The Sharpie

1. Patience

2. Wisdom

Hammer Time

The Dynamic Duo, Adam and Bryce, headed to the Meijer Store for supplies.  Antifreeze  for my camper and new windshield wipers for the “Sake-Sake” (a little Mitsubishi mini truck) were tops on our shopping list yesterday, before the big storm set in–predicted to be a real doozie.   

That’s generally how all their shenanigans start, just the turn of a key guarantees a diesel turbo kicking in.   As they were unloading their cart in the parking lot, Bryce noticed an orphaned case of beer in the bottom of an abandoned cart.  Miller Light, his favorite.

TO THE BAT CAVE, IT’S HAMMER TIME.   

With such a great day going and luck on their side, Adam shot Bryce “the look”.  It was time to check out Sake-Sake’s 660cc, 4 speed, 4 wheel drive camo capabilities in the deep, snow covered fields.   He reasoned that a little drift busting would break her in right.  Sake has a ladder rack and fold down sides on the bed.  She’s a real work horse despite her puny 1/3 ton rating and she is one of the slickest toys we have on the farm.  Adam thought the time was right to “pop her cherry.”

   A virgin field was selected as a prime testing ground–where all the maneuvers and (hopefully) aerial acrobatic feats that are borne from power shifting, speed, neutral drops, and testosterone  could be explored.  The snow had to be deep, the terrain had to offer opportunities to “catch air” and a deep water hole were basic needs.  This spot was “Golden”.  Now the bets were placed.

Beating (I mean driving) new toys is a given around here.  Sake-Sake’s steering wheel is opposite American vehicles.  You sit on the “passenger” side yet still shift in the middle, using your opposite hand.  Adam put the pedal to the medal and ripped down the road to the chosen field.  He rounded a corner on two wheels just in time to see a Mundy Township cop sitting at the end of the road, slurping on a cold latte and downing the last of a pink donut.  After crapping themselves, our Dynamic Duo regained their composure and parked at the end of a road, pretending to be hunters.  They got out of the truck and walked into the woods and “hid” until early signs of hypothermia began to set in.  Thankfully, the officer left after a little bit so the real games could begin!  Another bullet dodged.

Five minutes behind the wheel, and Adam had “the truck you can’t get stuck” buried up the axles. He rocked it back and forth, cussed it out, blamed Bryce, until it finally dawned on him that Sake-Sake was da winna.  Not expecting this, and wearing only light clothing to go grocery shopping in, they both had to jump ship and walk back to the farm through the wet snow, in street shoes, to grab a tractor and a bunch of chains.  They would show her who’s boss.   Little Sake came out easy, but not before both guys froze their petooties off.

Sake-Sake is outfitted with an outboard engine and a boat.

A Regular Outlaw

Well, down in the horse corral standing alone, was that old cavayo, a Strawberry Roan.   His legs were spavined, and he had pigeon toes, little pig eyes and a big Roman nose.  Little pin ears that were crimped at the tip, with a big 44 branded ‘cross his left hip. He’s ewe-necked and old, with a long lower jaw; you can see with one eye he’s a reg’lar outlaw.

Well I puts on my spurs and I coils up my twine–I piled my loop on him; I’m sure feeling fine. I put the blinds on him, it sure was a fight.  Next comes my saddle, and I screws it down tight. I gets in his middle and opens the blind; I’m in the right spot to see him unwind.  

He’s about the worst bucker I’ve seen on the range; he can turn on a nickel and give you some change.  He turns his old belly right up to the sun. He sure is one sun-fishin’ son of a gun!

He goes up on all fours and comes down on his side.  I don’t know what keeps him from losin’ his hide.  I loses my stirrup and also my hat, I starts pulling leather–I’m blind as a bat. With a big forward jump he goes up on high; I turns over twice and I comes back to earth–I lights in a-cussin’ the day of his birth.

I know there is ponies I’m unable to ride. Some are still living; they haven’t all died.  I’ll bet all my money the man ain’t alive that can stay with Old Strawberry when he makes his high dive. 

Moe Brandy, The Strawberry Roan
http://www.last.fm/music/Moe+Bandy/Moe+Bandy+-+Cowboy+Songs

Pearls Before Swine

Icy north winds blew snow across the endless Iowa prairie and over the backs of huddled up cattle as I headed eastbound, through the corn belt on I-80, from Coon Rapids, Iowa–back home–to Flint, Michigan.   

The landscape was surreal.  Nothing broke the plain except for a few clusters of twisted, gnarled oak trees and weather beaten grain elevators.  The main industry along my route was ethanol production.  Every so often a small town sprang up around a silver nucleus of massive corn silos.  “Colder than a well digger’s arse” came to mind when I saw the exhaled breath steaming out from frosted calf noses and each time a hard shiver made me want to turn up the heater in the truck.  

Coon Rapids has a vibrant, historic downtown shopping district sans a Walmart, KMart, or grocery conglomerate.  These are family-owned businesses where grandchildren work elbow to elbow with grandparents.  After being in town just a few days, I stopped up at the Hardware Store for some parts.  The woman behind the counter asked, “You must be Kelly?”  A big, fat smile spread from cheek to cheek as it dawned on me that just being new here made you special.

I came to Coon Rapids out of “necessity”….my husband was deer hunting in “Macke Land” –with a family he has loved to hunt with for the past 12 years.  This year, however, a business meeting cut his deer camp week short so, anticipating the inevitable (he doesn’t lack confidence or optimism) he recruited me to drive him to the airport at the end of his hunt and to deliver his deer meat, antlers, gear (oh, and his hunting dog) all the way back home, a distance of 700 miles.  At first glance, it seems I was doing him the favor.  As it turns out, the gift was mine.

I’ve lived with this man for 30 years and have listened to all of his big swamp buck stories.  This year I was privy to all the camp lingo and the strategies that make blood brothers out of men. Stuff like:  Day two, dark-thirty…BBD.  (Just to whet your whistle and show off some tough guy swagger that I picked up at deer camp.)  Big Buck Down.

Finally, I was able to get into a stand of precious timber, see this Boone & Crockett buck down where he was harvested, and witness the respect for the game and the chase that our group of hunters has.  Then came the fun part:  watching two grown men sweat and struggle to drag this monster buck some distance down a ravine, then back up a ravine, and finally heave it into the bed of a pick up truck on the count of three.  I played dumb and watched while their antics tickled my funny bone.  John climbed up into his tree stand and relived the action for me, minute by heart pounding minute.  I could see Christmas morning in my husband’s eyes.  When I put my arms around him for our picture, I felt him still shaking like a little girl from the adrenaline rush.  I smiled at him, on my inside.

Our hosts prepared a MAN CAVE dinner with 2″ steaks sizzling on the grill to celebrate.  The area Game Warden (Title always  capitalized here in Macke Land) stopped by for a bite and a story.  Gus entertained him with stories about how he “influences” trespassers (pumpkin heads) who “no speak-a-da English” to master the language REAL QUICK once they are busted on his land.  The whole camp is on a “swat team” high alert for Pumpkin Heads at all times.

The next day the meat packer sent out a 9-1-1 call to us saying that we had to get over to his shop before dark thirty, a day early, because he already had 35 townies come through, taking pictures of John’s deer, and trouble was brewing. EVERYONE heard about this buck.  He knew that someone would help themselves to these antlers before dawn.  He didn’t want to be responsible.
This was our cue. We said our goodbyes, collected our things, our dog, and our memories and left town with our buck of a lifetime.  On the way to the airport and just
outside of Iowa City, a frozen ravine caught my eye.  I looked down from the bridge and saw five perched bald eagles!  My heart skipped a beat.

By 2 p.m. John was on his flight and I was eastbound and down headed for the Michigan line.  FAST.  After a testosterone filled week, I was ready to “git-r-done”.  600 more miles to go without heat in the car (we have to keep the processed meat frozen and the hide from reeking–which was incentive enough for me to follow the rules–this time).  I threw up the radar detector and set the cruise at 84.  In no time, I reached the world’s largest I-80 truck stop.  They have three giant semi trucks in there on display, a laundromat, a hotel, several restaurants, a parts department featuring CHROME and a wall of rig lighting–plus a Ginormous gift shop.

Shopping at I-80 Truck Stop
“World’s largest”

Boda-boom-boda-bing.

So far, so good.  I passed the three I’s without smelling any bacon.  Iowa, Illinois, and Indiana.  At midnight I crossed the Michigan line, making time.   Yes, I listened to Dr. Laura, XM’s The Highway, Fox News Channel, and Blue Collar Radio.  I admit it.  With 50 miles to go, my phone rang.  It was John.  He was at his hotel and thought to check on….his Dear…his Deer.  You decide.

As soon as I bragged about my speed, my time, and my total awesomeness….I was attacked by big flashing cherries in the rear view mirror.  Yep, I took my eye off the ball for a minute and Porky came calling.  What to do, what to do.

He came along side the window and I told him I had guns… and bullets… and dead animals… in my truck.  Arnold asked for my license, registration and certificate of insurance, all business-like.  Then I threw down the trump card.  “Hey, do you want to see my 14 pt. buck?  He’s a Booner”  With a wicked grin and a twinkle in his eye, he said, “Sure, hop out.  Show me whatchagot.” I buttered his bread on both sides, telling him he got me fair and square.  The clincher was when I asked him if he wanted to hold the antlers.

After checking the tags, my new BFF shot me “The Look”  (I see it every time I get pulled over and work my magic)  and he said, “Just slow ‘er down, na.”

AND SO… Stay tuned as I continue to be a legend in my own mind.

30 Years, Hopes and Fears

12.17.1981  Thirty years ago TODAY, I became a mother.  A young woman is just a girl until she has a child.  At the exact moment a brand new cry startles the room, hot tears streak her cheeks and her heart is peeled open, almost wounded or branded.  The girl is gone.  In her place is a woman with unlimited courage, righteousness, and virtue.  She will protect and defend.  In that moment, really, two beings are born:  the she bear and her cub.  She thanks God for deliverance.

From that instant, she has to think twice–once for herself and once for her child.  Over the next 18 years, she applies Band-aids and justice,  builds character, and holds high expectations.  It all starts in the silence of night, when a mother rocks back and forth, back and forth, clutching her baby, soothing it.  Her dreams are released and float up from her heart, to God’s ear, as she whispers them to a baby kept warm and safe in her embrace.

Diapers, school plays, and decades roll by along with Halloween costumes, science fair projects, and driving lessons.  Stories are told and retold, weaving a strong family fabric with a sense of self and pride.  She focuses on the big picture, providing experiences that enrich and educate.  She worries.  She smiles.  She bakes. Sometimes she cries.

He grows up and leaves home and she pretends it is okay.  Her head says one thing but her heart, another.  Her work is done:  there are others.  He is her finest moment; her pride, her joy.  She takes comfort in knowing that within him lies immortality.

The Show Pony

Captain Adam and The Pole Dancer moored at the Straits Marina in Mackinaw City, MI.

Once upon a time, there were three small children whose mother loved them equally and unconditionally.  Jak was the oldest followed two and a half years later by Adam followed four years later by Jennifer.   HOWEVER, as time went on, these little angelic beings created an alternative universe for themselves.  It happened innocently, and when it happened, it stuck.   It stuck not because it was true, but because it was funny.

Jennifer on her 1st Birthday, Swimming Lessons for Jak at 6 mos., A Nautical Theme for Captain Adam at 3 mos.!

Their father, John, ran for United States Congress in 2010.  The entire year was a blur.  John and I felt a calling, as patriots, to give up our personal lives to go to Washington D.C. to serve and save our country as farmers once did when our republic was founded.  The scope of the campaign was massive and our children became involved in every aspect.  There were speeches, rallies, door-to-door knocking, signs to be placed, and many public appearances.

One day, toward the end of the run,  Adam got a wild burr up his butt when I asked him and his sister to dress up and be present at another one of our events.  He shot Jennifer his signature grin, looked me right in the eye, and snorted, “Nope.  I’m tired of being your Show Pony.”

Jennifer gasped–then the light bulb came on–her chance to grease the wheels and work Mom over good.  She faced  Adam and said, “Well, if you’re the Show Pony then Jak is the Stallion.  I guess that makes me the Donkey.”   We all busted out laughing.  Jennifer had been the work horse behind the scenes, scheduling events, answering calls at campaign headquarters, video taping speeches, walking in parades, and handling all the grunt work with poise and professionalism.  Adam was running the farm and our Subway Restaurants so he was already tapped out each time we would ask him to spruce up and show up.  Our son, John a.k.a  Jak, was working and living in New York so his siblings felt that he got a “Get Out of Jail Free” card, having only to show his support through phone calls and emails.  It was one of those spur of the moment family funnies that will live in infamy.

To this day, Adam remains my Show Pony.  He is the one with the flash and the quick wit.  He does eveything big:  boats, trucks, and tractors.   He has my father’s sense of timing, his invention, and his creativity.  I recall the scene from Apollo 13 when the space capsule was freezing cold and the astronauts were in peril as Americans sat frozen in horror waiting for mission news.  Jim Lovell’s mother, Blanche, had this exchange:

The 2010 campaign was the best of times, it was the best of times.  As a family we have never worked harder for something or had more fun doing it.  It was an honor to hold the public trust for even a short while.   As the results poured in on that November 2010 election night (we ran on the Republican ticket in a 70 percent Democratic district against a 30+ year incumbent) we finished 4 points short.  In all other races, in all previous years, the Republican candidate never came within 36 points of taking the seat.  There were no losers that year.  When you give all you have with all you’ve got–and grow friendships and faith along the way–then the experience ends with getting more than you gave.

Our Sweet Little Jennifer-Bennifer, all grown up.