The Buffalo Tavern

April 17th  a young singer/ songwriter/ poet moved into our B and B suite for  3 months. .  It has been so enjoyable to have her in the mix.  Last week she wanted to  watch “The Voice” on NBC.   That sounds like a simple enough  request, but since watching TV is not a priority around here, I had my doubts that the rabbit eared contraption would be able to deliver.  Both the wife and I would much rather read a good book, or spend time in deep conversation.

If you ever come to visit, bring a favorite book and read me a chapter

Below is one of my favorite stories from one of my favorite authors, Robert Fulghum:

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One Portion Of A Minister’s Lot concerns the dying and the dead.  The hospital room, the mortuary, the funeral service, the cemetery.  What I know of such things shapes my life elsewhere in particular ways.  What I know of such things explains why I don’t waste much life time mowing grass or washing cars or raking leaves or making beds or shining shoes or washing dishes.  It explains why I don’t honk at people who are slow to move at green lights.  And why I don’t kill spiders.  There isn’t time or need for all this.  What I know of cemeteries and such also explains why I sometimes visit the Buffalo Tavern.

     The Buffalo Tavern is, in essence, mongrel America.  Boiled down and stuffed into the Buffalo on a  Saturday night, the fundamental elements achieve a critcal mass around eleven.  The catalyst is the favorite house band, the Dynamic Volcanic Logs.  Eight freaks frozen in the amber vibes of the sixties.  Playing stomp-hell rockabilly with enough fervor to heal the lame and halt.  Mongrel America comes to the Buffalo to drink beer, shoot pool, and dance.  Above all, to dance.  To shake their tails and stomp frogs and get rowdy and holler and sweat and dance.  When it’s Saturday night and the Logs are rocking and the crowd is rolling, there’s no such thing as death.

     One such night the Buffalo was invaded by a motorcycle club, trying hard to look like the Hell’s Angels and doing pretty good at it too.  I don’t think these people were in costume for a movie.  And neither they nor their ladies smelled like soap-and-water was an important part of their lives on anything like a daily basis.  Following along behind them was an Indian-an older man, with braids, beaded vest, army surplus pants, and tennis shoes.  He was really ugly.  Now I’m fairly resourceful with words, and would give you a flashy description of this man’s face if it would help, but there is no way around it-he looked, in a word, ugly.  He sat working on his Budweiser for a long time.  When the Dynamic Logs ripped into a scream-out version of “Jailhouse Rock” he moved.  Shuffled over to one of the motorcycle mommas and invited her to dance.  Most ladies would have refused, but she was amused enough to shrug and get up.

     Well, I’ll not waste words.  This ugly, shuffling Indian ruin could dance.  I mean, he had the moves.  Nothing wild, just effortless action, subtle rhythm, the cool of the master.  He turned his partner every way but loose and made her look good at it.  The floor slowly cleared for them.  The band wound down and out, but the drummer held the beat.  The motorcycle club group rose up and shouted for the band to keep playing.  The band kept playing.  The Indian kept dancing.  the motorcycle momma finally blew a gasket and collapsed in someone’s lap.  The Indian danced alone.  The crowd clapped up the beat.  The Indian danced with a chair.  The crowd went crazy.  The band faded.  the crowd cheered.  The Indian held up his hands for silence as if to make a speech.  Looking at the band and then the crowd, the Indian said, “Well, what’re you waiting for? Let’s DANCE.”

     The band and the crowd went off like a bomb.  People were dancing all through the tables to the back of the room and behind the bar.  People were dancing in the restrooms and around the pool tables.  Dancing for themselves, for the Indian, for God and Mammon.  Dancing in the face of hospital rooms, mortuaries, funeral services, and cemeteries.  And for a while, nobody died.

    “Well,” said the Indian, “what’re you waiting for?  Let’s dance.”

Excerpt taken from the book All I Really Need To Know I Learned In Kindergartenby Robert Fughum

“The length of our days is seventy years- or eighty, if we have the strength;  yet the span is but trouble and sorrow, for they quickly pass….so teach us to number  our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.”  Psalm 90:10.12

Thursday and Friday night of this week  we stood in a funeral home receiving line to acknowledge the passing of two more people.   Combine that with my cousin Michelle’s unexpected passing and that makes for a busy month.   So, fellow bloggers and Internet surfers, make sure you are not just sitting on the side lines and watching life pass you by.  The Indian said it best.   “Let’s Dance! “

A little something to let you know I’m still alive and well. DM

This first clip is just three minutes long.  It will make your day.

This next one is on

the topic of vulnerability.  Let me know what you think. DM

The Poetry of Anne Maren-Hogan

“I can feel the grit of dust and crunch of downed cornstalks in these poems.  They are not nostalgic ditties, but instead are strong songs, often in a haunting minor key, that remove me to a time when many footsteps, from many families, from many homes, sounded on the Midwestern farm scape.”

Timothy Fay  (taken from  the back cover of Anne’s book of poetry)

Anne and Sam  with the Mrs and I  March 23 2013

I was introduced to Anne Maren-Hogan’s book of poetry this past November by her nephew Chris.

I would be the first to admit I am not a big reader of poetry….which makes what happened to me all the more powerful.

I can still remember sitting in Ms Burns 7th grade class reading “Jonathan Livingston Seagull. “

I got the impression something deep and profound was  going on in that story, but it was  beyond me.

(The same thing happened in Mr Newland’s slide rule class…..I felt  over my head and could not swim)

NEVER  wanting  to find  myself in that sort of discussion setting again.

Flash forward 40 year .

Chris  hands me a little book of poetry @ coffee break written by his aunt Anne. (Chris works with me)

In my mind, I’m thinking...oh/ no/  if I take it, he’s going to ask me later what I think…?

I will be exposed for the uncultured farm boy that I am.

I took the book.

I inhaled the book.

I discovered a writer that drew me in.

She wrote about growing up in a large farm family , not too many miles from me.

Here’ another quote from the back of the book:

“With narrative grace and keen insight, Anne Maren-Hogan celebrates the strength and perseverance of women.  Spanning two decades, the poems in The Farmers Wake offer a thoughtful meditation on family, place and culture.   The poems move beyond a chronicle of farm lief in the Midwest to remind us all of the very human connections we share with each other and this earth.  The landscape in these poems may be harsh and isolated, but the writing is rich and rewarding: stitching it all together with this certainty/ of leaving and returning as  Maren-Hogan writes in “Lifting My Eyes”  Pat Riviere-Seel

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Anne and her husband Sam were back in the area this past week visiting family.

I’d built a multipurpose addition to our shop this Fall and had been wanting to do a “German Building dedication”

Last Saturday night, was the dedication.

Anne and Sam, joined us for a night of poetry/ music and mirth.

I asked Anne,  if she cared if I included one of her poem on this post.  So I did get her blessing.

I intended to include my favorite poem titled The Farmer’s Wake”

(It is about her dad’s wake)

I’ve had a change of heart.

I’m going to hold off  because  I feel like she  has shared something with us very precious and sacred.

A  glimpse into her heart.

I will instead give you a link to her book of poetry, so you could have your own copy.

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In case you stumble across this post later Anne, I just want to say  thank you again for  sharing your heart, both in your poems and for actually coming and reading them aloud .

I am a wealthy man.  DM

German building dedication

Lead carpenter (me) nailing the evergreen branch to the gable. 

A Desire fulfilled is sweet to the soul

I had an opportunity to have several desires of my heart fulfilled this past week….

1.  Take a cross country train ride with my  girlfriend

2.  Spend my birthday in Seattle hanging out with  a blogging friend and her family.

3.  Check  out Pike’s market while we were in town

4. Experience the music scene of Portland Oregon with our musician friend Katie.

And best of all, I came home refreshed…I have  honestly figured out  how this leisure thing works.

If you’re a regular reader  on my other blog, some of this will  be old news.

 

Train pulling into the station

Last Friday night we boarded The Empire Builder in La Crosse Wisconsin.

We were headed for Seattle

Wife has taken the Amtrak a couple of times to Denver and Chicago, but I’ve never been on a train  before. (unless you count that tourist train in Boone Iowa  that takes you on a ride through the woods and over a bridge)

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Lacrosse Wisconsin. 

Friday night

As we waited in the Depot I  bantered  with an Amish farmer who was also waiting for the train.  He looked to be in his mid 40′s .He and his wife were getting away for a couple of days to see friends in Minnesota. He told me with a twinkle in his eye  they had 10 kids @ home who were keeping an eye on things.  I told him this was my first real train trip. He  didn’t know what to think about that.

About 7:30 PM the train pulled into the station…

There was a light snow was falling as  the conductor  scanned our ticket and told us which car to get on.

It felt like a “Norman Rockwellian” moment…

Or  I was about to step into a time machine…

 

Saturday morning Date 2

We woke up the next morning near Devils Lake North Dakota.

Blowing snow

wheat fields for as far as the eye can see…

Harvested wheat field of North Dakota

As we continued west, we went through towns with names like Wolf Point, Malta, Cut Bank, Sand Point…

Train station in Malta MT 

(didn’t realize it until after I took this picture but  it looks like a young Amish mother  and 4 of her children waiting for someone)

I kept thinking..I wonder how many more years these communities will have  train service..

50 years ago, 1000′s of small communities each had their train stations..You could hop on a train and travel to just about anywhere you wanted.

The train doesn’t come to our town any more.  The tracks  are no longer there….they are just a memory. I remember a work crew tearing out the tracks in the late 1970′s   The depot disappeared  in 1972 I’m thinking..

One of the highlights of the train ride was meeting Linda….a fellow traveler.. I think she’d gotten on shortly before we boarded..When she told us she was also headed for Seattle..there was an instant connection.  We were all in this “adventure” together.

She told us she was heading west to spend some time with her daughters and help out with a new grand-baby.

Sunday morning Day 3 of our trip

We woke up the second day in Eastern Washington state.  Barren apple orchards flashed by my window for several minutes.  As a fellow orchardist , I  would have loved to see those trees  in the Fall….

As we neared Seattle, I texted Kristina our soon to be hostess and told her I thought we would be about an hour late…not bad for traveling  2000 miles in the dead of winter through the Northern plains and Rocky Mountains…not  bad @ all

I heard someone ask the conductor about our arrival time?. Conductor said we were going to be on time…

whoops…

I retexted Kristina told her what  I’d just found out and told her we would be fine..didn’t want her to  stress out.

Got off the train, asked one of the rail car attendants if he would take our picture…

Just arrived in Seattle via Amtrak

I felt like Country Mouse coming to visit his cousin City Mouse

Here’s a view of part of the Seattle train station…

Train Depot in Seattle

Let me know if you’d like to read about the rest of the  trip…I’ll give you a link to the other posts.  g-nite. DM

Grandma was wrong

Picture of me at work yesterday….20 feet in the air/ living the dream ….my dream that is;-)

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“Oh Doug.. You were such a good student…I really hoped you would go to college.”  grandma said when she found out her eldest grandson was NOT planning to go to college..instead, I had decided to follow in my dad’s foot steps and work in construction.

There was disappointment written all over her face..

I felt bad.  Not until she was dead and gone did I appreciate where she was coming from.  Not until I had children of my own, watched them make life choices  that would affect them  long term… in ways they didn’t understand…then I was finally able to understand my grandma’s concerns…

But Grandma was wrong.

There is more to life than money.  A meaningful life  has nothing to do with material things…

I have a couple of friends who are making 2 and 3 times the amount of money  I do but hate their jobs….

They have full benefits, a 401 K… and they are quick to talk about what they want to do when they retire.

No thank you.

Quoting my dad now...”The word retirement is not in my vocabulary”

(Dad just turned 80 this past year and is still active in construction)

Last week I stopped @ Loes to buy a new  skill saw.

Good morning”  I said to a woman about my age.   She looked tired.

“How are you?” I asked…”(It was about 7 AM..she was  checking inventory)

“I wish I were home” she  replied.

I felt for her..  Her life was not her own.  There were bills to pay…only God knows the series of life decisions and circumstances that have brought her to this place in life….

Last April I was invited to speak at a jobs fair for high school students.

Started by sharing a quote that has cast a long shadow over my life :

“Do what you love and you will never have to work a day in your life.”

Don’t just settle for a job where you punch the time clock.

You may have to work @ a job  (or three) where you  “punch the time clock” in order to get where you really want to be….

but don’t stop there.. God didn’t create you to be a mindless worker ant ..unless that is what you really love to do.

I remember the pressure I felt  in school trying to figure out what I wanted to do once I graduated.   A real part of me thought I should  be a vet…that was until Mr Guard pulled me to the side one day in the guidance office  and  “suggested ” my grades indicated I probably couldn’t handle vet school.  I know he was only doing his job..but “dream killer” comes to mind  when I think of that conversation.

(years later I built a house for a vet/ told her my story, to which she replied, “Doug, if you really wanted to be a vet,one way or the other, you could have done it.  I didn’t make it the first time or two when I applied to vet school either..if you want it bad enough, you could have done it”)

Two  of my daughters , have  the desire to be a wives  and mothers.

Period.

I remember being @ the ripe old age of 20, having the strongest desire (nesting urge?) to settle down and start a family.

So  I did.

Best decision I ever made.

Pop culture today  mock those kind of  dreams…and I’m here to tell you, pop culture is full of #@$%%.

(that’s  German for incorrect…I’ve been using more German in my blog posts lately  you may have noticed )

If truth be told, pop culture is wrong on just about everything it promotes.
“We’ve  got a form of brainwashing going on in our country.”  Morrie sighed.  “Do you know how they brainwash people?  They repeat something over and over.And that’s what we do in this country.  Owning things is good.  More money is good.  More property is good.  More commercialism  is good.  More is good.  More is good. We repeat it – and have it repeated to us – over and over until nobody bothers to even think otherwise.  The average person is so fogged up by all this, he has no perspective on what’s really important anymore….

from the book Tuesday’s with Morrie.

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If there is more to life than money…what do you think that “more” is?

What in your life brings you satisfaction?

What would you tell the person who is up to their eyeballs in bills, who feels stuck in a dead in job they hate?

DM

Johnny

Friend of mine purchased an old  building, asked if I could help  install a patio door 20 feet up, through an  exterior  wall, covered with Stucco.

(stucco = concrete)

I came prepared.  Brought the  cement saw with a diamond blade.

a handful of new sawzall blades. (they look like sharp steak knives…hold on to that detail)

and two quarts of coffee.

Must have coffee.

My friend had a young man in his early 30′s there to help.

His name was Johnny..

He was built  like a tank.  chiseled,  and had  this hard stoic look in his eyes..

He looked like he belonged  in a  gang.

Construction types  remind me of my dad’s roosters….

Sometimes  I pick up an undercurrent of circling  and sizing  each other up…  like roosters getting ready to spar

Johnny  and I were was no exception.

When I looked at the 4 sections of rickety  scaffolding set up for us to work on, it creeped me out..I told Johnny  I was allergic to heights.   (I really do hate heights btw)

“What???” he said with a sneer ,  “I thought you were  the carpenter, and  you’re telling me you are afraid of heights?”

  “Yep” I  said with a smirk.    Now he really didn’t know what to do with me…

I love to banter w/ tough guys   and soften them up…poke holes in their machismo.

It took me less that   30 minutes  working along Johnny to soften him up ..

He  went from questioning my sanity to thinking I was (his words, not mine  a “Master”).

I jumped on the section of scaffolding below Johnny,  asked him to hand me  the  sawzall.  He let it down by the chord, (it wasn’t running, but the 6 inch  blade was sticking down as he swung it to me).

It slid deeply into my wrist .  I took one look at the wound and  said, “Johnny, I need to go  to the hospital” . 

Johnny said, “You’re kidd’n right?”   “No,  I said,  “I just got stabbed, and need to go to the hospital NOW!” 

           He felt terrible.  “It would be one thing, if you were just some “grunt”, but you are like a “Master” ” he moaned.

Hour and 1/2,  $750.00 later I was back on  the job,  (arm wrapped  w/ 5 stitches)

I tried to supervise when we got back, but it was taking forever.

I  grabbed the cement saw and  went back to work.

  “Man, you are one bad #*&, he said.     

If he only knew.

..pardon the sweat… that’s me showing off

it’s a little trick I know….

you  touch your nose with a 10 pound sledge

very carefully

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Footnote. those of you that are long time readers may remember this post..It was buried in the archives.

Appointment with Love

I can still remember a Christmas eve , doesn’t seem that long ago…I was @ my grandparents, talking with my Uncle Bill.  I remember telling him I wished I had a girl friend…

There were absolutely no prospects on the horizon…none...nada…

He told me, you never know…that special someone might be just around the corner…

Would you believe I bumped into her less that two months later..

So my encouragement to you my fellow blog reader if that is your situation…

Don’t give up!~

The following story is for you

Sending you a Christmas Blessing.  DM

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      Six minutes to six, said the great round clock over the information booth in Grand Central Station.  The tall young Army lieutenant who had just come from the direction of the tracks lifted his sunburned face, and his eyes narrowed to note the exact time.  His heart was pounding with a beat that shocked him because he could not control it.  In six minutes, he would see the woman who had filled such a special place in his life for the past 13 months, the woman he had never seen, yet whose written words had been with him and sustained him unfailingly.

     He placed himself as close as he could to the information booth, just beyond the ring of people besieging the clerks…

      Lieutenant Blanford remembered one night in particular, the worst of the fighting, when his plane had been caught in the midst of a pack of Zeros.  He had seen the grinning face of one of the enemy pilots.

     In one of his letters, he had confessed to her that he often felt fear, and only a few days before this battle, he had received her answer: “Of course you fear…all brave men do.  Didn’t King David know fear?  That’s why he wrote the 23rd Psalm.  Next time you doubt yourself, I want you to hear my voice reciting to you, “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil, for Thou art with me.”  And he had remembered;  he had heard her imagined voice, and it had renewed his strength and skill.

     Now he was going to hear her real voice.  Four minutes to six.  His face grew sharp. 

       Under the immense, starred roof, people were walking fast, like threads of color being woven into a grey web.  A girl passed close to him,  and Lieutenant Blanford started.  She was wearing a red flower in her suit lapel, but it was a crimson sweet pea, not the little red rose they had agreed upon.  Besides this girl was too young, about 18, whereas Hollis Meynell had frankly told him she was 30.  “Well, what of it?” he had answered.  “I’m 32.  He was 29.

     His mind went back to that book- the book the Lord Himself must have put into his hands out of the hundreds of Army  library books sent to the Florida training camp.  Of Human Bondage, it was; and throughout the book were notes in a woman’s writing.  He had always hated that writing-in habit, but these remarks were different.  He had never believed that a woman could see into a man’s heart so tenderly, so understandingly.  Her name was on the book-plate  Hollis Meynell.  He had got hold of a New York City telephone book and found her address.  He had written, she had answered.  Next day he had been shipped out, but they had gone on writing.

     For 13 months, she had faithfully replied, and more than replied.  When his letters did not arrive, she wrote anyway, and now he believed he loved her, and she loved him.

     But she had refused all his pleas to sent him a photograph.  That seemed rather bad, of course.  But she had explained: “If your feeling for me has any reality, any honest basis, what I look like won’t matter.  Suppose I’m beautiful.  I’d always be haunted by the feeling that you had been taking a chance on just that, and that kind of love would disgust me.  Suppose I’m plain (and you must admit that this is more likely) Then I’d always fear that you were going on writing me only because you were lonely and had no one else.  No, don’t ask for my picture.  When you come to New York, you shall see me and they you shall make your decision.  Remember, both of us are free to stop or go on after that- whichever we choose…”

      One minute to six- he pulled hard on the cigarette.

     Then Lieutenant Blanford’s heard leaped higher than his plane had ever done.

     A young woman was coming toward him.  Her figure was long and slim; her blond hair lay back in curls from her delicate ears.  Her eyes were blue and flowers, her lips and chin had a gentle firmness.  In her pale green suit, she was like springtime come alive.

     He started toward her, entirely forgetting to notice that she was wearing no rose, and as he moved, a small, provocative smile curved her lips.

      Going my way soldier?” she murmured.

      Uncontrollably, he made one step closer to her.  Then he saw Hollis Meynell.

      She was standing almost directly behind the girl, a woman well past 40, her greying hair tucked under a worn hat.  She was more than plump; her thick-ankled feet were thrust into low-heeled shoes.  But she wore a red rose in a rumpled lapel of her brown coat.

     The girl in the green suit was walking quickly away.

     Blanford felt that though he were being split in two, so keen was his desire to follow the girl, yet so deep was his longing for the woman whose spirit had truly companion-ed and upheld his own; and there she stood.  Her pale  plump face was gentle and sensible;  he could see that now.  Her gray eyes had a warm, kindly twinkle.

     Lieutenant Blanford did not hesitate.  His fingers gripped the small, worn, blue leather copy of Of Human Bondage, which was to identify him to her.  This would  not be love, but it would be something precious, something perhaps even rarer than love- a friendship for which he had been and must ever be grateful.

     He squared his broad shoulders, saluted and held the book out toward the woman, although even while he spoke, he felt shocked by the bitterness of his disappointment.

      “I”m lieutenant John Blanford, and you- you are Miss Meynell.  I’m so glad you could meet me.  May…..may I take you to dinner?”

      The woman’s face broadened into a tolerant smile.  “I don’t know what this is all about, son,” she answered.  “That young lady in the green suit- the one who just went by- begged me to wear this rose on my coat.  And she said that if you asked me to go out with you, I should tell you that she’s waiting for you in that big restaurant across the street.  She said it was some kind of a test.  I’ve got two boys with Uncle Sam myself, so I didn’t mind to oblige you.”  Sulamith Ish-Kishor

from A  3rd serving of Chicken Soup for the Soul.

No more shame

“I’ve thought about every word you said,” Dan told me on Friday….and the shame is gone…completely gone. I haven’t felt this light and free in years.“

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End of November I (Douglas)  spent an extended weekend high in the mountains of Colorado at a men’s retreat working through some issues.   I wasn’t sure quite what to expect as I got there, I told someone later, I felt like I was going to have a “spiritual colonoscopy”

Colon cancer runs in our family, so I’ve had the “opportunity” to be scoped on more than one occasion. Once you hit 50, it’s recommended everyone get’s one of these, but if you’re like most chickens (I mean people)  we put it off and put it off…the thing is, if you catch the polyps early it is a very treatable cancer..the problem comes when you wait….

So too, in life,  personal  issues that are ignored usually don’t  just magically go away…they tend to grow and fester…so early on in our marriage, when  I found myself completely stuck and confused,  at a point of desperation, I reached out for help.  It taught me a valuable lesson.  Why  should I  spend months (or years)  struggling with the same old crap  when an answer may be forthcoming in  a 60 minute conversation if I have the gut’s and I’m humble enough to say “I’m stuck, I have a problem…can  you help?”

This stuff was never modeled for me growing up.  I’ve had to learn it the hard way.

So, over the years in our marriage, and through the turbulent teenage years, we’ve proactively sought out help, whenever it became obvious, we were over my heads…after the 2nd or 3rd issue, it isn’t really that much different from  making an appointment to see the dentist if you have a toothache….

I am not at liberty at the present to talk about specifics..there may come a day in the not too distant future where I will write about it but not yet…    Some long standing, buried, pain has been  coming to light this Summer and Fall, and I decided to step up to the plate and deal with it head on…hence my trip to Colorado.

Most of us have painful “stuff” in  our lives no one else knows about…I don’t have to list it here…if you have it, then you know what I’m talking about.  Well, stop for just a second and try to imagine the sting of that pain being gone…not just suppressed but gone…..

After my trip to Colorado,   I  happened to tell Dan about some of the radical  emotional freedom I was  experiencing…I wasn’t  even aware of the hurts in his life…he trusted me enough to tell me his story He told me he had been having flash backs and night mares…dark shameful memories had dogged him for years…. I listened, and encouraged him…and hadn’t thought any more about our conversation..then he told me on Friday,  “I’ve thought about every word you said,”….and the shame is gone…completely gone. I haven’t felt this light and free in years.“

I have no idea who may stumble across this particular blog post at some point.  God has an amazing way of allowing people’s paths to cross in the most serendipitous fashions….anyway, if you’re reading this and are at a broken stuck place in your life and need someone to talk to…(or are not there currently but have something to add to this conversation, let me know)

Time to get moving.  Sincerely,   DM

 

And then they were gone.

I woke up this morning  thinking about something I’d seen a year ago at work.

I was framing a garage on  the J. Johns farm that week.

Just to the east of the garage was a large pasture.  Probably 75 to 10o acres.  There was a small creek cutting diagonally through the pasture.  If you were a cow, that would have been paradise.  Steve Leytem (another farmer)  had a small herd of beef cattle grazing the field.  Once a day, he would stop by with a tractor and feed wagon, to supplement what they were getting off the field.  He had 4 or 5 long wooden bunks in the middle of the field, as soon as the cattle could hear the tractor coming down the road they would head to the feed bunks.   Cows are not stupid.

One morning when we arrived at the job, I noticed several gates  set up close to the feed bunks…not all the way around mind  you just on 2 sides.  Cows can be skittish like that…..introduce something new in their environment, and they get nervous.

Steve dumped the feed into the bunks like normal, and within just a few minutes, the herd, overcame their fear of the gates,  crowded up to the feed bunks and that was that.

Two days later I noticed more gates had been set up..this time they were on 3 sides of the feed bunks…

Same  thing happened…when the cows heard the tractor coming down the road they got excited, ran over to the feed bunk area, but weren’t quite sure what to think of this new section of fence…eventually their desire for feed overcame their fear of the unknown and life was back to normal.

When we got to work two days later, there was an eerie silence in the field.

all of the cattle were gone.

They’d been loaded up.

I looked over @ the feed bunk area and it was completely surrounded by cattle fence…one last panel had swung open…to accommodate the cattle truck that had backed up to the enclosure.

The cows never saw it coming.

One minute they were free, the next, they were gone.

I’m tempted to tell you about the fences I see being set up right now in our country.

Not physical fences, mind you but just as real.

I can see them and  want to stay as far away from them as I possibly can.

Problem is, most of the herd doesn’t seem to care.

50 things to do before I die

“If  you want to know what’s really important to you, make a list.”

The following is an article by Wendy Swallow Williams I clipped out of a Readers Digest in the late 1990′s.

This article changed the quality of  my life.

This morning as I was catching up on what my fellow bloggers were posting,   this  long term life goal jumped off the screen:

“lots and lots of land for gardens, orchards, chickens and room to breathe…” 

  I told this young blogger , she had just described my life to a T.

I can trace the course  of my life the past 15 years  directly back to this short  article.   Since starting the habit of having a “list”  there are literally dozens of things I’ve  checked off.

To say it has enriched my life immeasurably is an understatement.  DM

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A few weeks ago, I followed a friend into an art-supply store.  I found him picking out tubes of watercolor paint, which surprised me because he’s not an artist.

“I signed up for a watercolor class, and it starts next week, He said sheepishly.  “I don’t really have time for it, but it was on my list of 50 things to do before I die, so I went for it.”

This sounded interesting,”What else is on the list?” I asked.

“All kinds of things, ” he said.  “Every few months I look at the list and decide what to focus on next.  Before I had a list, I moaned a lot about what I was missing in my life.  Now I just do stuff.”

“Can I see your list sometime?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” he said.  “It reveals a lot about me.  Write your own list, and you’ll see what I mean.”

So that night I did just that, and he was right.  The list revealed a whole lot about what was important to me.  It also revealed how hopelessly behind I am at getting to the things I really want.

Just writing the list helped me sort through priorities.  I filled up the first 20 blanks quickly, but then began to think carefully.  Eventually I added items I’ve thought about for years, dreams I’ve carried with me since I was young, and things that resonated when I first heard about them.  When I reviewed the list later, some entries surprised me.

First, I want to travel much more particularly now that my children are older and can go with me to see the world.  There are ten trips I would like to make with the boys- from biking through Denmark to camping in the Canadian Rockies.

I was also surprised to find some things on the list that need to be done soon.  If I’m going to learn to Rollerblade, for instance, I’d better start before turning 50.

Some items, though I can put off until I’m older.  I would love to grow flowers,  to really garden, but while I”m raising kids and working I don’t have time for roses.

I would love to do volunteer work in a hospital nursery someday, rocking crying infants and giving them their first baths.   I would like to work with teen-agers,  leading youth groups or helping at the local high school.  If I’m going to do these though, I may need to reconsider running the bake sale for the school fair each year.

A few of the items are intimidating because they mean a serious commitment of some sort.  I would like to publish a novel before I die, and I would like to get a Ph.D, in English literature.  I also would like to learn to draw and play the piano with a string quartet.  If I’m going to accomplish these things, I need to start writing every day and polish my piano skills.

I may not make it through the list.  Some things may just be out of reach, such as New Zealand, and other ultimately may not work with the rest of my life, such as owning a horse.  Yet I see that I already have built the framework for many of these pipe dreams, and that if I make them goals, there is no reason I can’t find a way to taste at least part of that reality.

Like my friend, I now have an alternative do complaining.   When I’m bored with my life, I take out my list.  Maybe I’ll send off for travel brochures or take my pencils out in the back yard and doodle around for an  hour, trying to sketch trees that look like trees.

I have no idea how the boys and I will get to Africa, but if it’s important enough, I’m sure we’ll find a way.  One of them might grow up to be a zoologist, or I might become a nature writer and get sent on assignment or maybe we’ll just save a few dollars every week till we have enough.

I had a cousin who accomplished an amazing string of interesting things.  She once told me the key was preparing so that life could work in mysterious ways. “If you want your ship to come in, you must build a dock,” she said.

Thanks to my list, I’m working on some big docks.

Wendy Swallow Williams

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I (DM) will close with a few pictorial highlights off my list….

hosting  concerts in our home and barn.  When Katie Sawicki came to visit we also sponsored a songwriting workshop.

Yep, we went white water rafting in 2010 (that’s my wife in the boat on the right clocking the guy in the other boat with her oar. )  She said it was an accident. 

Had a pet pig I named Winston.  To tell you about that pig would take a whole blog post in itself.

Our orchard started out as a wish/ and idea on my “list”

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So tell me, do you have a working list of sorts?

Care to share any items you have yet to check off but plan to  sometime soon?

Someone has said the older we get, the less action oriented our goals become…. What do you think?

What type of relationship goals could be on a list?