TAKING STOCK

At times, it is easy to get “all wrapped up in ourselves.” Especially as we grow older. We begin to worry about all of the things that are wrong with us, as well as with the world around us.

Too often we old geezers arise in the morning and begin checking ourselves out for any possible new aches and pains or other ailments. Instead of looking for the sunrise we turn on the TV and watch the world news, where we too often find more things that steer our thoughts toward the negative.

Get a group of us together, and you’ll likely get the whole load. About the only way for an individual to get attention early at such a meeting is to be the one who is in the poorest health. Or the one who takes the most and costliest medication. Or the one who has had the most complicated and/or life-threatening surgery. Lacking any of these qualifications, one can only hope to find willing listeners by being able to inform the gathering of a good universal home remedy for a common ailment.

After all of the prevalent medical conditions have been addressed, and only then, the talk may turn to the financial. Any rise in taxes makes a popular subject. Any increase in rent, or the costs of electricity, water, sewer, or garbage pickup are popular subjects. Any cheerfulness arising from a boost in Social Security payments is usually doused quickly by talk of an increase in Medicare costs. Without going into a lot of detail, some will admit that the low interest rates currently earned by their retirement investments have not exactly brightened up their Golden Years.

And nothing gets the attention of the entire assembly more quickly than does a hint from a trouble making prankster, indicating that there is a rumor making the rounds that there will soon be a sizable increase in the cost of TV cable service.

TAKING STOCK

I watched the old man

As he trudged down the road

With his thin shoulders stooped,

His aged back badly bowed.

The clothes on his back,

Shabby and far from new,

And the soles of his cheap

Shoes were badly worn through.

I wondered about

Just what places he’d been,

What joys has he’d known, and

What great sights had he seen.

What problems faced him

As he traveled life’s trail?

Was he hounded by fears

That he would always fail?

Was he nagged by thoughts,

Doubting he’d ever cope?

Did each sunrise fail to

Give him new rays of hope?

What had prevented

Him from gaining great wealth?

Had he been hampered by

A lifetime of poor health?

Was it just bad luck

That, day after long day,

Good breaks eluded him,

And never came his way?

Did he ever know

The love of a good spouse,

Or the comforting sound

Of children ‘round the house?

His face left no doubt

How the old man did feel.

He looked hungry, so I

Staked him to a warm meal.

He thanked me as we

Ate and talked for awhile.

Finally, I saw at

Least the hint of a smile.

The clouds parted. The

Sun brightened my own day.

Suddenly my own aches

And pains melted away.

My own troubles seemed

Trivial, now, and small,

Almost as if I had

No real problems at all.

I counted up all

The blessings sent my way,

Said a short prayer of thanks

For the gifts of that day.

We never know quite

What the future will bring,

But that one day made me feel

Wealthy as any king.

COUNTRY CONCERT

Lige Craig waited until all his friends had been served their first cup of coffee, then gave his favorite foil, Grandpa Lowther a sly wink and said, “Grandpa, we’ve often discussed all the changes we’ve seen in our time. Tell me, is there any special change that has surprised or impressed you? Something we haven’t mentioned before?”

As usual, the old fellow had a ready answer. “Yes, I’d have to say I find it hard to understand today’s propensity for constant sound and lack of silence. When we were young if we saw someone walking alone on a country lane we just assumed that person was enjoying the solitude, the quiet sounds of nature, and being alone with his or her thoughts. But today you can bet your bibs that solitary stroller is wearing headphones and is listening to music or a self-improvement speech recorded on a CD. Or else talking on a cell phone.

“Some folks don’t seem happy unless they are listening to something. Events such as celebrity court trials will cause them to glue themselves to the TV all day and half of the night, when usually 15 or 20 minutes of national and world news will cover everything of importance that can happen in 24 hours. These viewer-listeners will hear the same news and the same commercials repeated time and again. You can’t help but wonder when they find time to do any thinking of their own.

“In the old days, most of the noise wasn’t as loud as it is now. Any rooster worth his salt would make himself heard each morning, but it wasn’t a disagreeable sound. He would crow and crow until the sun, ready or not, would come up over the horizon. And until his owner would get up out of bed and start a new day’s work.
“When a farmer walked into his barn in the morning, it was not uncommon for a few of the cows to greet him with a “Moo,” and let him know they were ready to be relieved of their milk and fed some hay. Horses, too, would often neigh or nicker a “Good Morning.” A farmer with strong hands could sit down to a good milk cow and make the bottom of an empty milk pail ring out a merry tune with those first squirts of milk. And the farm cats, smelling the fresh milk, would mew pleasantly to let their master know they were ready to be fed.

“Horse-drawn farm machines were not nearly as noisy as those motorized monsters used today. A blacksmith’s hammer and anvil would often ring out a merry tune. And the loose-plank floors of some bridges would rumble out a pleasant song when crossed by a Model T Ford.

“A lot of conditions back then weren’t as pleasant or convenient as things are now. But I’m sure a lot of folks these days are missing out on a lot of precious silence and on a lot of the soft, enjoyable, musical notes of nature.”

COUNTRY CONCERT

Time moves swiftly when you’re busy,

I rush to get each job done.

I like having my work finished

By the setting of the sun.

Sunset sometimes puts on a show

With a splash of colors grand

As daylight slips past the mountains,

And darkness drifts ‘cross the land

My good wife fixes our supper,

Plain and simple country fare.

We always have plenty good food

With a little bit to spare.

Then we sit on the old log bench

Right outside our cabin door.

Content and wondering how could

Wealthy folks have any more?

From our valley’s small lake we can

Hear the cry of a sad loon

And we watch a wispy dark cloud

Drift across the rising moon.

Soon we enjoy the lament of

One lonely, sad whip-poor-will,

Then an old great horned owl’s hooting

From ‘way up on the east hill.

We hear the howl of a gray wolf

Up by the high mountain pass,

And the sounds of coyotes hunting

In the south prairie’s tall grass.

While we thrill to nature’s concert,

The evening ends all too soon,

Twilight surrenders to darkness

As thick, dark clouds hide the moon.

Our valley road’s soon deserted,

Unlit by any car’s light,

A sign our neighbors must all be

Safely at home for the night.

One more day, for us, has ended

As so many have before,

Content here in our small cabin,

We hope there’ll be many more.

We count up the many blessings the

Good Lord has sent our way,

Then it’s “early to bed” because

Tomorrow’s another day.

CHANGES

This article was written in September of 1997

We old-timers like to boast about all the changes we've seen. And in my seventy-plus years there have been a-plenty. From gravel roads and Model T Fords we've gone to interstate highways and gas-guzzling monsters. Then back to compact and sub-compact cars, and now the large, bulky models are beginning to sell again. We've seen gasoline and diesel tractors, small at first and now the $100,000-plus models, replace horses on the farms. Large threshing machines powered by giant wood-burning steam powered engines were replaced by 40 and 60 inch-wide tractor-drawn combines, which were in time replaced by self-propelled models that cost almost the price of a small farm. The airplane has gone from being just a novelty to the major means of long distance travel. And humans have traveled in space, lived in space, and walked around on the moon.

Television and the Internet can now keep us informed about everything and anything that tweaks our interest. They can tell us about almost anything that happens in the universe, as soon as it happens, sometimes even before. Some change has been for the good, some not. Improvements and discoveries in the health care field insure us of a lot longer life expectancy, provided we are not wasted at a young age in a drive-by shooting.

People have changed. They are no longer as dependent on each other, on family, friends, or on neighborhood. Many values have changed. A few of us still remember a well-respected doctor over at the county seat who was sentenced to a long stretch in the state penitentiary for performing an abortion.

Some changes don't require a century or a millennium. Several years ago, when a new casino boat opened its doors (or whatever it is that a boat opens to admit passengers), a commonly heard remark was, "These corn fed girls sure don't do much for those cocktail waitress costumes." After time for a more thorough study, the general consensus among local self-proclaimed experts was that there was indeed nothing wrong with the dimensions of the lovely young ladies, but that the problem was with the packaging. New Vegas-type costumes soon remedied the problem. Now the girls in the showroom have made another change. They wear black T-shirts and have snappy red suspenders to support their short skirts. They smile and move nimbly around the crowded tables, doing a great job, and are apparently comfortable in the new tops. And perhaps even a bit less susceptible to the common cold.

So the years still go by and time moves on. And brings with it changes. Some good, some bad. Some happy, some sad. But how dull life would be without change!

CHANGE

A good old friend once grinned at me;
He said, "As near as I can see,
We old-timers can get too set in our ways.
It's time we come out of our shell
Forget our old-school Show-and-Tell,
And upgrade our thinking to new, modern days."

Whether or not my friend was right,
There's no need to argue or fight,
And I half-assume he maybe was correct.
This world is no longer the same,
We find new rules for every game,
And quite often we don't know what to expect.

We stood and watched as our world changed,
Familiar things got rearranged;
Sometimes now we don't quite know which way to turn.
Should we hang on to what we know,
Or turn our backs and just let go,
Keep our values or just let old bridges burn?

We were no Einstein types in school,
But no one called either a fool,
Teachers shook our hands when finally we were through,
But today's standards we can't meet,
Truths we were taught are obsolete;
Things we learned "for Gospel fact" now just ain't true.

Today's world beckons, "Come and see
This New Age of technology.
Those ancient horse-and-buggy things all have to go!
Follow my new siren cry,
Forget those old times long-gone-by!"
But when it comes to faith and morals..., I don't know.

AFTER THE STORM

River keeps flowing: Rubbish sifts through backwaters


Late June brought a lot of wild and unsettled weather to our part of the Midwest, as well as to many other parts of the country. Who knows whether or not El Nino was the culprit? We had a few cool days, but several that were almost unbearably hot and humid – the kind of weather that had some of us old-timers recalling some especially torrid July and August days of years long gone by, and re-telling old tales of days spent shocking oats and threshing.

Severe wind storms did a lot of damage on both sides of the Mississippi. We're assured that these were not "twisters," but straight-on winds. Much damage was done to surrounding farms and in the neighboring towns. Many trees were uprooted, others broken off, and a surprisingly large number had much of their upper growth torn off and
slivered and shredded. Considering all of the property damage done, everyone felt fortunate there was no loss of life in our immediate area.

Our small town was spared any damage, straddled by the storms as they hop scotched around the area. We did get caught in a driving rainstorm one evening as we crossed the river on our way to having dinner at White Springs. For a while, as we threaded our way around fallen trees, I wished we had stayed in our native Wisconsin. But things were no calmer in Prairie du Chien. Maybe even worse. We've met a few people who now have a lot more fear of, and respect for, storms than they did two weeks ago.

A day after one of the storms, I watched the big old Mississippi from the Iowa shore (OK, from the observation deck of the Miss Marquette Riverboat Casino), and was amazed at the continuous stream of rubbish that drifted by. Judging by the amount of green water plants, algae, and pond scum that floated by, I decided that the fast-moving water must have thoroughly cleaned out all of the backwaters and sloughs.

The dead trees (and many still sporting green leaves), branches, twigs, stumps, and even chunks of firewood hinted that many of the woodlands must look a lot neater now after nature's spring (or early summer) cleaning. Now and then I would spot an enterprising blackbird calmly riding one of the sticks or small tree trunks as it floated downstream, much like a tourist on a cruise ship, finding ample cuisine to its liking.

AFTER THE STORM

River, near the shore your ripples
Look as brown as chocolate milk,
But, at midstream, your face appears
Youthful, and. as smooth as silk,

Smiling upward at the heavens,
Reflecting the bright blue sky,
Appearing so still and peaceful,
Silently you move on by.

Restless, tireless, you keep moving
On your journey past our town
With a load of baggage that would
Wear 'most any trav'ler down.

Mud that's slid down from the hillside
Out of fields of beans and corn,
Where the soil was unprotected
New gullies were ripped and torn.

From quiet, peaceful backwaters,
Water plants, weeds, and pond scum
Keep floating by, and I wonder
Just which sloughs they’re coming from.

Dead trees from many a woodland
And the bluffs along your shore,
Green-leafed, storm-torn trees pass by, then
Are followed by many more.

Flotsam, maybe jetsam, almost
Any object that will float,
There's a faded life preserver
From somebody's fishing boat.

Next an old Styrofoam cooler
That escaped its owner's grasp,
And an aged upside-down rowboat
Kind of gasping its last gasp.

Then a varnished paddle – I hope
Some canoers had a spare –
And that rushing, storm whipped waters
Gave them no more than a scare.

Now a happy, hungry blackbird,
Unafraid – to say the least
Rides along as it enjoys a
Storm-provided tasty feast.

Evening settles in the valley
And I hear a distant bell.
Our old river keeps on flowing.
The moon rises, all is well.

Cow Pasture Baseball

In mid-June we were invited to the 2002 Potosi Baseball Hall of Fame Banquet at Sunset Lanes at Dickeyville. Our son-in-law, Jeff Buttikofer, was one of the first thirteen inductees. Jeff had an outstanding career as a pitcher while attending Potosi High School, also UW La Crosse. He, his wife Pam, and family now live in California. As Jeff had other commitments and was unable to attend the event, he invited Gloria and I to represent him. Potosi High School’s popular and highly successful baseball coach Ron Kading presided over a very interesting and enjoyable evening.

After a delicious dinner, the inductees were introduced. The group included the great pitcher, Jack Cardey, who had a long professional baseball career. All in all, the inductees were a fine looking group of men. Jack and I have about an equal amount of silver in our hair. But most of the rest of them made me feel old. Very old. They looked so young. Even most of their parents looked young.

We met a few old friends there. And made a few new friends. We met Bill Leeser, one of the inductees. He let us know that he works for the Telegraph Herald. Bill was kind enough to circulate one of the programs through the group of inductees, obtaining the autographs of most, so we could send it to Jeff as a memento. (Thanks again, Bill).

It kind of topped off my evening when Dennis Leibfried dropped by our table to say hello. And too let us know that he reads and enjoys this column on a regular basis. His son Gary was one of the inductees. Denny was once one of the premier fast-pitch softball pitchers in the area. And is, himself, a double hall-of-famer, having been inducted into both the Dubuque Fast-Pitch Softball Hall of Fame and the Dubuque Kiwanis Club Softball Hall of Fame.

I was never a baseball player, but did play several seasons of league softball. And, as a boy, I played a far different type of ball game. For that game there was no official book of rules. How the game was played depended on whatever players, facilities, and equipment were available. If a baseball or softball got its horsehide cover knocked off, we knew how to protect the ball’s cord windings with black friction tape to prevent it from raveling. We also learned how to tape up a cracked bat so we could continue to use it. And if our baseball got lost in the weeds, we were not above using an old tennis ball, sponge rubber ball, or whatever other kind of ball we could get our hands on.

That great game was called

COW PASTURE BASEBALL

I’ve had lots of baseball heroes.
Starting in my younger days
There were Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig,
Then, much later, Willie Mays.

Gabby Hartnett and Carl Hubbell,
Dizzy Dean, yes “Me and Paul,”
Mel Ott, and now Sammy Sosa.
There’s no room to list them all.


Out here in the farming country
And in most villages small
We played our own Big League ball game,
One called “Cow Pasture Baseball.”

Much like most Chicago Cubs games,
But not exactly the same,
Kind of a downsized version of
The Great American Game.

Our play was not organized like
League games played at today’s schools.
We furnished our own equipment.
And made up most of the rules.

With no set sizes or limits
For the diamond or the teams,
A vacant lot or cow pasture
Could become our “Field of Dreams.”

For home plate we’d use a short board
Or any small slab of wood,
Sometimes a player’s old sweatshirt,
Folded up, worked out real good.

With a burlap sack for third base,
Tall weeds for second and first.
Or even old dried-up cow pies,
When conditions were the worst.


If our baseball lost its horsehide,
Friction tape took care of that.
We’d give it a new black cover,
And taped up each broken bat.

When no baseball could be found we
Would use an old tennis ball,
Or one of solid sponge rubber.
Hey, I’m sure we tried them all.

Most games didn’t go nine innings
At our rustic baseball park.
We played until called home for meals,
Or until it got too dark.

Back then, grownups were not needed
To coach or umpire our game,
We all played as well as we could
And enjoyed it, all the same.

We tried our best to play just like
Our Major League heroes great,
Hoping one day we’d join them, but
Such success was not our fate.

Though none of us made the Big Leagues,
I don’t regret that at all.
I cherish my memories of
Times we played Cow Pasture Ball.

HAPPY FATHER'S DAY

FLOODS

(This article was written in 2001 but seems suitable for what is currently happening in the Midwest)

As the snow melted this spring, the thoughts of people along the Mighty Mississippi turned to unhappy things such as high water levels and flooded basements. We began hearing a variety of estimates and predictions. Eventually it was agreed that we would see a flood that would be second only to that of ’65. The old-timers once referred to these as “100-year floods,” disasters that struck only once in each century. But they are no longer strangers.

Each year, more and more of the watershed area is covered with buildings, driveways, streets, and parking lots, thus increasing the runoff. And as towns and cities build levees and floodwalls, the river is confined to its channel. It can no longer spread out over many of its old natural lowland “reservoirs,” so flooding becomes more frequent and severe.

In Prairie du Chien, Wis., a favorite place for checking the water level is at Kaber’s Supper Club on Blackhawk Ave. Anytime the river water enters the intersection there, you have a major flood. And this year, Rowdy’s Bar and Grill, across the street from Kaber’s, was completely surrounded. It was there that we watched someone wade out into the flood waters and set up a portable grill, fire up the charcoal, and begin preparing the entrée for an evening meal. All the while sloshing around in almost-knee-deep muddy water, and more than 50 feet from the nearest dry land. Certainly no fire hazard there. The TV news camera people got some great footage of that scene.

The high water covered some of the railroad tracks in the area, resulting in many train runs being cancelled or re-routed. Almost all river traffic was suspended. All of the big barges had to be tied up, creating quite a hardship for everyone who depends on their services.

The flood drove many people from their homes. And the eventual cleanup will be an almost unbelievable, backbreaking task. But the turnout of volunteer helpers has been nothing less than phenomenal. Individuals, groups, and organizations turned out in force to help wherever needed. High school students and others filled and placed thousands of sandbags, building up the dikes and levees and protecting homes and other buildings from damage caused by the wind-driven waves.

If another major flood does not arrive during the next 100 years, it is unlikely that anyone will complain.

MUDDY FLOOD

The big river flows wide. The
Wild dark water runs deep,
Carrying fallen trees and
Much rich Midwestern mud.

Sump pumps in home basements now
Work around-the-clock, while
Grayed old men compare this to
The Great ’65 Flood.

The experts all tell us the
Crest has now gone by, and
Our sandbags and levees have
All stood up to the test.

But the forecast says “rain,” and
The late snows up north will
Soon be all melted down and
Bring one more minor crest.

There’s almost no boat traffic,
The barges and small craft
Were ordered off the river
By the U.S. Coast Guard.

Today the water’s still up
Close to Kaber’s corner
And wild ducks swim around the
Swing set in Molly’s yard.

As the river rolls by, it
Seems in no great hurry,
Wending its muddy way on
Down to the sunny south.

Local folks will rejoice when
The crest’s drifted onward,
Clear to the muddy delta
Down at the river’s mouth.

When the waters recede, folks
Can assess the damage,
Then begin the hard work of
Cleaning up the great mess.

With much sweat and hard work, the
Job will be completed,
But, most likely, it will take
The whole summer, I’d guess.

Both the Salvation Army
And Red Cross are here with
Food for the hungry, and beds
Where the weary can rest.

Volunteers come in flocks, to
Help wherever needed,
Folks’ bad fortune, at times, can
Bring out everyone’s best