Heart, Head, Hands and....what's the 4th H?

One year. That was it. While 4H horse & pony ran through our family veins, I participated one year with rabbits (4th place) and chickens (1st place). And that was enough. But the county 4H fair became the thing of childhood legends as each summer we trekked to the fairgrounds hauling horses to and from and setting up camp in the horse barn. And whether it actually occurred or not, I cannot say, but it did seem like it always stormed on the night we were there late into the evening. It was at the 4H fair in 1980 that mom was summoned to the fair office to take a call that grandpa Hochstetler was in the hospital. He died the next day. I always think of this while at the fair.

Growing out of the 4H experience, I still returned, even in high school, with friends to see old friends. And it is of course, a tradition today to take our children to the 4H fair to give them some form of farm experience and an appreciation of our agrarian roots. And it looks like we’ll have a couple of junior 4H’ers this summer.

I think I blame the 4H leaf collection exhibits for another obsession that developed in childhood. I developed a pretty keen sense of the natural environment around me, and an appreciation for it and that lead to a leaf collection I started when I was about 10 years old. Soon it busted the seams of a scrapbook as my collection grew to include leaves from trees that I collected on vacations south and west. I had close to a hundred specimens and even a box full of nuts, seeds, and fruits from the trees I collected leaves from. The bizarre thing, yes-as if this isn’t strange enough, is that my mom kept these tucked away in our attic and recently pushed them my way. It’s true though that I impress my friends with my rather useless knowledge of trees and can identify them by about any means in any season. My favorite trees are beech and sycamore and I’ve long since felt that the sycamore should replace the poplar as Indiana’s state tree.

the eagle has landed

I’m not exactly sure how being a "birder" became a part of my make-up, but the earliest I can remember having an interest in wildlife was when, under duress, I was encouraged to find something to do the first day of summer vacation after about my 5th grade year. I recall my dad making a statement something like this “you need to find something to do, outside…..you are not going to sit inside and watch TV all summer”. After that I began sketching wildlife out of encyclopedias. I think that may be where it started. Regardless, I kept a list for several years through the end of elementary school and into Junior High. And while in high school I may have no longer recorded what I saw…I certainly could identify what I saw.

Then, after college and the kids came along, I started keeping track again of the birds that we had at our place on South Michigan Street. Surprisingly, for living a block from the downtown, we saw quite a variety of birds. The highest count was, I believe, 27 species in one week. Then we moved to the country and that record was quickly shattered as we have found about the most perfect environment for birding-I think the count is 42 different species in one week.

But last week had a stellar moment for birding here on the Hill, and those of you who follow me on Facebook know what I'm about to say. Yes indeed, the Eagle had landed at Sycamore Hill.

I pulled into the driveway last Wednesday after a rather draining day on the road. As I got to the top of the lane and turned the corner to park I saw an enormous figure fly between the house and barn. Realizing this was too large to be our red tailed hawks, I assumed maybe vulture. I got out of the car and saw it perched in a tree by the creek just beyond the large sycamore. Something said to me-get your camera-but I ignored it. I trekked over to the tree it was in and noticed it had a rabbit, and that this was no vulture. It looked at me and with a woosh and whap of its wings flew within about 50' of my head, circled, and came back to roost. No doubt about it-it was an immature eagle. It headed to the fence line along the back 5 acres.

So when the family got home I told them what I saw and we all walked out to the back pasture with binoculars, and this time a camera. It was still perched in a tall tree, but the camera wasn't going to do it any justice. My wife, however, caught a shot of the birder. I know that eagle sitings are becoming more frequent in this part of the Hoosier state, even locally. Even so, this was pretty amazing.....even if my FB friends found the story a bit hard to swallow!

Political DNA

I'm in the center-this was at FBI Headquarters while on a visit to my grandparents in 1986; funny, I had some Republican friends say this was too right-wing to include on my campaign website. Evidently not right enough!

Whether blood-borne, or married-in, I can't deny my political DNA make-up. This came blasting back into my consciousness recently when I invited former Governor Doc Bowen to the reception honoring my great aunt. You see, back in 1981 Doc remarried my great aunt's sister....and that would be my grandmother. And that led to over 10 years of insight that did nothing but whet my appetite for politics.

Swearing in ceremony for Health & Human Services Secretary, my grandmother in blue

I come from a long, long line of Republicans. It appears that since the dawn of the GOP on America's political landscape, my family in all of its lines has associated themselves with the party. My great grandmother (the mean one) was the first woman delegate to a presidential convention from Indiana-or the story goes. The family, though, always shied away from public office. In retrospect I think I understand why. I broke that tradition in 2003, and could very much see myself breaking with tradition again. The tough part is that I don't see much that I can identify with in today's GOP. It seems the pendulum swings so dramatically to the right and left that left is barely left of center anymore. Which makes me wonder where I am.....oh, and I know where some people think I am!

Meeting with Senator Lugar, above, and on tour with Lt. Governor Skillman, below on right

So last week, after some encouragement, we had a visit with Doc and I introduced my kids to their "ex-step great grandfather" (I think that's right). It was nice to catch up and we wished him well for his 93rd birthday. I would have loved to talk politics....like, "hey, what is up with that gawdoffal Mitch Daniels anyway?" I think most Republicans would be shocked by how he might reply. If you recall, he endorsed Mitch's opponent back in the day, before daylight savings time...sigh.... Instead we traded chit chat stories of life and business, and what our kids are involved in. And that seemed just fine.

I think what separates a true public servant from a politician is where their loyalties lie. I think a politician's loyalties lie with himself and his party. A statesman, a true public servant, has loyalties with only the public. So when a decision must be made, something in his core kicks in and makes a decision on what is right for the people. We don't have that today. I'd like to think that was my m.o., but I'll let others be the judge of that.

service done right

I have written on HH before about my great aunt who lost her re-election bid for township trustee last fall in the wake of the national anti-Obama uprising. A whole lot of good conservative Democrats were voted out of office. My aunt was the most fiscally conservative elected official I have ever known. Despite that, and her years of experience, she's looking for something else to do now.

One problem....who would hire a 90 year old? My great aunt first started working as a deputy assessor for the township in which she was born and lived her entire life in 1962. In 1970 she was elected trustee and had won every election since that time. That 40 years, plus another 8-that's almost 50 years of service to the people of North Township. She was awarded the Sagamore of the Wabash in 2001.

A friend of mine "from the other side of the aisle" suggested we do something to honor her so we planned a small reception with a few surprises for her. And then she ended up in the hospital and we had to reschedule the reception. We finally were able to hold it a few weeks ago and to her surprise Congressman Donnelly was able to come and speak on the virtues my aunt has demonstrated as a servant of the public for the 40 years. And then he read a letter from President Obama commending her on a job well done. At that she wiped tears from her eyes-and I have to say I did too. I think maybe most stirring was the presentation of a flag and salute by officers of the American Legion.

That's our family with blue dog Democrat Congressman Donnelly

I don't care about political affiliation. I call things as I see them. I think I have a very keen insight on political maneuvering, jockeying, issues of integrity and duplicity. I am probably most critical of my own Republican party because I see tremendous results of power corrupting and whole communities, whole citizenry, suffering because party is treated more important than the public. Actions based on heady, untested, principles are being crammed down our throats with little thought to their ramifications, maybe true on both sides of the aisle. We are at a desperate loss of true public servitude in our country and I don't believe it will ever come back.

intoxicating

We often get wild surprises around here. Like the pair of Red-Tailed hawks that have been hunting on the Hill. The red-tails seem to be staying lower to the ground as they fly past the house going from the woods across the road to their favorite perch on top of our barn. One afternoon a hawk decided to stop halfway and perch from a fence post just a few yards from the house.

Yesterday my folks stopped by and had coffee. My dad called from the living room and said there was a large group of Cedar Waxwings just outside the front door. We counted 19 of them. The waxwings have been here before, but never in such large numbers. We have four ancient red cedar trees that were planted when the house was constructed in 1865 that form a line between our drive and the front of the house. Cedar Waxwings love cedar berries, as their name would imply. And they were feasting on the berries that had dropped to the ground late last fall and have been covered by snow the last three months. I mentioned this to a fellow birder and he asked me if they were drunk. What? He then explained that often the old berries have fermented and the waxwings have been known to become intoxicated. I told him that must have been why one was wearing a lampshade and another kept telling me he loved me......

it'll tickle yore innards

A few days ago my little girl and I were walking the property looking for a suitable tree in which to construct a treehouse/clubhouse. Ever since she saw an American Girl Doll movie with Kit Kitridge and her treehouse/base of operations for her investigative journalism work, she's been fantasizing over having a treehouse of her own. I told her last year to give me a year so that we could settle in here on the Hill, and then I would build one.

Well, this is the year. And our scouting earlier this week produced about 4 potential treehouse tree hosts. As we walked along the bank of Brush Creek, the snow about half melted from the ground, I saw a dark green bottle glistening beneath the flotsam and jetsam of this and several past winters. I picked it up and read "Mountain Dew It'll tickle yore innards". I have a handful of old pop bottles that I found on my grandparents' property decades ago, but evidently they were not Mt. Dew fans, and frankly neither am I, because I hadn't seen this one before. And I could hardly believe the marketing image of a mountain man and the use of "innards" on something meant for consumption. But I loved it. Unfortunately the top was broken off. I looked at the bottom for a date and it was stamped with "65".



So I came back to the house and did a little research on Moutain Dew. And here it is: The name Mountain Dew was first trademarked by Ally and Barney Hartman in the 1940s, who coined the name from a colloquial term for moonshine whiskey. Early bottles and signage carried the reference forward by showing a cartoon-stylized mountaineer. The first sketches of the original Mountain Dew bottle labels were devised in 1948 by John Brichetto, and the representation on product packaging has changed at multiple points in the history of the beverage. Pepsi-Cola Company acquired the Mountain Dew brand in 1964, and shortly thereafter in 1973 the logo was modified as the company sought to shift its focus to a “younger, outdoorsy” generation.

Outdoorsy generation? Was the mountaineer not outdoorsy enough? And then I found this great link to youtube with an original Moutain Dew commercial-definitely worth watching:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4xd8fzk8Rlk

polar opposite great grandmothers

“Granner” or “Granner Grump” was my dad's dad's mother. As her name implied, she was a bit of a grumpy old woman. She had a mobile home located between our mobile home and my grandparents’ house on Lilac Road. Grandpa had moved her to the farm in the 1960s, built a small storage shed which remained on the farm long after the home was gone, and provided a small garden for her. She didn’t like us kids, and she hated cats, of which my grandparents had many. We thought it entirely harmless to walk back and forth in front of her house with the kitties from the barn. She would come out with a broom and shoo us away.

She attended the Assemblies of God Church in Plymouth and my grandparents would leave after church in LaPaz to go pick her up after her service. Sometimes we were allowed to ride along. You might wonder why we would want to, but it was because my grandparents could be talked into stopping at the A&W Rootbeer stand for ice cream….that made up for riding with an angry old lady. She was in her mid 80s when she died. Only the good die young.

Or maybe they don't. My Great Grandma Edna Hochstetler, we just called her Grandma Edna, had retired from the farm northwest of Bremen quite some time before I was born, and had moved with Great Grandpa to a small brick house on Montgomery Street in Bremen, across from the Salem Methodist Church, and around the corner from where her parents had retired to many years before. Grandma Edna had a particularly interesting way in speaking that I remember my grandpa mimicked some, but can hear it particularly well in how my Great Aunt Lorretta speaks. I wonder if it wasn’t from some German influence of her ancestors. Grandma Edna’s house was pretty sparse of furniture and décor. Everything seemed particularly clean and orderly when we would sit and visit with her. She had a few games that we could play, very old board games that she kept in a room off the kitchen. Grandma Edna would always provide us a little something for Christmas, near the end it was a card with a single dollar bill inside. I do remember one Christmas getting a marble track made of wood. And once while visiting she gave me an old metal toy road grader that had been my grandpa’s. Thankfully I still have that.

Grandma, along with her three sisters, were stalwarts of the Methodist Church across the street. All were involved in the women’s temperance society, and the suffrage movement. They all lived to be incredibly old and insisted the family all come together for the Ewald (their maiden names) Reunion each year. Grandma Edna died at 96 years of age when I was a freshman in college.

Auctions with Grandpa

I know that I was also fortunate to have known all of my grandparents. The one I knew the least well was probably because he was the first to pass on. Grandpa Hochstetler descended from strong German stock and as his name implies, the grandson of Amish settlers to Indiana. They had a farm that had been in the family for 100 years northwest of Bremen on 1st Road. I've been told that I look a great deal like him, so much so that at times when I run into people from Bremen they comment that I "must be a Hochstetler". He and grandma would drive into Plymouth on Friday evenings to “people watch” downtown. Grandpa seemed to be a kind and warm soul who died way too young at 58 years of age, and too suddenly. He died on my mom’s birthday on July 24, 1980.

Very few memories do I have of my grandpa Hochstetler. I do remember occasionally on Saturdays he would stop by the truckstop and would ask my mom if I could go along to a auction. Grandpa often went to auctions; he and my grandmother collected and dealt in antiques. So I had the opportunity to tag along and even became the recipient of a few items purchases at the auction that grandpa saw no value in. I remember one teddy bear in particular that he gave me that came in a lot of other things. I remember giving that bear to my grandmother when grandpa died. I wish I had it back.


Grandpa had a little shop that was once a worker’s house on the mint farm. He refinished antiques in this little shop and one time I helped him build a tiny wood table that I painted baby blue; it is long gone now. I like to think that his appreciation for antiques has something to do with my love of old things as well.

Beware: Sacrifice Kills

Our pastor has been going through a series he dubbed "Foundations", and as it suggests the messages have been about the foundations of the Christian faith found in Genesis. If I've gained nothing else from the messages, I certainly have realized that 6 years of Bible class and chapel in junior high and high school, 9 years of attending Christian colleges with chapel and Bible classes, and 20 years of being pastored by Lester Sumrall....I have a pretty good knowledge of those little used passages of scripture. Like the bald prophet whose dignity was under attack until a hungry bear came along.

Often my application of Sunday sermons are rather tangential, much like the first part of this post. Last Sunday pastor preached on the passage concerning Abraham being called to sacrifice Isaac. And as we know, Abraham's faith was tested by God when he was called to sacrifice the son God promised and as he drew his hand back to thrust the knife into this sacrifice God intervened and then provided a ram. I think the sermon's charge was to have faith like Abraham...or something along those lines....I'm not sure because my mind had already wandered away on a tangent by the time pastor got to that part of his message.

What is sacrifice anyway? A short Webster definition is "devote with loss". He also calls the sacrificed "a victim". It seems the Christian community today has a twisted view of sacrifice. Sacrificial giving doesn't equate to real loss. Our sacrifices could rarely be described as victims. And far too often, as we think of offering a sacrifice, we hold out for the miracle ram that conveniently took Isaac's place.......or we hold out for a 3 day resurrection guarantee. But those are the exceptions to the rule-not the law of sacrifice itself.

Have you ever stopped to ask yourself what in this life can you look back at and truly say it was a sacrifice to God? Is there a blood stained altar somewhere in your past, that was the result of "devotion with loss"? Can you point your finger back to a "victim" in your past?

I have to admit that as I listened to the message on Sunday, about how Isaac represented a promise of God-something in which Abraham's hopes and dreams were being realized-I looked back at the one true sacrifice I have made in my life and wondered why God didn't provide a ram. I thrust the dagger deep into the throat of my dream because I believed that's what God was asking of me.....to give the very best I had, the dreams that He formed in my heart. It's dead, and not coming back.

I think it is important to consider that Isaac wasn't a child when Abraham took him to the mountain. It is widely accepted by scholars that he was at least 20 years of age. Abraham was no doubt looking to Isaac as being on the cusp of producing the grandchildren that would be as numerous as the stars in the heaven. Twenty years of moving toward the fullfillment of what God promised-the hope formed in Abraham's heart-and now, that dream in its prime, was about to be put to death.

What if God's intent was truly to have Isaac as a sacrifice? Do you think when Abraham looked out upon the blood-stained mountain called Moriah he would have questioned what God was thinking? Would it have been a constant source of unrest? I'm sure Christians who have it together better than I do would say that looking back at a sacrifice with some degree of questioning, or unrest, shows a lack of faith in God. We probably all measure sacrifice differently, but I don't see how "devote with loss" or "victim" wouldn't produce some sleepless nights and angst when you pass by your Moriah. If it doesn't, I question whether or not there was a real victim involved.

God and I have had an interesting dialogue going over the last year.....I have to admit it's been pretty one-sided. Moriah stares me in the face every day.

LaPaz: going back to school

When I wrote a short post about my old elementary school in LaPaz, I never would have expected all of the interest expressed in those good old days by readers who stumbled on this blog. It made me realize that a second post was warranted.

It just so happened that I was on the former site of the school on Saturday and snapped a picture of my son by the memorial sign in front of the volunteer fire department building that now occupies the site. I still feel a bit cheated that our school was demolished while Lakeville's school has become a center for the community. While this post may seem a bit jumbled in the recollections, I wanted to stir the memories of others who called LaPaz home. My grandma gave me her old 110 camera complete with flash cube technology in the spring of 1981-had it not been for that I wouldn't have any pictures-the few I do have.

The oldest part of the building was constructed in 1905, and was designed by Jacob Ness, a Plymouth architect who designed a number of churches and large commercial buildings in town (more on that at another time). When school consolidation occurred in the late 1920s the larger part of the building was constructed in 1928. Only two schools remained in the township: LaPaz and Linkville. The newest part of the building was built in 1954 and housed the cafeteria. On Saturday Ronnie McCartney (Mac's Market) told me that was the worse part of the building in terms of heat loss. To that I responded that I remembered during the energy crisis of the 1970s we were instructed to wear our coats during class. Kindergarten through third grade were in that part of the building.

Readers responded to the earlier post with a number of memories including March Market. Everyone looked forward to that. The large trinkety sort of market was set up in the gymnasium. There was a cake walk conducted on the stage (I don't think I ever won!), a "jail" set up in the gym and for a few tickets you could have friends and teachers locked up, and probably the coolest thing was the haunted house set up in the basement. The line for the haunted house stretched out through the building (and frankly, if they had just turned the lights out in that building it would have sufficed for scare factor), but the haunted house-which no doubt broke every fire code in the book-was the favorite part of the market.

Do people remember the bright red lipstick Dr. Bauer (the principal) would wear and God forbid it was your birthday because she would hunt you down, usually in the lunch room, and give you a big kiss. I don't see that happening in my kids' school today-wonder why? There was a caged area constructed in the basement filled with old desks and other items-it was always creepy to walk past it on the way to the Principal's office. Do you remember the small collection of cool erasers and pencils that the school secretary had at her window?

One responder said "go LaPaz Trojans". This baffled me because I had always remembered the mascot as the Vikings. I had to go searching my dad's yearbooks from the 1950s and they were Vikings then, so I'm not clear if and when there was a change in ethnicity from Scandinavian to Greek mascot culture. The old class photos from the 1920s through the 50s can be found in the LaPaz Community Building behind the old ball diamond.

Speaking of the ball diamond, does anyone remember the day the fire department showed up to burn down an old concession booth at the south end of the fields? We watched from our classroom windows in 4th grade (I think) and the rumor was that someone had been growing pot in the old urinals stored there.....that was the rumor anyway. I participated in some rumor milling myself. I told all of my friends the concession booth (still there today) at the north side of the field was looted by bigfoot himself. Then I would bang on the side of the building while friends were on the other side.

OK-now here is one that surely others will remember. The house immediately north of the playground had a sunbather who would climb out onto her roof and all the boys would stand with gaped mouths. The exciting part was when the town marshall showed up at her house, I assume to advocate for decency, and she ran off. I do remember this correctly, don't I? Speaking of the playground, funny how after LaPaz was consolidated with Lakeville Elementary, the playground equipment was no longer safe to use. Do you remember that huge slide with barely any handrails or edge as you slid down at breakneck speed across the polished steel surface?

Someone mentioned that President Ford was in attendance for our Bicentennial Observance in 1976. I don't remember that....I just remember that we had invited Fonzie from Happy Days and he couldn't make it. The Fonz held my interest in those days than the President. Last summer I was at a coffee shop in Plymouth and a woman called me by name and asked if I remembered her. She looked vaguely familiar...but I was stumped. She said, "I'm Mrs. Joyce, your elementary music teacher." And then it hit me like a brick. Absolutely I remembered her...it had just been 35 years!

How about making candy during the Christmas season in art class? Mrs. Peterszack (sp?) was one of the kindest teachers-but who wouldn't love art class? I threw a spelling bee in 3rd grade (I think) because I didn't want to have to compete-I was an alternate and the judges didn't want us to feel left out so I competed anyway. Mrs. Gutknect finished out my split 5th grade year from Ms. Carls as teacher and I was happy to find out that she was coming back to be my 6th grade teacher. I've probably written too much, but would love to hear more stories from LaPaz!

Thoughts on Knights(any small Indiana)town

This is look at Knightstown, but a reflection on all of our small Midwestern towns.

our "fliver"

Earlier this week as the snow started to melt and the packed snow in the driveway became a thick sheet of ice, my wife had returned from the store and parked in her normal spot in the driveway. The next morning-not seeing the car-I asked my wife "where did you park?" She said "behind the Mazda". But I didn't see our Ford Freestyle behind the Mazda. In fact, I went so far as to step out on the back porch and still didn't see the Freestyle.

My hopes were up that the car had been stolen.

Then, looking out another window we saw the Freestyle. It had slid back down the shallow slope of the driveway, on the ice, more than twenty feet and was resting at a bit of an angle near the curve of the driveway. So I introduced this tale as my Facebook status update which began a string of comments that ended with me saying "I loath our Freestyle".

When we purchased the car a few years ago it was only two years old at that time and had pretty low mileage. Shortly after we bought it a number of small things started going wrong with it. We'd take it back to the dealer service center and they acted like "no big deal". Fixed it, or thought they fixed it, and then went about their merry way. Issues like headlights frequently burning out, door latches not working properly, the air conditioning not working, a clicking in the fan, etc., etc. Once my wife walked into the dealer service center and threw her keys at the attendant and said "this time I'm not leaving until the issue is truly fixed". I mean, I don't blame her-not a good thing to be driving along at 55 mph and a car door all of a sudden pop open on you with kids in the car. Then bigger things started going wrong with the car....electronics, sway bars, etc., etc. And that's when the dealership told us "tough luck" your warranty expired. Messages to the dealership about the quality of the vehicle and their claim as #1 in customer satisfaction in Indiana met with mute response.

We were not a "Ford family" so to speak. My first Ford was my Mustang, the second was my F150. Both vehicles I was pleased with. And I don't know that I would completely rule out buying a Ford today....but I'd have serious reservations and I know I wouldn't go back to the dealer/service center again.

We were playing Scrabble last night, which led me to retrieving a dictionary off my desk....I stumbled upon the word "fliver". Never heard of it. Here is the definition from a 1957 Webster's Dictionary:

fliver (fliv'er), n. a name which came into common use for a low-priced automobile; the finer quality of the present day product will probably cause the word fliver to become obsolete.

I think that Webster was nearly correct in his prediction, however, I have now reintroduced fliver to the world and it has become the word for which I refer to our Freestyle...our very own fliver. Huh, I just ran spell-check and it highlighted fliver.

Waging War as a Kid

my attempt at living out a childhood fantasy as Steven Hamlin with my brother Cal

War books
Whether it was my passion for history, or my sincere interest in the Civil War due to being influenced by the Dukes of Hazard, I began to devour books on early American wars in my last few years in elementary school. I remember reading every book I could get my hands on about the Civil War and battles fought during the war. Then I began reading all of the books on the American Revolution and the War of 1812, then the French and Indian War. I even went so far as to draw various flags of competing sides, had a list of battles and dates from the wars with the victors, and then would place the victor’s flag in my window on the day of the battle. I’m quite certain my parents thought I had gone crazy…..because there was a different flag in the window about every day.

Fort building
Nature was my laboratory, for certain, but it was also my kingdom. And in order to protect the kingdom, one would need forts built at various locations; this may have been influenced by the genre of reading material I preferenced. Not being satisfied with the elevated fort complete with ramparts my dad built in our backyard, I constructed my first fort when I was about 10 years old in my grandpa’s woods right behind our house. There were three oak trees that grew closely together and formed a triangle so I created a lean-to with sticks like I had seen in my Indiana history books. Then came the second fort, then steps nailed to trees throughout my grandpas 80+ acres for “lookouts”.

Then came the fort-a-la-resistance, the crowning achievement of my fort building career that I created in 6th grade. With scrap wood left over from remodeling the truck stop, I found four oak trees growing in a square in a small woods on my grandpa’s property, and built a raised platform (because it also flooded), four walls, a back “deck”, steps to the roof and a handrail around the top of the roof. With the monstrosity being visible from the highway, my dad handed me a gallon of brown paint when the building was completed. Funny how dad’s reason for camouflage was a little different from mine. The fort lasted for a few years before a windstorm blew off the roof and a few boards off the sides. At that time I took it all down except the back “deck” which became a great place to camp with my buddies in Junior High. The wood steps are still there on the one tree, leading to where the rooftop lookout was once located. I don’t think I’d try to climb them today. Those forts and "lookouts" provided great places to wage fireworks wars in high school.

the Barn on the Hill

I took advantage of the warmer, warmer being a relative term, weather yesterday and set out for a walk around the property. Our barn always provides a good subject to photograph in any season, from about any angle. Its old hand-hewn timbers seemed to be waiting for a thaw and the resumption of sunrise coffees on Thursday mornings.

what media can do to a 10 year old

Star Wars
Where did you see Star Wars? I saw it at the Rees Theater in Plymouth with my older cousin, Rusty, and one of his buddies. But what I remember probably best from that night was the car ride back to my cousin’s house at the Lake of the Woods. He had a muscle car he called “The Judge”, and he drove it home that night pretending to be Han Solo guiding the Millennium Falcon through warp speed. And I rolled around in the back seat as we took dangerous curve after curve at breakneck speed.

But that began my fast obsession with everything galactic, and most certainly with all things Star Wars as I collected figure after figure, craft after craft, and the Death Star itself. My first purchase was a Ti-Fighter that I insisted my grandmother let me buy one weekend at Harvey Mart in Plymouth, while I was staying with them while my parents were away. I remember thinking that my folks probably would not have approved, so I could blame this one on Grandma.

Dukes of Hazard
Without a doubt the most influential television show growing up for me was the Dukes of Hazard. This was so much the case that I tape recorded (not video, audio!) show after show and listened to them over and over again in my bed when I was supposed to be sleeping with a tiny earphone. I imagined my grandpa as uncle Jesse and me as the youngest cousin of the Duke boys. I had a burnt orange and yellow dirt bike that I spelled out “General Lee” on the side with stickers, and was the proud owner of a digital watch that played Dixie. Friday nights were sacred. One time my cousin and I climbed out of the windows of my grandmother's powder blue Pontiac at the grocery, pretending to be Dukes. She nearly died of embarrassment.

Tomahawk Kid
Combine the Dukes of Hazard, Star Wars, and my own super hero fantasy and you have fertile ground to create a home-grown country version of a junior super hero. Enter “the Tomahawk Kid”. My grandparents brought back a t-shirt for me from their fishing trip to Tomahawk, Wisconsin one year. It simply said “Tomahawk”. So I envisioned this super hero, wearing the t-shirt beneath other shirts, blue jeans and cowboy boots who would come to the aid of his fellow man and rip off the top shirt to expose none other than….the Tomahawk Kid. That was me. I invented all sorts of contraptions that were weapons and tools for spying on people, and taking samples for investigations. I think I was about 10. I wish I still had that t-shirt.

David Crowder Band's "O Praise Him"

from pew sittin' to pew jumpin'

The original LaPaz Church of God

LaPaz Church of God
I don’t recall at all the original church building our family all attended, and the place where my mom and dad were wed. I do remember, however slightly, going to the LaPaz Church of God located on U.S. 31. But I don’t remember much about it other than we had the Nabisco wafers that would fit on your finger and Hawaiian punch for snacks and my grandmother was in charge of bringing the snacks to our preschool classroom on the second floor. Many years after the church split, and long after my grandmother died, my grandpa asked us kids to drive him to church and we would sit with him in the seniors’ Sunday School Class. It didn’t seem that anything had changed in the 20 years I had been gone, except the church bell in front of the building was donated by my dad in memory of my grandmother.

Christian Center
How does one go from being a part of the Church of God to Charismatic? Prayer meetings. Not just any prayer meetings, Holy Ghost inspired prayer meetings that evidently were off limits to the congregation of the Church of God. Our family, and my aunt’s family and grandmother, along with many others from the church started attending prayer meetings at a family's home in Bremen. They had an attractive high school daughter and the kids would hang out and play Twister in her room. I was about 4 years old, but I had a crush on Stephanie. Once our pastor caught wind of the prayer meetings the church exploded and many of us left to go to Lester Sumrall’s church in South Bend: Christian Center. Other than clapping, some strange languages being spoken, and kids that were black (hadn't seen that before!) in my Sunday School pre-K class…I don’t know that I noticed the difference, except that it seemed like we were constantly at church-Sunday morning, evening, and Thursday evening. Growing up Charismatic, however, was an entirely different experience, and I'm just dying to write that book.

Goodman Memories

1991 Graduation in Goodman

I've been promising one of our 20x guys that I would attend one of his basketball games at Bethel College in Mishawaka. I cancelled on him once, the second time the game was cancelled due to weather. Third time's a charm. So Thursday night last week, after being cooped up in the house from the "blizzard", the family ventured to Mishawaka for a game against Goshen College.

I haven't written much about my four years at Bethel. I graduated from there in '91 (holy cow-20 years ago!) with a Business Administration degree, and enough credits for economics and marketing minors. I don't stay in contact with many from those four years, and rarely have I been on campus-which looks nothing like it did 20 years ago. But I was looking forward to watching Caleb play ball-and just maybe hoped for some reminder of those great times watching Bethel basketball.

college diploma #1

The gym in my days, and for several decades before me, was known as Goodman Auditorium. It was a classic barrel-vaulted gymnasium with a stage at one end and lots of wood. Today Bethel boasts a new gym, connected to Goodman with a large lobby filled with hall of famers. We arrived a few minutes before the game began so I took the kids over to Goodman and we stepped inside. I'm not sure what I expected.



While it certainly brought back loads of memories including Freshman orientation and chapel in my first year, and Homecoming and graduation my senior year, it was the basketball games that without question made the gym come to life. And I think that's what I tried to recapture Thursday night. Crowded Goodman moved and breathed like you would expect any Hoosier high school gym on a Friday night. But the feeling was far more intense. Packed into the little gym, with your friends and classmates on the court, only the buzzer could drown out the noise from the bleachers. And there was that smell that came from years of perspiration, old wood, and court sealer.

Homecoming 1990

That seemed strangely absent from Goodman Thursday night. As I tried to soak in the spirit of fans and athletes that hung like a shadow over the court, the place seemed almost barren. Gone were the championship banners hung from rafters like layers of cherished pages in a favorite photo album. Gone were the heavy dark blue velvet curtains framing the stage with Bethel's iconic helm logo centered above. The banners were moved to the new gym, and the stage opening had been filled in with wall and glass into which you could view students running in place. Across the floor of the gym athletes were practicing, running laps. But it just didn't feel the same.

We lingered the the lobby just prior to the start of the game and I pointed out to my kids the retired jerseys of fellow students and names of friends. The game was intense, and Caleb was on fire with 3 pointers. But, of course, it didn't feel like the old times in Goodman. As people walked into the gym I looked intently into their faces, trying to peal back 20 years of time to recognize someone from those bygone days. After the game I walked my kids around a little bit of the campus. Two thirds of the buildings there today were not there during my time, and with the exception of the library, even those that I remembered have little resemblance to the 1991 version. I recalled a few pranks that we played, pointed out the student union where I spent most of my time outside of class. And I recalled a number of friends, many I haven't seen in those 20 years. There is a certain risk of shock in going back, isn't there?

Fishing & gardening with Grandpa

Fishing with Gramps

Do you fish? A common question among men. Fishing for me isn’t the type of fishing grown men do today though. Fishing for me was a cane pole, digging for worms, blue gill in a five gallon bucket, and cigar smoke wafting along the bank of some pond. Grandpa loved to fish and during the summer months when I’d see his pickup truck pull up in our driveway in the mid afternoon it could only mean one thing “do you want to go fishing?” And of course, I always did. And armed with simple cane poles that once belonged to his dad-for I never remember gramps with a spinning rod-we would pull blue gill after blue gill from the ponds in the area or from one undeveloped channel at the Lake of the Woods. And even more dangerous than a kid armed with a fishing hook at the end of a pole, is a kid sitting on the wheel hub in the back bed of a pick up truck driving through the country on back roads. Grandpa also had a small john boat with a coating of pale green paint on the exterior….occasionally we would haul that to a pond or the lake, but as gramp’s got older, it kept its place leaning against an old fence row. That was my fishing experience growing up. No fishing experience I’ve had later in life ever measured up to that experience so, do I fish? No-it’s just not the same.

my Great Grandpa with his cane poles that later I used

Gardening with Grandpa & Grandma
Truck patch & rock gardens. One of my first memories of Grandma was creating a two or three tiered “rock garden” in the lawn between their home and our mobile home. Grandma was thrifty and ingenious and no doubt saw a fancier rock garden in some magazine and figured she could do justice with one of her home-grown varieties. And so it was created, with rocks from the fields and plants of some sort, I am sure. As for the truck patch-grandpa created a giant garden in the field behind his barn. Add a little horse manure to the lowlands and it became an impressive garden at that. Potatoes, tomatoes, corn, zucchini, and pumpkins-of the enormous variety-and we would help with it all. Surplus produce of course abounded and we would sell it from the back of his truck at the truck stop.

"blizzard" of 2011

The anticipation was building all day yesterday as people made frantic trips to the grocery store in light of media reports describing the impending snow storm as "epic" and "worst of the decade". I called and made arrangements for our driveway to be plowed in the aftermath, fed the birds, pulled the shovel out of the garage and placed it by the back door, and then hunkered down in anticipation.

By the time the kiddos left for school the weather service had already issued a blizzard warning for our area. I remarked I didn't ever recall going to school under a blizzard warning, but evidently we are tougher these days. When the true storm finally descended upon us mid-afternoon, after an early dismissal of students across northern Indiana, the anticipation was at fever pitch in our house.

As the waning hours of daylight turned to night, though already dimmed by masses of snow in crushing waves, we thought to ourselves.....stranded. And what if the warnings of power outages, five foot drifts, and impassable roads came true? Could we eek out an existence until rescued?

Though we didn't know it at the time, the storm hit its climatic height around 8:00 p.m., at which time I told the kids to step out onto the front stoop to see what a blizzard felt like. Walls of pelting snow and sleet beat against the house and scoured the ground. When we curled up in bed, having looked out the windows once more, we could hear the winds howl and the snow beat against our thin and fragile old glass window panes as the sashes rattled in their frames.

Then morning broke. I heard no more blowing. As daylight wakened the reshaped terrain, the brutal force of mother nature's wrath was revealed. Indeed there was snow, and there were drifts......but calling this the "blizzard of 2011"? C'mon. It should be noted that the number of vehicles on our road in the last 19 hours equal just 3 (includes one snow plow), which was also the same number of deer we saw walking down the road past our drive.

And as I type this, our snow plow is breaking us free from this frozen and isolated prison.