Growing up in the 60’s and 70’s, I didn’t have to undergo the tough times and conditions that my dad did, with no electricity until 1948, and no indoor plumbing until long after he had left home.  I did grow up in a much simpler and more carefree time than my grandchildren today.

One of the things that sticks with me even today, is how our parents let us explore.  In the summers, after some breakfast, I would get on my bike and head for town.  The city limit was just about a half-mile away, but we were “country kids”.  We rode the bus to school.

I would head straight for the Little League park.  I knew that there would be a passel of friends there no later than about 9:00 every day.  We would pick teams and just start playing baseball.  Visions of the greats of our time in our heads.  Mickey Mantle, Hank Aaron, and even some from our beloved Chicago Cubs, like Billy Williams and the great Ron Santo.  It was always two outs in the bottom of the ninth inning when each of us was up to bat.  You could hear the radio announcers in your head.  The dulcet tones of Vince Lloyd and Lou Boudreau making the call.  Sometimes we were the hero, and on more than a few occasions, it happened.  Steeee-rike three!  You’re out’a here.  I can’t remember how many World Series rings I won and lost. (more…)

Last week I put out a request for some guest-written MBOBs from our good company who reads here every Sunday, and ZurichMike’s was the first one in over the transom. Thank you, ZM! You’re the best. 😉

I grew up in a very middle class family in Connecticut. We lived in a small typically New England town, with a white steepled church on the town green facing the red brick town hall, with the old watch factory behind it and the little cluster of “new” buildings on one side:  a bank, a notions shop, a general clothing store, and a diner. Down the street was the cinema, where I remember my dad taking us kids to see our first film on the big screen:  Bambi. I was frightened of the large images and noises and to this day I do not like the film. (more…)

Our large tree belt filled about ten acres in a long L-shape around the farmstead and provided some shelter from winter storms.

They surely didn’t keep the sub zero temps or winds away but the five and six foot drifts that might be thirty or forty feet from end to end and which lasted for months were more likely to be in the tree belt and less likely to be blocking buildings in the yard itself – like the cave, the house, the outhouse, the granaries, the well sheds, barn, chicken coops, and garage.

The tree belt was six or eight rows deep with ten feet between the rows and with lots of open dirt –  room enough to drive a tractor/cultivator through twice a summer to control weeks on the bare soil.  Our soil wouldn’t win awards for nutrients, but it wasn’t gumbo. It wasn’t clay. It was just good clean dirt and I will say this for it – it made really great mud. (more…)

Traveling salesmen were some things for sure, but they were not primarily a joke in prairie farm country in Montana in the ’50s.

~They were  mostly unnecessary. Farmers did not plan to buy things from traveling salesmen because if they needed something they went to town and bought it and figured the business of acquisition was best handled that way. They didn’t think it showed good judgment to make unplanned purchases from an unknown source with limited inventory who showed up uninvited. That just didn’t makes sense on a lot of levels.

The one exception to that rule for our family was the Watkins man. His presence and the fragrance that wafted in the door with him was always welcome, along with his merchandise.

The smell of Watkins salve takes me back to the kitchen on a November night at the end of the day, or to a cold and windy April afternoon as Dad comes in for coffee. The chapping of his hands from the raw work of repairing barbed wire fences takes him to the old red can to spread on some farmer-style healing. After darkness falls on such a day, the pungent aroma lingers in the living room where he had spent the evening reading before heading to bed after banking the coal for the night.**

~They were a nuisance. They didn’t have a clue about how not to be a pest during spring planting, fall harvesting, evening chores or afternoon gardening. Half the time they didn’t know how to drive in the mud or change a tire, so the local farmers helped them out when they got in trouble on the roads. (more…)

Check here for a complete list of previous MBOBs.

This is a chapter from the book –  so I’m cheating a little today. 😉 Previous MBOBs are provided in the list above in case you are familiar with this story and would like to find one you haven’t read.

Palle Lauring has a two-page discussion in *A History of Denmark, in which he analyzes the historical reluctance of Danes to invest materiel, men, or money in a constant state of military readiness.

Those pages became an “Ah ha!” moment for me because he described the world view of our family with almost eerie accuracy. It had not occurred to me that any such understanding of our perspective existed outside of Montana.

Young people in a stable subculture have many advantages and blessings but the distant view of the microcosm they inhabit must be found elsewhere.  They truly don’t know that their particular family did not spring fully formed at the point of their own birth. Even the date of their parents’ marriage would be a mistaken starting point for something that actually began to take form a long time ago in a country far, far away. When they do discover the distant view documented by an author or an artist they may still marvel as I did, “He doesn’t know us. So how does he know us so well?” (more…)

Whether or not a person is able to stay warm has always accounted for the difference between life and death in the northern latitudes. Perhaps this is a tag line on last week’s post about cold things –

When winter weather is like it was across much of the country last week (and is in Montana, North Dakota, South Dakota and Minnesota every year, often for weeks at a time) providing shelter and feed to the livestock is primary.

We had a large barn that could hold up to 150 head for a couple of days if necessary. The hay would be spread on the floor and they would just be closed in – close enough that their massive bodies were quite the furnace-on-the-hoof, but with enough room that they could move around a bit throughout the days and nights they were there. (more…)

Hospice came today.

And they came yesterday.

Today we met our nurse who will be walking with us. She left with a bag of homemade cookies and a couple of big hugs after 75 minutes of getting acquainted that caused us to draw in close. We’re so glad to have medical resources for evaluating and understanding heretofore unfamiliar things.

On Monday a hospital bed will be brought from the Salem warehouse as ordered via the corporate offices in Arizona that handle such things in the western part of the country.

Two months ago today we knew there were awesome and fearful things we did not understand because two days earlier we had gotten a cold call from a regional cancer research center, the caller clearly believing we were expecting the contact, “Hi! I’m calling to set up your appointment at the cancer center.” Oh.

And right then the disconcerting silence we had endured for two frustrating weeks after the routine hernia repair fell off its great lofty table and shattered into a million pieces with a ROAARRRR that no one but us heard. (more…)

This MBOB has a word picture about January thaws, a true story from the 1950s and a book recommendation.

It’s a Sunday afternoon in eastern Montana in the 1950s. It’s been bitterly cold for a long time, but the blizzard has finally moved on. The main roads have been plowed and things look like they might be settling back to normal for the season. While the temperature is still hovering around zero (F) every night, at least the everlasting wind has stopped.

When it’s dead quiet on the prairie after a storm and it’s really cold, everything crunches.

Every step crunches – sharply – boots squeaking against the surface of the tile-hard snow put in place by just slightly-less-than-hurricane-force winds, which then polished it smooth.

A glance out the frosted kitchen window reveals diamonds spread as far as the eye can see. A million facets of frigid, glittering carats.

The triangle of frost on every pane of glass documents the escape of precious heat but we didn’t know that. We just knew Jack Frost had paid a visit and had left spectacularly detailed art for our viewing pleasure.

By the time we were five or so, we knew not to touch the windows when Jack Frost had come, but just watch the kaleidoscopic beauty of each square of glass change over the hours. The frost was usually gone by evening and if we didn’t touch the window, it departed quietly and left clean glass behind. If we couldn’t resist and had touched the window there was a little fingerprint at every point of contact meaning that the windows had to be cleaned in the dead of the winter. Moms were happier if they didn’t have to do that job over and over again. (more…)

From Streams in the Desert, January 1
…Deuteronomy 11:12 describes the land that the children of Israel would be entering,

“…the eyes of the Lord are always upon it, from the beginning of the year even unto the end of the year.”
…there lies before us the new year and we go forth to possess it. Who can tell what we shall find? What new experiences, what changes shall come, what new needs shall arise? But here is the cheering, comforting gladdening message from our Heavenly Father, “The Lord thy God careth for it.” and “His eyes are upon it away to the ending of the year.”
All our supply is to come from the Lord. Here are springs that shall never run dry; here are fountains and streams that shall never be cut off. Here…is the gracious pledge of the Heaven Father. If He be the Source of our mercies they can never fail us.
…We cannot tell what loss and sorrow and trial are doing. Trust only. The Father comes near to take our hand and lead us on our way today. It shall be a good, a blessed new year!

 Turn it up. Sing. Dance.

Live like there is no tomorrow.

Dance like no one’s watching.

And then, having done all – we stand.

 

Spoiler alert: This MBOB crosses from the past to the present.

My brother wrote this about the two decades between the two world wars:

Economic conditions were worsening by 1927. In the early twenties crops were good, producing 25-35 bushels of wheat per acre, which sold for as high as $1.52 a bushel in 1925. In 1926 it was down a bit and continued on down to a low of 36 cents a bushel in 1936.

During the early thirties only 6-12 bushels per acre of wheat was harvested, but the worst was yet to come. In 1936 and 1937 there was no harvest. There was very little rain and lots of wind, producing blinding dust storms. There was rust (a fungus) in 1937. There were also hordes of grasshoppers infesting the fields. They ate everything.

In the late 1960s, my husband and I and our two little boys were living in southern California. We drove to Santa Barbara one day to go to the beach and while we were there, I walked into a little book store specializing in used books. It was one of those little spots-along-the-street that is nothing more than a doorway and a window display.

I poked around the dusty shelves a bit and then saw a table in a back room stacked high with random volumes. As I glanced over the pile I saw this title on the top layer: Next Year Will Be Better. My heart flipped a beat and I felt like I had been called back home.

Who on earth wrote a book titled Next Year Will Be Better? It had to be someone from back home. (more…)