla says, “It’s good to know that even in our society when everyone’s so busy and so rushed, you’ve got friends who are out there who are ready to help you in a time of need. Henry felt like a heavy load had been lifted, he was like a different person.” Kayme agrees. “We want people to know that there are still good neighbors out there, and we appreciate them.”

The crew worked the afternoon, from dinner time to supper time, and cleared 250 acres of spring wheat for the Heintz family. 

They brought their combines and semi trucks. “All Henry did was stay in the yard and help unload trucks into the bins,” says Delzer. “We didn’t even have to get out our own combine.” 

The team worked together smoothly, some in the combines, some in the trucks. “Lexi would drive up beside the combines, they would load into her grain wagon, then she’d drive to the semis to unload and go back for more.”

Twyla says, “Rick Neumiller brought the filled semis and trucks in, Henry unloaded them. Londa, Bruce, and Leon were in the combines. Everyone else helped drive and unload trucks.”

It was a hectic afternoon, but the teamwork of longtime friends paid off and the job got done. 

Ruth and Butch Rexine and their son Scott brought over supper, a traditional hearty hotdish at the end of a strenuous day of harvesting. Dinner was a quick and simple sloppy joe meal, eaten in the trucks and combines.

The Heintz family has cause to be very proud of their friends and relatives, as well as being grateful for their support. “Sometimes a family just needs that extra from others, when things get stressful and hard. Having good friends who are like family be there to pitch in their emotional support as well as practical help – it’s pretty awesome. We love these guys.” Recently a cousin, George Grossman of Fargo, drove the family to Rochester, Minnesota. The Flicks, Steve, Mike and Nona, Dave and Cheryl, and John Pervix have helped out often, and are close neighbors. John and Linda Roller have also been extremely supportive. The extended family has grown closer through these trying months, and Lorraine’s son and daughters are thankful for everybody who has stepped up to the plate to help. 

“We didn’t even ask. I think Leon just let them know we could use a hand, and they came,” says Twyla.

“A team photo was not taken because somebody, who shall remain nameless, thinks pictures add twenty pounds,” she explains, when asked for a group picture. Also, people were in motion the entire time, too busy to pose for a camera. 

Twyla remembers, “When I was a little kid, my dad got badly burned and friends and neighbors did the same thing, they got the crop in. I guess some things just don’t change around here, and I’m glad.”

Wells County Fair

Moose Eyes Ribbon at Wells County Fair

Fair time in Fessenden is a sentimental journey for many. It’s the one time of the year when one can count on meeting up with family and friends who may not have seen each other since last year at fair time, or the year before that, or many years ago.

Classes plan reunions for fair time. Families whose members may be scattered far and wide know it is a good time for get-togethers. While the winter holidays may be the more traditional gathering season, the weather can be unpredictable. Summer is better for travel. Friends from childhood are likely to be in town during fair time, whether their school classes have reunions planned or not. 

Frank Hawkridge says, “It’s Old Home Week.  It’s when families get together.” His wife Glenda agrees.  “It’s a family tradition, the way you’re brought up. You come home for the fair.  Everyone’s always so happy and just have a good time.” The Hawkridge family is familiar to Wells County fair-goers. They provide good food and drinks from their stands, sustenance for busy and hungry people. Two of their three children help with the family business.

Rick Jensen from Harvey’s KHND sets up to cover the fair live. He posts current photos and some video on the web site.

It’s just a good time all the way around. Besides the carnival atmosphere, the fair entertainment offers festive activities, live music to dance to, and ribbons by the score in the competitions. Celebrating with friends and family makes it all more special.

When generations of families gather together at fair time, the oldsters may well start talking about ‘the good old days’ (which weren’t always so good, more of a challenge most often) and the youngsters get a chance to listen and learn. If they pay attention they can learn much of great value.  Their elders have the advantage of years of perspective, decades of experience, and lifetimes of learning from successes, and mistakes. The stories are interesting, more so because they involve people you know and are probably related to.

Memories abound at fair time. Everyone has a favorite memory that revolves around going to the fair.  It may be riding the ferris wheel on a first date. It may be getting a blue ribbon with a 4-H project. It may be winning a stuffed animal at one of the carnival games for your girlfriend. It may be the time someone in particular was soaked at the dunk tank. It may be a not so favorite memory of getting sick after going on a ride one too many times – on a full stomach of caramel apples, cotton candy, foot long hot dogs, and lemonade.

Welcoming hugs and strong handshakes when old friends meet again are just the beginnings of conversations about yesteryear, today, and the future. Walking around the fairgrounds at fair time, one never knows who might walk up with one of those hugs or handshakes. 

‘Remember when…?’ is one of the most-voiced expressions during fair time. That’s what happens when groups of people get together. The bonds that have been forged over the lifetimes of people are reinforced. Intervening years evaporate once the ‘catching up’ has been tended to. The best of times past are revisited and re-enjoyed with laughter and perhaps an occasional tear. 

The fair rides aren’t nearly as exciting to adults as they are to children, but every adult can reconnect with the child inside at fair time. The smell of fair food, cotton candy and fried food, can return one to childhood in an instant. The sound of voices talking and laughing, midway music and engines, grandstand noises, and activity going on at the Free Stage can trigger feelings one may not have felt in many years. As evening approaches, the lights bring their own excitement. The taste of lemonade at the fair is like no other. It goes with the environment. A trip to the barns means one might be able to feel the silky texture of the coat of a well-tended 4-H animal.  At the fair the senses are saturated.  It fills them all. 

Remembering is maybe the biggest part of going to the fair.  People can and do thoroughly enjoy every year’s experiences and add them to the extensive collection already accumulated. The trip down memory lane, the sentimental journey, the nostalgia, are precursors of the best part of all – going back next year.

Aunt Delores' Auctions

Going to auctions is a favorite activity for many people. It’s not only a chance to find a bargain; it’s often a social event as well. 

Recently there were two auctions that drew large crowds.  After years of collecting, Aunt Delores decided it was time to auction off many of the items in her collection.

Nieces Lauren, Shelly, and Donna helped her get ready.  When they took on the job they had a good idea about what they were in for.  They started over a year ago and spent many hours sorting, filing, washing, labeling, hauling, and cleaning in preparation for the auctions.

Because of the quantity involved, it was decided to have two separate auctions and to divide them between antiques and household things.    

The first was mainly for the many antiques Delores had gathered over the years.  It was held at the old church just outside of Fessenden; included in the auction was the church building itself, also an ‘antique’.  The day was beautiful, the items for sale were numerous and varied, and the site was crowded with auction-goers. 

Shelly and her husband Norm were busy keeping things organized, “It’s been a busy year,” Norm said. “It’s been a lot of hard work. Lauren and Michael (her husband) and Donna have done an amazing amount of work on this.”  Shelly adds, “Delores just has so much stuff.  We had to get rid of quite a bit, too.”

Duwayne, purchaser of the church building and grounds, isn’t saying exactly what he intends to do with it. 

“I have two houses in Fessenden that are used for hunting lodges and they’re always full,” he says.  The size of the church building would provide more space if he decides to use it for similar purposes. 

The second auction, on Main Street of Fessenden, was largely household items, many new and still in their original boxes.  It was also well-attended.  A common sight was people standing in pairs or small groups chatting as they waited for the things they were interested in bidding on to come up for auction.  Many roamed the premises looking at everything; as flatbeds were emptied after their contents were sold, more items were brought out to replace them and the sale went on. The house, another of Delores Kost’s properties, was also sold.  Early that morning rumbles of thunder caused the auction team of nieces and their husbands to race to the site to cover as much of the inventory as possible with tarps.  Throughout the day there were a few sprinkles of rain, but not enough to do any damage to the sale items or to make anyone want to leave.  A few umbrellas sprouted up but were quickly furled as the sprinkles passed without developing into actual rain. 

Purchasers carried their newly acquired belongings through the crowd and down the block of Main Street closed off for the auction on Saturday and Sunday.  Because of the quantity, the auction continued over from Saturday to Sunday.  Once the auction was finished the look of Main Street returned to its regular look.  Nobody complained about the one block detour during auction hours. 

Niece Donna said, “We’re glad it’s done.  It’s been great coming back and seeing so many people again, and visiting, but we’re glad it’s done.  It’s been a big job.”

Auction attendee Carol says, “I love auctions. They’re just a lot of fun.” 

The River Beach

Do you ever go to the beach?  We don't live near an ocean, being almost dead center in the North American Continent, but there are rivers in the vicinity. 

Our beach isn't very big, but we like it.  It's free, for one thing.  Then there's the convenience of being able to sit and read on ground that's soft compared to the concrete that surrounds the swimming pools. 

The water lures the kids and they bring me collections of pebbles, fallen feathers, and tiny snail shells. 

I don't know.  There's just something about it that clears my mind and lets me relax.  The children love it.  The company's good, fun, and easy-going. 

For a long time I never even thought about going to the beach; once I did, we were hooked.  Now we wait for the weather to get warm enough.  It doesn't have to be warm enough to swim, just warm enough to be outside without parkas and mukluks.  Basically that means as soon as the ice is off. 

If you haven't been to the beach lately you maybe ought to try it.  When the sun glitters off the ripples and a little breeze comes out of nowhere; when the children find beauty and joy in a simple pebble; life kind of stops and records the joy for future reference. 

You never know when you're going to need a moment of joy; it's good to know those moments are right there in the library of my mind, easy to get to when I need them.

Unique Appeal of Small Town USA

There's something about small town life that's got a unique appeal. 

People can be nosy and seriously get on my one remaining nerve, but it's a price I willingly pay for the benefits of living where I do. 

When my car quits, getting a ride home is no problem.  Friends and relatives seem to be constantly coming to collect me from here and there.  They might give me a bad time about it, but they show up. 

I have a tendency to forget the strangest things. 

When the tags and registration for my little old car came, I put the envelope into  the glove compartment and forgot all about it until our esteemed local policeman noticed. 

He called to verify that they had indeed been sent because I didn't want to search for something that wasn't there.  He didn't want me getting picked up someplace out of town where I might get a ticket for having tags that expired three months before. 

When he told me to check my car for it, I found the envelope right where I had put it. 

While I signed the registration card, he put the tags on for me. 

It's stuff like this that makes me glad I live where I do.  The whole county pitches in, watching out for me. 

Montana Drive

Have you ever driven eastern Montana highways?

Last summer I took my little old beater for a drive and ended up in Montana.  Call it the scenic route.

Actually it is very beautiful around there.  Unfortunately I didn't have a bloody clue where I was except I knew I was in Montana and wanted to go to Wyoming.  Being an intelligent person with a reasonable grasp of geography, I decided south was the direction for me. 

I stopped in a town, bought a map, saw a road labeled highway heading south, and took off. 

As I was going up a hill one of my back tires blew.  Yee-ha.

I like Montana, really I do. 

I flagged down someone to help me change the tire and went back to the town, limping along the side of the road because the spare was a different size from the rest of the tires. 

I got the name of the guy who could sell me tires and called him at home, catching him just as he was going out the door to go fishing.  He was great about the interruption and sold me two tires, put them on and everything. 

Back on the highway heading south, I found out it was an unpaved highway.  I was having fun dodging potholes, waiting for sheep to cross the road, and scoping out the scenery.  It truly is outstanding.  You just have to look at it in between watching for animals and holes. 

Something whapped the outside of my car, startling me.  More whaps came, and I was seeing things flying through the air hitting my car.  One caught on a windshield wiper and I realized I was in a grasshopper storm.  I kept going, hoping it was a local phenomenon.  It was. 

After about thirty miles without seeing a sign, I was wondering if I'd taken a wrong turn somewhere along the way, although I was still going in a relatively straight line south and there hadn't been any turns to take. 

Finally I saw a little sigh that reassured me.  According to the sign, civilization was only forty miles ahead.  I felt much better and started singing out loud. 

Sure enough, about forty miles later, after I'd bottomed out in an unavoidable hole in the highway and bent my front license plate around the bumper, I saw a bar.  I stopped to pick dead grasshoppers out of my grill and almost went into the bar, but continued on my way to Wyoming which wasn't that far away by then. 

Even with the tire blowing, the grasshoppers, and the hole in the road it was a great time.  I had fun. 

And you know what?  I do like Montana.  Montana has good people who are kind to me.  And good scenery.  What's not to like about that? 

I even thought about moving there.  Briefly. 

Salamanders

Last spring there was a salamander in my basement. 

I'm not normally a squeamish type person.  Cleaning fish and gutting game don't bother me.  changing diapers is no big deal after four kids and lots of babysitting.  I don't mind getting muddy in my flowerbeds, and I actually sort of like getting all greasy and grimy when I play mechanic.  Spiders and bugs are just spiders and bugs.  Snakes are snakes and we get along just fine as long as they don't try to bite me. 

I don't know what it is about salamanders.  Frogs are okay.  Turtles are nice.  Well, not the snapping turtles that chomp the fish we leave tethered to the dock, but in general.  But salamanders I have a problem with. 

Anyway, last spring I went down into my basement in all innocence and almost stepped smack onto this salamander.  I don't scream about things as a general rule, either.  I'm not one to faint at the sight of blood, or vomit just because someone else does.  But I admit I did let out a smallish squawk about that salamander. 

Salamanders don't bite.  I don't think they even  have teeth.  I don't know what they eat, but it surely can't be people.  They also don't jump on you or chase you or anything else scary. 

I called my friend to come get the salamander out of my basement.  He told me to pour salt on it and it would die.  Well that's fine, but to do that I'd have to get closer to it than I wanted to.  Besides, I didn't want to kill it; I just wanted it out of my basement. 

All things considered, I figured there wasn't anything I really needed to go down there for anyway.  I stayed upstairs.  Jim said that salamanders couldn't climb stairs, but if it came up from the basement he'd come and get it.  Gee thanks.  I kept the basement door closed just in case. 

I don't know if it's still down there; I haven't checked.  Jim's wrong more often than he's right, but he knows his salamanders.  This one hasn't climbed the stairs yet.  As far as I know.

Paying Homage to Some Special Friends

I've had some good friends in my day.  Through it all they're there - good times, bad times, laughter and tears.  You know the litany so I'll spare you the maudlin stuff for now.  Having friends is a joy.

Today I want to pay homage to some pretty special friends. 

They aren't the ones I call when I'm excited, or sad for that matter.  They aren't the ones who call me up to chat about the triumphs and challenges of life.

These friends know more about challenges and triumphs than most of us ever will. 

Sometimes when I'm getting the feeling that a project I've set for myself to do is beyond my abilities, and when I'm feeling as though it might not be worth the effort in the end, I find myself smiling at my own doubts, my own reluctance to push my envelope just that little bit more it will take to achieve what I set out to do. 

See, there's something about having these friends - they're kind of contagious in their can-do, will-do way of living their lives, and the good humor, generosity, and kindness with which they do it. 

In the face of extreme odds, how many of us would have the courage to not only keep putting forth our best efforts, not matter what, but go about it with a smile that touches everyone around them?

It's a gift, grace in the face of adversity. 

Me, a relatively simple project can make me scowl (and maybe cuss) and even want to put it off to another day, or abandon it altogether.  For the good of project-completion I often bless these friends of mine for the gift they share and teach so willingly. 

While they may not be immediately at my side, they are always near my spirit; and even if I don't hear their words in my ears their unfailing message comes through my heart loud and clear. 

"Try," they tell me.  "Keep on trying; give it your best shot, no matter what!"

The warmth of their smiles, the unabashed delight in their eyes, the joy of being able to spend time with some of the most incredible people in the world - it's all a gift.

I have been given a rare opportunity to learn about courage, tenacity, loyalty, and generously-shared good humor from those who are best able to teach it.

They live it every day.

If more of us had their gumption the world would be immeasurably enriched! 

These friends of mine, they never give up.

They never stop trying.

 I don't know that I would be able to do what they do, not even for a short time - and they've been struggling for all of their lives to become the best they can be.

It's humbling to know them, to watch them day by day.

 I'll never measure up; all I can do is try to Catch Up! 

Their disabilities can mean that every step taken requires more effort on their part than it takes me to make twenty or more long strides, yet more often than not I find myself looking at these friends and realizing that they are far ahead of most of the rest of us in terms of persistently reaching out, stretching toward achievements, and pushing their own envelopes just that little bit more every day. 

To say these friends of mine have my deepest admiration and respect doesn't come close to how I feel about them.

They tutor me, encourage me, challenge me, inspire me to not only become better than I am but to TRY, like them, to become the best me that I can be.

Disabled?

Maybe.

But not, I think, where it really counts.

Many of 'us' are more disabled than these our dear  friends whom we too often minimize.

Which is the more disabled: the one who tries or the one who can't be bothered?

Which is the more disabled: the one who encourages others or the one who thwarts someone's dreams?

Which is the more disabled: the one who gives it their best shot or the one who settles for 'good enough'?

Which is the more disabled: the one who marvels at the beauty of the world or the one who can't even see it?

Ah, my friends, why do we not follow your lead and absorb your gumption?

It would do us all a world of good.

It's proud I am to have had the privilege of getting to know you.

When I'm dithering about whether or not I'll be able to do something, when I wonder if it's even worth trying, when the opposition is strong, when doubt and fear kick in, when something seems beyond my reach - it is to you I turn; it is your example that shows me the value of courage, tenacity, hope, and humor.

It is from you, my dear friends, that the example comes, and the wisdom.

'All you can do is the best you can do, right? Just TRY! And try again, and again, and again. You don't have to be the best of everyone; you just have to be the best you. How are you gonna feel if you don't even try?'

So ... what am I going to do?

Sit tight and be marginally okay with the way things are right now, or get off my backside and TRY?

Hmmm ... I reckon maybe I'll give it my best shot.

I was about to say: it's the least I can do to honor these friends of mine.

But you know what?

I don't want to do the least I can do.

These guys have never once in their lives done the least they can do. Every day of their lives they're doing the most they can do.

That's the example I want to follow, as best I can.

It's time to push my envelope.

Snow Angels Among Us

Reported in Wells County, ND, United States in January 2011

Reports have been made that there have been a number of indications that there are indeed ‘angels among us’. 

Individuals in several Wells County towns are reporting that sidewalks and driveways have been mysteriously cleared after snowfalls.  The phenomenon seems to be fairly widespread in the area and puzzled residents are very grateful but don’t know whom to thank. 

Because of the range of the activities, no doubt a number of angels are at work.  Nobody seems to know for sure exactly when, or sometimes even how, they do it. 

One middle-aged woman, who doesn’t want to be named, says, “I got all bundled up and was dreading the job.  It’s not so easy for me to shovel as it used to be.”  She smiles as she adds, “It was already done.  I was so relieved I almost cried.  I don’t know who did it, but I hope whoever it was realizes how much I appreciate it.” 

Our North Dakota winters are a challenge for people, especially the ones who are getting older and aren’t as able to tackle outside chores as deftly as they once were.  When a snowstorm hits, many times it’s difficult or even impossible for them to negotiate the drifts that show up across their sidewalks and driveways. 

In some homes there are vulnerable older people who may suddenly need medical attention.  Keeping their doors accessible in case of emergency is important to them.  If an ambulance is called, having a clear path could save minutes – and those minutes could make all the difference. 

“Thank God for my snow angel,” says a Fessenden woman, who wants to thank her angel.  “He’s been a blessing to a lot of us along this street.”  Her angel is someone she knows but she’s keeping his name to herself. 

Sometimes a snow angel may become known to those he/she blesses; sometimes the mystery remains.

Says another lady, “I’d like to thank the people who are doing this.  Part of me would like to catch them in the act, but at the same time it’s kind of nice to not know for sure.  Then I can suspect everyone.  I find myself looking at people in a whole new way, wondering if this one or that one is my angel.  It’s a fun kind of mystery.”

Because of the anonymity of most of the snow angels, and because it seems many of them prefer to remain mysterious beings, the recipients can’t thank them in person. 

 No snow angels were available for comment. 

DAKOTA: SUSTAINING BODY AND SOUL

Dakota:  New Moon Rising

Peaceful Summer Respite

Evening at the Farm

Friends Get Together

Flowers at the Door 

An Unidentified Snow Angel Cleared This Lady's Sidewalk

 A Lone Pelican Sentinals a Honker Community

 Pretty Peony

Guests Meet A Miniature Horse Herd



Early Viola (aka Johnny Jump-Ups)

 Bee and Crabapple Blossoms

 Baby Lilac



Chokecherry in Bloom



 Don't Know What These are Called

Honeysuckle 

Peonies

 Red Clover

 Little Daisies

Orange Day Lily 

 Barn

Lilac and Yellow Day Lily 

Wind Power in the Making 

Hollyhock

Field of Sustenance 

Baling the Ditches 

 Wells County in Production

Wells County Grain Harvest 

Subtle Sunset 

By the Rising of the Moon, By the Rising of the Moon ...