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. 

“You can sit by me if you like….”

“You can sit by me if you like,” Jarret said to me at lunch today

“Do you know why I asked you to sit by me?”, he asked.

“No, Why do you ask me to sit by you?” I replied.

“Because I like you! “he said with a shy smile.

Jarret is 4 years old.

He has been asking me to sit by him now for the past three weeks.

Our crew is building a shop at their farm.

The family  has  invited us in for  lunch  almost every day we’ve been on the job.

When I sit down at their  14 ft farm table  I think,...this is what it must have felt like to be a part of a large threshing crew..

Grant Wood’s Dinner For Threshers

People with a real gift of hospitality are a dying breed.

Even here in Iowa.

It’s one thing to invite a few close friends over for  lunch once in a while..

I scratch your back, you scratch mine..right?

Well, …it’s a completely different ball game to cook lunch for  a construction crew of 4 , 5 days a week, for the better part of a month.

Today lasagna  was on the menu

Yesterday I thought  Jarret’s mom had asked if I wanted a piece of “cheese cake” for desert?
“Yummy I said..I love cheese cake…!

“No” she replied, I said  “sheet cake”

my bad.

Well, today, guess what we had for desert?

Cheese cake topped with a blueberry filling.

I had to pry the guys away from the table today….

They did not want to go back to work.

John said it was the best tasting lasagna he’d ever had.

While I’m thinking about it..here’s a recent crew photo

Crew photo

I work with a great bunch of guys.

The morale on this crew is second to none.

Nothing worse than working around someone with a bad attitude.

At this point in my life, when I’m looking to hire someone, the numero uno thing I am looking for is

ATTITUDE.

I don’t care if you don’t know how to properly hold a hammer or read a tape measure.

I can teach you those things.

What I really detest is a whiner or someone with a dark cloud following them around.

I am really enjoying  the guys   that is helping me out this Winter.

As I write this, I feel like I’m starting to fade….4:30 AM comes pretty early

Jarret’s comments were still rolling around in my head when I got home from work, and I wanted to tell you about it…

Yea, I’m assuming I have a couple of regular readers 

There is just something serendipitous about a 4 year old   requesting that I be his lunch buddy 3 weeks in a row.

I am a rich man.

I will miss Jarret when the job is done…

Heck, I will miss the whole family…

Here is a picture of the shop we’ve been working on:

End view of shop

One last thing before I sign off…

Did you know what the word Hospitality literally means?

Hospitality:  Lover of strangers

I believe it is more caught than taught…

Jarret is growing up in a home where it is being modeled in a powerful way….

If I were a betting man, someday when he has a home of his own, he will also know how it’s done….

Is there anyone in your life, with the gift of hospitality?  Tell me about them.

Baby Chicks

I got a phone call 6:30 AM Thursday morning from the post office.  Our little peepers were in!  Come and get them

Our new Chicken shed in transit.   Found a John Deere wagon running gear on Craigs list for $200.  Ended up spending another $184.00 on 4  good used tires.

I saw a set up like this on a local CSA.  The birds free range during the day and spend the night in the shed, so as not to be eating by coyote’s , racoons etc. @ night.

I had the new chicken shed all set up with two heat lamps, 2 feeders, and a new waterier.  The day the chicks arrived it was windy and cold…even with the heat lamps I was concerned it might be too cold for the chicks so I did what any farmer would do trying to keep the baby animals alive…brought them into the house.  In this case, our living room

I was talking with  Janaan a farmer’s wife earlier this week.  She told us, her husband had brought, baby pigs, chicks, sheep and even a baby calf into their  basement to get them started.

60 baby chicks are in that box just waiting to get out

Here’s what they look like when you pop open the lid

baby chicks spending the night in our living room under the heat lamp

Yes we really do have 60 baby chicks in our living room.

At the water cooler

eating some tasty organic chick starter

birds eye view

Whatch you look’n at???

Here’s some pictures I grabbed of the Internet to get an idea what the chicks will look like when they mature:

Silver- laced Wynadotte

black-australorp-rooster.

Rhode_Island_Red_Rooster

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What I would really like to look into now is growing our own non-genetically modified chicken feed for next season…any of you reading this ever come up with your own chicken feed  recipe?  Talk to me.  We have an acre and 1/4 of ground behind the barn just sitting there doing nothing.  DM

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Update 4/20/2012  This post originally appeared on my other blog last week/ (it has more to do with things around our acreage)  Let me know if you’d like a link to that blog and I will get it for you.  Thought some of you might get a kick out of the little baby chick pictures. DM

Sometimes less is more

The Native Americans called it “Beautiful Land”

I call it…..

]

home…

Took these pictures the last few mornings….

Thought if someone stopped by my blog, I would have the coffee on….

Got three minutes for a cup?

If  a couple of these pictures look familiar, you may have seem  them on my farm blog last night..

Anyway, this is going to be a shorter post,

and that’s OK

Sometimes, less is more.  DM

To my great, great, great, grand daughter…

You came to mind this morning

a hundred years from me,

My daughter’s

daughter’s

daughter….

a hundred years from me.

There’s some things I  want to tell you

Bout  things  that shouldn’t be.

about the world

you woke up in this morning.

100 years from me…..

I think about my grandpa,

and his grandpa too

I wonder if they ever

gave much thought

bout the things

they’d say and do

the choices that  generation made

are landing at  my feet

We used to have 4 foot of top soil

Now it’s measured in inches

And now our leaders  spend like drunken fools

  you’ll be picking up the tab

I want you to know I wasn’t for it

I spoke out  for what it’s worth

“We’re  sorry” just don’t cut it,

hollow words

to my ears they sound.

We’ve got to live with a long term view

if we hope you’ll be around….

You came to mind this morning

a hundred years from me,

My daughter’s

daughter’s

daughter….

a hundred years from me….

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I  wrote this poem  Fathers day of 2009 so you may have seen this one before. I was reading some poetry my mom wrote this afternoon about her family and it  got me to thinking. DM

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You may have seen this video before, especially if you’re a long time reader of my blog.

It’s worth watching again if you haven’t seen it in a while.

it’s called “Generations” by Sarah Groves…

This line makes me think every time

“Generations will reap what I sow,

I can pass on, a curse or a blessing, to those I will never know…”

Celebrating my Immigrant Roots

Grandma came to America in 1929.

She was 23 years old.

Picture of grandma when she was still single.

She came to America with a girl friend.

They, like thousands of others, came by ship…

Grandma second from the right

She told me later, she never saw her father again and didn’t see her mother until after the war. She moved to  Chicago, but came west to  visit her Aunt and Uncle on the farm near Scotch Grove Iowa.  Her aunt and uncle were her sponsors.

Grandma sitting with her Aunt and Uncle Fred and Hannah Otten  shortly after coming to America.

While visiting them  she met my grandpa.  A big strapping farm boy who spoke low German and English.

Side note…Grandma spoke both High and Low German.  She was a city girl from

Wilhelmshaven, Germany  a port city on the North Sea

His parents were good friends with the Ottens….and the rest as they say is history.

Grandpa told me his friends made fun of him for marrying a “city girl”

He said, “What’s it to them???   They could just  to go to….@%#&” .

Grandma  learned how to milk cows (by hand) .  Grandpa told me he got grandma  a couple of hundred chickens “so she could have her own egg money.”

Dad was born at home, (I’m pretty sure on the kitchen table)

Those had to be tough years..

Here’s a picture of grandma and my dad:

Here’s a song  that reminds me of grandma….

and finally, here’s a picture of me….all decked out in my German leterhosen.

To Hell with it, let the story begin….

“How does the creative impulse die in us?  The English teacher who wrote fiercely on the margin of your them in blue pencil: “Trite, rewrite,”  helped to kill it .  Critics kill it, your family.  Families are great murders of the creative impulse., Particularly husbands.  Order brothers sneer at younger brothers and kill it.  There is that American pass time known as “kidding” – with the result that everyone is ashamed and hangdog about showing the slightest enthusiasm or passion or sincere feeling about anything.”  Brenda Ueland

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I have been sitting on a mother load of raw material for another book for 4 years,  every bit as interesting as the Little House On the Prairie or  Janette Oke’s Love Comes Softly series, and yet I’ve done nothing with it.

Saturday  Steve stopped by  for coffee.   He asked me (again )  “Well, how’s the book coming?”

“I’m stuck,” I said.. “I have writer’s block”…(I thought to myself….in good measure because of you”

(Hi Steve!  I know once in a while you stop by the blog..so just in case, I know you mean well )

Tonight I picked up my favorite book on writing by Brenda  Ueland  “If you Want to Write.”

And  it felt like someone was stirring the coals down in the furnace of  my soul. .  She  is the type of  friend we all long for…a friend who can speak grace into our timid souls.  I love her, even though  I never met her and she’s been gone since 1985 @ the ripe old age of 93.

Brenda encouraged me to write  ” Bold, Free, and  Truthful.”…

and on that note, I thought I would give the book another try….

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Introduction

On The Trail Of Lyman Dillon

 “I can still see that man …had a dam rod as thick as my arm over his arm…he was laying there, couldn’t move.  Both engines were laying in the ditch.  Then the Doctor hollered. “Does anybody got some whiskey???  Come on get some!  If you got nothing, get some!  We’ve got to have whiskey for this guy.”  They poured the whole pint in him.  He was suffering….  It took all day and all night… It was 35 to 40 below.  You don’t ever forget those things….”

Grandpa  recalling the train accident South of his farm in 1929

One afternoon   May of 2007 , on a lark I  listened to a  tape I’d made of my Grandpa  from 1999.  He retold several stories from his youth.

After  the tape finished , I got on line  and did a search of Iowa History –    The February 21^st 1921 edition of The Palimpsest came up.

The article described the journey of Marcus L. Hansen and John E. Briggs retracing the route of Old Military Road September of 1920 as they came into my home town.  They  imagined  who else had  traveled the   road….Concord stage coaches,  circuit riding preachers,  dragoon soldiers, immigrant wagons  by the hundreds, even Lyman Dillon, who was famous for  plowing  a furrow to mark the original route in 1839.

As I read Hansen and Brigg’s account 87 years after their walk, it stirred something deep within me-

     As far as I knew, no one else had ever retraced the route on foot since Hansen and Briggs, and if so,  it wasn’t well-known.   I said to my wife, “I think it’s time someone does it again.” 

      That set in motion a series of events.

  The Palimpsest article mentioned Mr Lyman Dillon-

   “In 1839, 147 years ago, Lyman Dillon plowed a furrow from Dubuque to Iowa City.  Reportedly it is the longest furrow ever plowed- almost 100 miles.  Using a prairie breaking plow and five yoke of slow, lumbering, stubborn oxen…”

I tried to imagine Dillon with a breaking plow and 10 oxen cutting a furrow through virgin prairie.  Tall grass prairie  ten feet high- you could loose a man on a horse in it.  black bear, wolves – not to mention Native Americans being crowded off their land.

Hanson and Briggs had retraced Old Military road in 1920.  As far as I knew, no one had done it since, so I said to my wife, I think it’s about time someone does it again…..I chose September of 2008 to retrace  it myself.

I was curious to know what the landscape would have looked like, if any of the original road still existed, and what significant events might have happened along the route.

I became a student of   early Iowa history….

to be continued….

Hank

Hank and his son Don farmed near when I was grew up. 

Hank was a typical old German…orny, and tight.

(I can say that about old Germans because I is one )

 I heard  the following story last weekend  from my friend  Steve (see picture below) who heard it  first hand from one of the grandsons.

  One Saturday morning Hank and Don   were pulling the  water pump on the windmill. 

“Vee, need to hurrrry up!   Hank said to his son Don,  in his broken English. “It feels like it’s start’n to rrrrain.!”

(I can  just hear the  “r’s rolling off his tongue)

“It’s not supposed to rain! ” Don replied, exasperated.

At this point, Hank looked up.  There at the top of the windmill were his two grandsons, Brian and Aarron…\standing on the edge of the wooden platform  peeing .

“You Son of a ***’s he said, shaking his fist.   Come down from there  NOW !!!! “ 

The boys don’t come down, they know if they do, the’ll get a whoop’n.

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Another time, Brian and Aaron decide to stick the billy-goat in their grandpa’s car.

 They opened  the door and stick him  in the back seat.  They leave  the window down  just a little.

  Hank eventually discovers the goat in the car…

“Kum here Donald!”

The D** goat jumped through de vindow of de car.  Hep me git him out!.” 

 Hank, grabs  the goat by the horns and starts to pull.

At this point, the goat  locks his front  legs and digs  his hoofs into the seat. 

Old Hank is yanking, and cussing , trying to wrestle the billy-goat out of the car.

 Hank looses his footing  and his feet slide  under the car.

 The goat sees his chance and  leaps  out  of the door,  past Hank who is still  lying on the gravel.

  The boys   watch the drama unfold from a distance….

 

Photo of Steve and I telling stories and pondering history  over a pot of coffee.

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What is history  but a series of stories?  

 Who decides which ones we’ll  remember and which ones we forget?

Personally, the ones that stick with me are either funny or tragic.

So tell me a story.

Danka    DM

ps  Steve, or anyone else who happens upon this post who knew Hank personally,   feel free to clarify any of the details here, and  better yet, tell us another story about Hank.

More chickens.

I’m thinking about getting some more chickens.   

Right now we have 5….4 hens and a rooster.

The following story comes to mind every time I think about our little flock….

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Not Even Chickens by Robert Fulghum

      With all the recent seaside development, it is easy to forget that Crete and Cretans are fundamentally about the mountains – the steep places, the high and isolated villages that breed independent, self-sufficient people who have always been a rule unto themselves.  They still are.  The Mountain Cretans say they fear nothing and nobody, and would look at God, Himself, with hat on and eyes open.  Thus they look upon strangers with interest, not suspicion.

     One afternoon I parked my car and walked a narrow road that connects several small villages along a high mountain ridge.  A voice called out from the porch of a whitewashed house:

     “Ehla, ehlah, kahtheeseh!” (Come come, sit!)  An old man beckoned to me, pointing to the chair beside him.

      I went.  I sat.  On a small table were almonds, raisins, olives, and a bottle of tsikoudia (tsee-koo-di-ah)  the Cretan equivalent of white-lightening or grappa- the proffered sign of hospitality and welcome to a Cretan home.  He was expecting company -and anybody would do.

     “tho-kee-maseh” (Drink this, eat this!)  he said, handing me a glass of tsikoudia and filling a small plate with almonds, raisins, and olives.

      “Lee-pon.  Germanos?” (Well, then, are you German?)

       I was touched to know that the hospitality came first, even though I might be German- from a country that had brutalized Crete in WW II.

     “Oshee, Americanos.”  (No, American.)

       “Americanos!  Americanos!  He shouted into the house, and a younger man appeared.  They spoke high-gear Greek with a Cretan accent.  The look on my face tells them I cannot follow, so the younger man says in fine English, “My father is excited to meet you.  He has never met an American.  He hears that in America they have everything.  He would like to ask you some questions.”

     Fine.  With his son translating, the examination began.  How old was I?  How many children?  How much money do I make?  Very Cretan inquiries.  Then a harder question that led to even tougher scrutiny: “How often do you dance and sing and recite poetry?

      “Not very often.”

       The old man looked at me with narrowed eyes.

      “How many sheep and goats do you have?”

     “None.”

      The old man looked puzzled.

       “How many olive trees do you have and how much oil put away?”

      “None.”
    

      The old man frowned.

      ” How many vines do you have and how much wine put away?”

     “None.”

      The old man was nonplussed.  He raised his eyebrows.

      “Do you have any chickens?”

     “No.”

     The old man looked mildly outraged and fell into high-gear Greek again with his son.  The son was apologetic.  “Pardon me, but my father says that it is a lie that Americans have everything.  You have no sheep, no goats, no trees, no oil, no vines, no wine, not even chickens.  He asks,” What kind of life is that?  He says, “No wonder you don’t sing or dance or recite poetry very often.”  He is dismayed.”

     The old man peered at me with pity bordering on contempt.

      Shaking his head in disgust, he mumbles in English, as he rose and limped out into his garden, dismissing me from his mind:

“Nothing.  Not even chickens….”

How Do You Say “Grain Mill” in German?

        I (DM) came across the following information two months ago.  It sent me on another  adventure…..

       an adventure into the world of bread, bread making, healthy breads (if there even was such a thing)…..  (and there is!)

        I thought to myself, this stuff is really too good to keep to myself! …sort of like the Three Sisters Gardening concept...

I know there are people who already know this , but for one reason or the other, it is not well-known by the general population.  Unless you run in certain circles, (and I apparently don’t)  this information  was  all new to me.

Thought I would post a portion of that original article on the blog:

What’s In A wheat Grain?
To understand the benefits associated with milling grain, you need to understand what comprises a whole grain. There are three main layers: the bran, the germ, and the endosperm.
• The bran is the outer layer where all the roughage that helps move unwanted poisons and toxins through your system is found. The bran also contains numerous vitamins, minerals, and proteins.
• The germ is the health center of the grain, overflowing with vitamins B and E, as well as unsaturated fat and protein.
• The endosperm is the starchy white center. Whole grains contain almost 90% of all the vitamins, minerals, and protein you’ll ever need. However, commercially milled products don’t offer you those nutrients. Why? Once milled, the oils found in the bran and germ oxidize and turn rancid within 72 hours. So for commercial purposes, both the bran and germ—and all the nutrients contained within them—must be removed in order to give products a shelf life.  

Hard Red Wheat and Rye for sale

Bread Is Made of What?
The endosperm is all that’s left of the original grain. So you’re basically eating gluten and starch when you eat products off the shelf. For PR purposes, you’ll see breads and cereals claiming to be “enriched with vitamins and minerals!” Don’t be fooled. The fact that a product needs enriching is a sign of how much of its health value has been diminished. Usually only 2-4 of the missing vitamins and minerals can be replaced anyway, and nothing can be done to replace the fiber and protein.

Health Benefits
Although the nation is currently experiencing low-carb mania, fresh whole grain products are in fact good for you. They are low in fat, high in protein, and provide energy for your muscles and body. High fiber found in whole grains helps in the management of obesity, diabetes, hemorrhoids, stroke, and heart attacks. Eating whole-grain foods on a regular basis has been shown to decrease risk for heart disease and high cholesterol levels, and is also thought to lower the risk of breast and colon cancer. Most commercial products reek with preservatives, and bleaching agents. When milling your own flour, you’re able to mill only the amount you need, so nothing goes to waste and you are left with fresh-tasting, chemically unaltered flour. 

 Hard Red Wheat and Rye for sale Iowa  

Taste
After eating bread prepared from grain you mill yourself, there is no going back. Commercial products will taste stale, even if they’re “fresh” off the shelf. Freshly milled breads can have a variety of taste depending on which grains you chose to mill. There’s fun in experimenting with different grains in your recipes. Try adding or combining buckwheat, spelt (good for people with wheat allergies), oats, rye, wheat, quinoa, millet and many other grains for a never-ending variety of taste.

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Hard Red Wheat and Rye for sale  Iowa

 I  tracked down a source for Organic  hard red wheat   and Rye, which  I would even sell  to you  if you’re interested.  Leave me a comment and we can talk current prices.  For a lot less than anything I found anywhere else on-line  and no minimum quantity for sale right   here  in River City… Iowa that is.

Diagram of a “Wheat Berry” : (or Kernel of wheat )

Picture of me grinding my first batch of fresh flour….living the dream