He was a farrier for many decades and was a very kind and thoughtful man. A recent day when the winter weather was changing to colder, he came by to visit. I had just stoked the wood stove and greeted him, took his weathered cowboy hat and he took off his boots.
We walked past the wood stove and sat as old friends do, and began to talk. We got right to the good stuff and began to learn more about each other than we had planned on. What a pleasure it was for both of us and he had to leave much too soon.
He was on a drive to visit friends across the border here in rural Wisconsin. Catching up and ministering to one and all. I asked him about his career as a blacksmith and I began to listen to his wisdom. He has shod horses all his life and he learned the right ways to do it.
He created the bond between himself and some horses that were known for bad behaviors. The rules were to be gentle, affirming and to help the horse in realizing that being a horse of strength and snorting power was not as good as being with him. Firmly he reassured the horse of his no nonsense ability and to teach the lesson of bonding with love and the feelings of being safe around him. I was reminded of Bob Smith, Secretariats trainer.
No nonsense and affirmative gentleness was the key. The horse of biting and snorting and kicking was soon seen as gently nuzzling him as the hoofs were trimmed and re-shooed. The firm and loving embrace is also the way we are gentled into our saviors embrace. Letting us know who our safe place is. He tied that horse up and pushed him over and after a while, came out to the pasture and sat on him. He loved on him quietly and then released the rope that tied his legs together. The horse was free again and knew who the safe place was.
As was I, so are you. Going our own way. Thundering and running away. Some where else.
The Lord can so many things with a heart that is open. He can do anything with a heart that is broken. Keep it open. 1.
How can we teach truth to a broken world? The essential part is listening. We all have an ache to be heard and be astounded by someone that is eager to hear us and our stories. We tie ourselves up in knots and ache for someone to love us and gently untie those bonds.
A pastor came to my kitchen table, only hours after he just missed his appointment with my mother who had died that morning. “I’ll come to you” I spoke about all the thousand religions and Buddha, Indian mystics and the like and he answered me: “We are not talking about them, we are talking about you. He pushed a book across the table to me. It was C.S. Lewis’ Mere Christianity. Not long afterward the Holy Spirit grabbed me and held me close and whispered to me: “It’s all true” I have never been the same. A firm, committed and loving embrace that told me I was loved and safe. Open up and receive, & have confidence in His love. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator scribe
It was a good friendship. An E4 and an O6. That’s a Petty Officer third class and a Captain. We were also neighbors. Myself and Pastor Russ. Neighbors that met riding bicycles on passable blacktop roads. Russ lived about a mile and a half away from me and once in a while, we would go for a ‘spin’. There was another huge difference between us as Russ was a category 2 racer and I just liked to ride. Cat 2 is pretty professional and impressive. He was a very good rider to be with. I learned a lot.
One remarkable day, Russ was riding alone and met a very pretty and friendly bicycle rider. She was riding nearby and as Russ was married to Debra and a pastor, he was safe to ride with.
Not long afterwards, Russ mentioned to me about this woman. “She runs a lakeside camp nearby, it’s called Whispering Pines. Pretty good cyclist too!” Myself as a lonely bachelor, was intrigued. I knew where the camp was and began thinking about Russ’s new friend. Just by coincidence a real woman cyclist that lived nearby and with a job! Obviously fit and friendly. Russ said she was pretty too. I considered calling the camp. Why not?
Meanwhile, that cyclist, Julie, was out in Washington state at a conference. She was at a local bar near the Canadian border and the bartender, Margaret, was gregarious and asked Julie where she was from. She told her where the she was from and the bartender, casually wiping down the bar said, “where in Trade Lake do you live?” “What! No one knows that dinky little township!” Margaret replied, “My grandparents lived in Trade Lake” They had a few things to talk about then.
Margaret, incredibly enough, was an old friend of mine and gave Julie my phone number. Julie put it in her wallet and when she returned to Wisconsin and the camp, tossed that piece of paper into a drawer in her office. A Junk drawer holding device to eventually have some of it’s contents put into a round holding device standing on the floor nearby.
On a particularly perfect day for cycling, I decided to call the camp and asked for the director. I gave her my name and mentioned my friend Russ. I also told her that Russ and I rode a lot together and asked if Julie would like to ride sometime. “It’s that Guy! The friend of that bartender way out west!” Julie consulted the head cook, Cora who was her trusted friend if it would be OK to go ride with me. “why not? Sounds safe, a pastors friend” she replied
So Julie told me OK, and being mostly clueless but aware that neutral territory was not at her place nor mine, I suggested we ride our bicycles towards one another on county road M and we meet that way. I saw Julie coming towards me, uphill and riding strong. I waited for her, watching her technique. Pretty good climber.
We did a short 50 mile ride and I asked her out to eat afterwards. Little Mexico, a great local restaurant with homemade guacamole and chips, they had good Mexican beer too. Cora said: “why not?” And so we went. This time I drove my car, a Volvo wagon with a bike rack on the roof of course.
That wise cook had some chocolate cake for our dessert when we returned. After many enjoyable rides later, some of them with pastor Russ, it began to be clear that this whole thing was a coincidence of extraordinary circumstances.
Sometime later when my old friend, Margaret, the bartender, got in touch, I told her the delightful bicycle romance story and then she added one more fact. The exact place on County road M where Julie and I met, was right at the driveway where Margaret’s Grandparent’s had lived. As this story has been told many times, I always say; “It was a miracle, God’s handiwork”.
Julie continued managing the camp until another director was chosen for the job. She moved in to my farm and we played house for a time. We also began working at 7 pines lodge nearby in Lewis. Fresh caught brook trout and fried carrots was the main menu. It was also the only thing on the menu.
The manager was a good fly fisherman and had us, the waiters, put on mystery dinners. All the guests became suspects in the mystery murder and myself and Julie played the hosts of the hotel where the murder was. The manager did not take part in the play as he was busy in the kitchen.
Out of the blue at home, Julie and I proposed and it seemed to make a lot of sense to us. ‘Shacking up’ later on when I became baptized, we realized living in sin was also a description. It seemed good and right. I did get the wedding ring made from my Grandmothers ring. Proposing was an equal opportunity proposition. It worked for us. Still does. More perfect timing. We were married at 7 pines lodge and the wedding was a fabulous affair. The square dance band that I played in (Duck for the Oyster} came to help with the music as well as Bill Hinkley and Judy Larson and Mary Dushane from the Powder milk Biscuit Band. Myself and three fiddlers stood in a circle around my beautiful bride and we played a Swedish waltz, Helsa Hem Dar Hemma.
A Real log lodge with a stream house that straddled the trout stream, that was where we spent our wedding night. The running water made bathroom breaks occur often. It was glorious and one of those memories that is permanently set within us. The dance was at the West Denmark church hall and we still have a photograph of Julie’s dad strutting down the middle of the Virginia Reel dance. More food and leftover wedding cake.
My mom drove up in her Buick convertible to attend our wedding. She almost left in the beginning of the ceremony saying that her dog needed her at home. She stayed with some gentle urging from a good friend of ours. It was obvious that something was going on with mom. Dementia. Her dad had the same issue and died not long afterwards of the onset. Mom was still living in her third home in Bryn Mawr Minneapolis.
After a few years went by and our two children were growing and our farmhouse was rebuilt to double it’s original size. (right before Bjorn, their first born arrived) My Mom agreed to help finance the huge mound system that was needed for the ‘upgrade’ to our home. Bedrooms for the kids after all.
My mother was fading and I drove down at least every week to help her out. Managing the bills and looking after things. Not too long afterwards, about a year, we moved Mom up to our area into a nursing home. Julie had an old pastor friend, Barry, agree to come up to talk to my Mom. however, she died that night and he came up anyway and spent hours with me at the kitchen table. “Mere Christianity” was referred to a lot and I brought up other religions, Buddhism, Islam and my early family attendance at a Christian Science church in Minneapolis. “What about you? What do you think about all this, we are talking about you” It was a very important Question. This was serious and I had a lot think about. Barry slid the C.S. Lewis book across the table and it made sense the more I read it. Still do.
Barry’s church, a Congregational one, agreed to do mom’s funeral with a meal and even light a candle every Sunday for a week or two. No charge. Character in a great man of faith. We began attending as we both were becoming closer to being Christians. Julie already was one, I was still wary.
Soon thereafter, I had a life changing experience at Russ’ church (Russ was in the Navy as a chaplain then and there was a new pastor) . A Christmas cantata was offered and I reluctantly said I would go. Of course, Bjorn and Soren, our sons, were in Jammies, and went up on the choirs risers just before the concert! Great embarrassment for us as we were not well known even though the church was only a mile and a half away from our home. Zion Lutheran.
The Holy spirit overcame me as the choir was singing ‘Mary did you know’. A man in the choir began reciting the words of the song. All I saw was his face and those words changed my Life. Forever. “It’s all true! He is creator of all things! Somebody had to do it! Random evolution never made sense to me.
Pastor Barry said Christ loves me! I still believe the Holy Spirit was running the spotlight up in the balcony so the man reciting had the light directly on him and the angle of the light reflected right to me. It was the major point in my life. The church is still there and once in a while we go to a smorgasbord there. That experience was so overwhelming that attending would not work. The memory is too strong. I stopped once and told the new pastor about these things and he showed me the sanctuary where it happened. It seemed to encourage him. He has the same last name as ours, Peterson. Small world indeed.
Our marriage continues to grow as Julie was already a believer in Jesus. It was good news to her as well. Many times that story still brings tears to me. You know the feeling. Words began to fall short and it’s hard to speak them. That song, obviously, is my favorite and I weep and worship when it is sung.
Our whole family began attending Pastor Barry’s church near Amery, but with the two boys, it was hard to go 80 miles round trip every Sunday. There was a ministry too even further away at Lake Elmo, it was an automotive repair ministry (God’s grease monkeys) and I continued to be a volunteer there. Our Volvo was filled with food while I was working. I was a foreign car shop owner at that time and I was pretty useful. It was another blessing that continues on in various ways. Every church gathering we attend has miracles when we look. He is pouring His spirit out on us. You too.
Later, at a sweet corn feed at a local church, we met Pastor Roger Inoway and the relation with Grace Baptist, a church association for us began. It was only ten miles away in Grantsburg, Wisconsin.
Our family began attending that church and eventually we started a successful food ministry there. The monthly event was named Feed My Sheep. It was coupled with an automotive repair ministry, Grace Garage. The food ministry was a bright spot for us as we got to minister and pray for the people waiting in an adjacent room. They were waiting to be called to get in line for the food distribution. People still comment to Julie and I about those prayers and some healing that occurred. The church made me a deacon in the process too.
News came that the camp, Whispering Pines, was in need of a temporary manager while it was up for sale. Julie and I stepped into that position and soon after, two pastors showed up on motorcycles at the camp. They expressed interest in buying it! Perfect. Keep the camp Christian owned and run. A good vision for us for certain. We got baptized at Whispering pines soon afterwards. Pastor Barry had never performed a baptism and so dunked us three times. “Father, Son and Holy Spirit” and I saw him above me in the clear lake water. I asked him what he saw as he looked at me. “A dead man” he perfectly replied.
There was a quick transition to those new motorcycling pastors church with the blessing of the Grantsburg leadership. Back south of Highway 8 again! Our family fit in well and eventually became the worship team there. We were licensed as Pastors but weren’t installed. When the two Pastors they were hoping would buy the camp didn’t buy it we left. The camp was sold to a real estate developer and after a neighborhood fight about loosing the beautiful Methodist camp to a developer, it was developed into high end lake homes (½ mile of lake shore went with the camp) It was time to find a church closer to home and after dreaming together about their next move, both of us got the same named local pastor.
That church seemed appropriate and it was only a few miles away. You have noticed that a lot of what is called ‘Church Hopping’ occurred for us. It wasn’t that at all. It was Church involvement and being led by the Spirit. About five years at each house of worship was average. All of it extraordinary and good.
It’s a hard life at times and our whole family has had many challenges from both of our pasts. We are still together and praising the Lord and his way of loving them. Our Lord does not have a plan. He is plan. Now we listen to Him and we follow His leading. The Lord speaks quietly and we are getting better at listening.
We continued singing and playing songs to Him and about Him, writing a few of those songs as well. It’s better than my bar band, and I am not even obligated to wear a cowboy hat. We did move to another church again to a refurbished bar that I played with the country western band! It was a new life about 30 miles away. I occasionally played Viola and the Mandolin there. South of highway 8 again. As I write this we have again been called to another gathering, Eagle Brook in Minnesota. I am working with Bjorn who is the media director and he asked me to become his AD (assistant director) It’s a long drive but he drives most of the way after I drive to his place about 28 miles south. I am also being trained as a camera operator.
We do wear our faith on our sleeves. Just like in my Navy days in a way. This story catches attention to unbelievers. It still catches our attention around May 23rd as well. our anniversary day.
Who can foretell the leading of the Lord? Jesus guides as he provides and that is challenging and exciting.
There it was, there it still is. A two story mural depicting Jesus with his hands open to all who would come to Him At the intersection called Seven Corners, visible plainly from Washington Avenue. It was the building housing Souls Harbor.
That mural was painted there some time ago, it was there when I was working at the New Riverside Cafe back in the very early 70’s. Several columns in Gator’s Grace Notes have been printed in various newspapers about those times. ‘40 Acres of Musicians’ is one of them.
Seven corners refers to a major intersection that signals the end of Washington Ave and Cedar Ave and an on ramp to the freeway, Highway 35. Perfect spot really. “And there shall be a highway and a Road and it shall be called the Highway of holiness” That quote is found In The Bible, Isiah 35. As an aside to this story, I am going to use that verse as the title of my upcoming book.
I was a hippy at this time and I was happy. Living in an apartment on Cedar Avenue a few blocks away, 605 ½ Cedar. It was a hot spot of the musicians in the city as was the New Riverside Cafe, referred by the in crowd that worked there as simply “ The Cafe” Pronounced as ‘the Kafe’ by these in the know and we who staffed it. Ground zero for me, fresh out of the Navy and growing my beard and hair as fast as possible.
Lots of bean sprouts and other veggies on the menu as the Cafe was vegetarian. Cheaper and better for you and the neighborhood. The favorite menu item was soup and a grilled cheese sandwich. We fed the neighborhood, most of it pretty poor folks. I would give the soup for free to many of those people and and when they asked for the sandwich I would offer bread, good bread and explain to them that this was what we had to do for free food. For quite a time there were no prices for food there and a price for the world class music in the big room, overlooking Riverside Avenue.
The entire neighborhood is now Somali and the business’ there all have NE African names, but the people are pretty friendly. The buildings are still the same but none of them have old hippies staffing them. The free store, Cafe Extempore, Durable goods, Dinsaur Motors, and Bellvile and Hoffman’s guitar shop are all gone. As am I. I miss it sometimes and think about walking around the old place just to get the new flavor. (If I figure out the menu of the west bank restaurants) who can tell? We will trade stories!
We worked a miracle in urban development then. Stopping the development of Heller and Segal’s dream of “A new town in town’ A rent strike and political rally’s and the help of the local Anglican Diocese was the protest plan. A lot of publicity in the Tribune and it worked. At least most of the west bank that was left stayed undeveloped into high rises. Since the West Bank was so close to the Mississippi, it housed a lot of northern European immigrants in the early days before us. It was known as ‘Snus boulevard’. Chewing tobacco and sidewalks as spittoons was the Scandinavian way of nicotine consumption.
The movement of America’s Revival, the Jesus movement was in full swing. Almost everyone who worked at the Cafe’ were not interested in Jesus. Hippies were more into mantras and Eastern versions of wisdom. The impetus for the very low or non existent food prices came from Father Teska, an Episcopal priest that helped fund the whole adventure.
(His diocese was very helpful for me later on.)
We were all clueless to creation and our Creator. I became aware that my only faith was in me and as a result, I was not really satisfied with my life. It took a few decades before I understood what that mural of Christ was telling me.
The diocese helped with the legal issues I was in with the military after discharge. I was still living on the West Bank, but I left the Cafe to work for the Burlington Northern as a track worker. My first job with them was shoveling ballast for a section surfacing a hump yard. It was more physical than the work of a cafe worker. I survived and thrived. Real money then, over 6 dollars and hour! After a summer of that I got pretty jacked and confident in manual labor. It was like military comrades. Joking and sharing hard work.
I shoveled ballast for months and noticed that the guys moving the tracks just hung onto their lining bars while I shoveled constantly. Ballast to be thundered under the ties by a massive surfacing machine. I worked right next to it. I asked one of the men how do the lining bar men get assigned that position? “First one to the work site gets their choice of tools”.
The next day when I stepped off the old school bus that took us to the work face, I yawned and stretched and then burst into running and grabbed a lining bar. Lots of kidding about that for all of us. New guy wises up. I did a good part of a year on surfacing gang and then I listened to my old veteran friend, Bruce, who lived in NW Wisconsin and he bluntly told me to ‘get out of there and buy a house a half mile away from his. I got a GI loan and bought the house. I had no idea what I was getting into, it’s not like buying a truck. (more of Bruce and I in the “motorcycle diary” series.
Living rural, 75 miles away was different than the west bank and it took some getting used to. I then began commuting to a section crew that was in Dinky Town, just across the river from the west bank!
A few visits to an old friend from the cafe, Raplh WhItcoff at the Durable Goods store got me a nice new Josnereds 80 chainsaw that really helped me with the firewood production. I can’t run it now but can still lift it up. My gandy dancer muscles had no problem back in those days. It’s all right, It will break your wrist to start it, when it will start. My son, Soren, recently restored the old 80 and it is an amazing saw for it’s era. Determination to start is still the key. 80 cc’s of engine is enough for a small motorcycle.
Fifty years later, we still heat with firewood in our parlor stove and Soren does most of the acquiring and splitting the wood. I stack and split kindling. I do remember how to swing wood hand mauls and have a good time doing so. Keeping my oar in as the saying goes.
Our property has increased in value after paying off the GI loan. Paradise in it’s own rolling hills valley with a private beaver lake and a prayer cabin overlooking it. 30 acres of peaceful country life. It was twenty six thousand five hundred dollars when I bought it. I now have a beautiful wife, two boys and indeed, blessings that just came. I found Jesus was right beside me my whole life and eventually surrendered my being and soul to Him. It took a while, I can be pretty dull and unobservant sometimes.
As I quote Monty Python at times: “Well, I got better” It’s pretty good. Norman Peterson / Jack Gator
Frederic Wisconsin, is a small town with almost a thousand people, and several deer. A small red fox runs across the state highway by the gas station around 4:30 every morning. The town has a restored railway station which is very authentic. There’s a caboose on a siding, a semaphore signal, a metal-wheeled cart with wood barrels and a bright yellow track-section car. A chain-saw carved wooden bear, stands near the roadbed where the metal tracks once ran.
The station anchors Main Street, which is about a block and a half long with diagonal parking. Frederic has a smattering of small shops: a hardware store, two bars, a library, and the usual shops that sell ‘antiques’ and knickknacks to tourists and used furniture to the locals.
Leaving town on the state highway you will find a gas station with well made waist-expanding doughnuts a car dealership and a tidy golf course with another bar. It is a cute town with a nice cafe and a second rate self-service car wash. The people in the town are fairly reserved but will speak with you if you speak first to them. A few of the people will wax nostalgic about the glory days of the railroad and the daily passenger train.
When first told of the twice-a-day train schedule, I knew I had missed something by being born 20 or 30 years too late. Of course, the tracks are gone except the siding with the caboose but the roadbed is now a merged bicycle/snowmobile trail. The bicyclists park by the bakery and the snowmobile folks park at the bar on the corner. Much to the towns confusion, the bakery has been closed for several years from a fire. Now they only sell wholesale and the main street side windows are covered up. There has also been a fire next door above one the bars. A fire no-sale. Two for the price of 4. Soon next year, the two buildings, which were destroyed, will rise from the ashes become one. A patio for patrons of the bar and bakery will finish the project. As I write this there is still windows and doors to install and the insides finished. The town is excited about the project.
There are five churches of the usual preferences, and even a small Amish community on the edge of town. Their carriages and the clip-clop of the horses add charm and fertilizer to the main street. The small town chugged along pretty well and the years brought the expected changes. A late night two dollar store and an old department store now selling secondhand furniture and dishes. There are treasures worth searching for: top line toasters and old hard-bound books. The two dollar store has a red box for last years latest movies. I always wonder why everything anyone buys from those quick two dollar stores smells like laundry detergent.
The early-morning men gather every morning, parking in the same parking spots and sitting at the same table. sipping passable coffee and eating good sourdough toast. The restaurant on the corner was named ‘Beans’ and now is known as ‘The Tin Shed.’ It is an early morning place of connections and warmth on winter days.
On those snowy winter days the village sweeps while its people sleep, the snow and drift removal goes on with the metallic rasp of shovels and the diesel snort of the plows. Some merchants shovel other store-front sidewalks because they have hearts for it. There is camaraderie in the winter, a hunkering and shared misery too: dead car batteries, ice on the roofs and leaking roofs in downtown with all the flat roofs common in row-house shops.
The down-town sometimes appeared like an old man with teeth missing. There were too many empty store-fronts. The draw of the big box stores about 25 miles south takes a toll on local merchants. A small town can only support one antique store or one that has used books, Jackets and couches. Frederic had a burned out bar, a bakery with no public access, an empty appliance store and an excellent hardware store. One old one with everything you need a new pharmacy and clinic. There is a friendly grocery store with a deli and things the big box does not handle. My favorite is Lingonberry jam. There is an exit power door that sticks open slightly and that is a reminder that the wholesale grocery business operates on a rather slim margin. It still works but keeps the entryway nicely cool in the winter.
There is a food truck that shows up in the summer by the old railroad depot with great gyro sandwhiches. A tow behind coffee business is faithful a block up the main street parked at the laundromat lot. Great coffee.
A curious thing in small towns is an almost precognition of most things happening that are interesting and tasty to the tongue. An event gossiped about at the corner cafe would instantly be the new topic at the library’s world- problem solving group of men gathered in a circle of comfortable chairs, or at the local bar next door over cups of morning coffee. The hand cut Jo-joes come later. Worth the wait. Real burgers as well.
Then one of the closed store-fronts was suddenly transformed from an appliance business into a prayer room. No one in town knew what a prayer room was; it sounded beneficial but odd. A few speculations were made, but no one went in when the lights were on and music was heard. It was often quite loud, with drums and piano and even a violin and people singing.
There was beautiful hand-carved lettering visible from the sidewalk claiming prayer for the town’s county and even the county to the west which encompasses the river named Holy Cross. (St. Croix Falls) my family were the musical staff with myself on the fiddle. It was pretty good. The last ‘set’ was beautiful. It started at 7:20 and ended at 7:20 The clock had stopped. It was definitely a good sign.
“It’s some kind of new church!” was a popular speculation. Simply put, the songs also had scripture being sung along in various music styles. We were mostly hidden behind a partial wall. We were in there quite a lot and we were known as friendly and there was prayer now and then in the stores for people in town. One of the bakers down the street was healed of a lifetime of headaches; this was news. “When does your free clinic open?” “What denomination are you?“ A few sidewalk questions came over the years. Once in a while I would put a chair out on the sidewalk while live music and prayer was visible on a computer screen through the window. It was a simulcast of a prayer room in Missouri.
Indeed there was a mystery with this small-town House of Prayer. How did it get there? And after four years, where did it go to? And of course, the town’s biggest question: what was it? No one really had the answer to all these puzzles except for us, a handful of people who built it and staffed it. For after all, there was no pulpit and no preaching. To quote Leonard Ravenhill, “Preaching affects time, Praying affects eternity.” There was a call from eternity and to most people, it didn’t make sense. At best, it seemed to folks like a Salvation Army storefront. They wondered,”why here?”Why not? The presence of the Living God Jesus, was strong and joyful. We miss it and some locals do too.
Small town America, the heartbeat of faith and freedom for everyone. It’s pretty good. Jack GatorScribe
They seem to be popping up everywhere. In the garden even, inconvenient plants with pretty blue flowers that creep along the ground and invade your strawberry beds and choke out those tender flowers that are usually in the middle of the garden.
You know them, we all do and it’s very inconvenient to remove them and all their offshoots.The dandelions that are relatives and show up at the same time. Akin to the neighbors that come over a lot and want to borrow your chainsaw so they can break it for you.
You are supposed to love those people, really, it’s the actual words of our leader and the man who was God on this planet. A very difficult thing to do. To love these people. Well, he did tell us about the weeds and the good crops but People are not weeds, but often they feel like them unless I am one on the highway. Causing other hurrying ones to point their long leaves at me they grow faster on by me.
I began to wonder about a store that sold all inconvenient things. They too are everywhere and are popping up like dandelions in your neighborhood.
Outside of town and very prominent, lots of them now. They sell many things you really don’t need but it is inexpensive (another word with the prefix of ‘In’) Before you even enter, there is a machine that dispenses movies you won’t enjoy. Monsters destroying things like cities or the world. Heroic men that survive danger to kill the inconvenient people in their lives.
Inside the store (which has an odor of soap you would never buy or use) are things to buy that are not easily obtained without driving a great distance from your small town. Left handed chewing gum and cross threaded light bulbs. A plethora of baked goods that have labels not quite big enough to list poison ingredients and taste bad. Bread that squashes when you grab it.
Clothing that will not fit and as mentioned before a whole aisle of soaps that you would not even want to put in your car for the drive home. The list goes on, but it is convenient to get these things because those stores are close by, Everywhere. They all look the same and are lit like airport runways as another convenient light source for their neighboring homes.
The list is long. Alarm clocks that always slow down ten minutes so your job becomes inconvenient for human resource departments. The help all have respiratory problems, as to be expected. Most of them do know where everything is by aisle and within them. I try to imagine myself, just out of high school in a small town and working the cash register nights. I remember my first job when I was in high school and it was a breeze compared to this work.
Our world is filled with inconvenient things, troublesome things but as an old friend sang, “old and in the way, they will never care about you because your old and in the way” We are not dandelions and we are precious, every one of us. I know this now because my Savior tells me so. He made me and you and loves us all and our creator bought us at a very great price. Not Very convenient to everyone and valued no matter where we are on the shelf of life. It’s pretty good. Norm Peterson /Jack Gator.
A hectic day with the usual errands and heavy work. A friends mother needed some work on her vehicle and it turned out rather complicated. Shredded wiring, trouble codes and the usual inaccessible places.
One more detail on that, a new dipstick which was only available about 25 miles away. The rest of the family was processing firewood with the usual plethora of chain saws, trailers, wedges, ice water and good gloves.
Dry and dead trees were wedged and fell with that mixture of snapping and rustling turning louder and with a rending tear of the notch, a thumping crash felt and heard. The chain saws began their work slicing and dicing the branches and measuring with the bars, a nice 16 inches long. Dry stuff on the hoof that gave off bowling pins mixing music together. Good for this winters burns in the parlor stove.
I went to town to get some fuel and had time to run after that dipstick down off the big highway that connects our two states. The part was correct and when I turned from my parking spot, I felt a bump and truck began to lean a bit and in 50 feet, the truck was parked with a destroyed front tire. No spare. Well, there was one under the frame that has been there since the late nineties. Flat and rusted in place. That was OK because there wasn’t any Jack or lug wrench. B prepared was turned into a B flat tire. It looked rather the worse for wear. All floppy and the treads were hardly there anyway. Probably ran over a nail or a beer cap I t thought. Sidewall failure.
It would have been a disaster on the road at speed. No accident happened in front of an auto parts store. I tried calling on my cell but the signal was terrible, always is up on the big St.Croix hill. I went outside to my leaning Ford Ranger and logged into the nearby grocery store that has good WiFi. It was about 3 o’clock. Second time the old truck had failed at a very slow speed.
The last time it failed, a tie rod end fell off in our parking lot. That is one of two parts that are connected to the steering mechanism. Providence, and once again, my life was saved by the Lord. “Coincidence” some folks say. A double negative was my response.” Yeah, right” He is always good. Obviously it wasn’t my time to leave the planet.
So I called home to the firewood team and there wasn’t much to be done. Then I called triple A and they said “due to a high level of requests there would be a delay in response time.” Sounded like I had just called the power company after a bad storm. It was OK but I regretted not bringing a book along.
People started stopping and rolling down windows asking if I needed help. One of them was a man I know pretty well that goes to the same Bible study every week. “Just waiting for the tow truck, thanks!” He asked if he could do something and I answered I could use lunch. He smiled and they drove off to the north. The grocery store was about 200 feet the other way. He might have thought I was making light of my situation. I wasn’t
A man in his middle thirties or so walked up to my open window and asked the same question. At that point I got out of the truck, shook his hand and thanked him for his concern. Quickly it seemed, we began really talking. Who are you, where do you live things. The conversation engendered by my curiosity, started towards dealing with disappointments. I noticed no wedding ring and he said he was divorced. I said something commiserating and then asked if he had children.
It began the revelation between two men, strangers that friendship was being offered. Delighted we pressed on with two boys for each of us and his had cowboy names. I asked if it was a well known country singer’s name and he affirmed it and I remarked that the singer was a man of God. He smiled and agreed. We were off way past the pulpit and the pews and started getting deep. He told me of his childhood church history and I replied that I had met many preachers of that denomination that illuminated grace and the love of Christ.
“An Episcopal Priest saved my life when I was freezing outside of his home, I was then living in my truck” I know he loved Jesus and I loved him. Not the usual of ‘not our denomination’ judgment. He lit up and told me he wasn’t much on church attendance. I then spoke truth to him that that does not have much to do with intimacy with the living Spirit of Jesus, really. I read C.S. Lewis and his mentor, George MacDonald a lot. They taught me those things.
We spoke of our lives. He works with machines that package candy bars, 100 a minute. He fixes them when they misbehave. I talked about my half century of owning an automotive repair shop and of being completely foolish in being unprepared completely for a simple flat tire on the old company truck. Things that people speak about when getting to know one another. It went on quickly enough and we began to delight in our ‘chance’ meeting.
I took a leap of faith and stated that our meeting was not chance but the whole reason I was there having a dead Ford Ranger and he was there to extend a hand to a stranger. It was our Lord putting us together to encourage him in his now renewed interest in these things. I almost felt like a pastor again . It was just what I needed as well. I had been feeling rather down that morning and my wife was trying to tell me I was very useful around the farm. After all, I speak like an idiot at times but that does not make me one.
I am often weak and don’t feel adequate enough to for my ego and past sole support of our place. Our strong son is now the strength we need and of course, that is why I bought the used chain saw from a second hand store the day before. It needed sharpening and carburetor adjustment. My son sharpened it well and I set the idle and off I went. I was working my son and all the family were loading and sawing too.
Soren, my son, dropped some huge dead trees. It was sweaty and noisy. It was good. I was reminded of my life and health and the beauty of our family life once again. (Now back to that flat tire.)
I got back in the our truck to wait, maybe write a note for the tow truck and looked up and he had arrived. Good timing, again. He was looking for me. He knew the area but there are hundreds of cars and trucks there.
The tow truck operator told me he would meet me at the grocery store parking lot while I bought lunch and we were off. I got extras in case he needed lunch too. He did not want any hot fried chicken, so I ate it all. A pleasant 30 mile flat bed drive home and it became easy work to push the truck onto the hoist and take off the tire. We obtained a spare and tools. Never had a flat since.
Now it became evident that this conversation with that young man down south was fulfilling work and it was very good. Another inconvenient pause in life to meet someone and have each of us encouraged. Most likely the whole reason for the perfectly safe place to have the flat
The B flat became Be sharp and I began to see. As a musician and punster it seems to fit this story perfectly.
First published 2011 when there was deep snow on the ground
There it was, indeed a table set for family and a few friends as well. The exquisite food, paid for by a relative in advance. A wise and generous relative, gone on a Christmas day past. Loved and missed at the table now.
The family, gathered in our home, every Christmas Eve to eat well and satisfy the gathering with exotic things. Brie, Lingonberry jam, Home baked bread out of the farm’s wheat. Tasty nuggets of chocolate treats and cookies made once a year. Treats, some pulled from the larder that are saved for this time. Some from Julie’s work at Valley Sweets in St.Croix Falls.
There is a Christmas ham in the crock pot that simmered all day and filled the house with it’s savory smells. Appetites were honed and sharpened as the winter of winters was preparing another snow storm. Already the new sidewalk was drifted half over from the bitter sleething of fine snow. The wind had not abated much from the night and the drive home from a delightful worship service was fraught with drifts on the rural highway. Narrow triangles of show, now created by the dry snow the county plows had just cleared that day.
It is perhaps the only time that snow is seen as beautiful and appropriate. The old images of sleighs to visit. Pulled by a team of Percheron horses. The blankets and even a few hot bricks tucked in to be heated up again for the ride home. Wood cook stoves and wood or coal parlor stoves that worked pretty well at heating a home. No worry about the pipes freezing because there were none. We have a painting of a sleigh heading for a church but the horse looks fake somehow in mid stride. Tough to convey motion in a painting. I think maybe a slight brush stroke of snow behind an upraised hoof would have done the job. Art critic.
Candle light services with luminaries out in the snow to entice and welcome. Classic songs to be sung, you know the ones. Everyone has them memorized. The big round wood stove in the corner (should be in the middle of the aisle thinks the same art critic) We all have these memories of times past before we were born. Stories passed down by past generations that had to walk miles uphill in heavy snow. To school as well as church.
Another image that I have is the short peace in the midst trench warfare in France. Soldiers apprehensive and then hearing the opposing army singing Silent Night in German. Slowly rising up from the trenches and walking towards one another, perhaps with a bit of whiskey or brandy to share. Impossible to contemplate with the guns and cannons silent the enemies meeting on no man’s land. Men’s vision to be truthful. The Man full of grace and truth who someday will come for you. This is the reason the fear was pushed aside. We have all been afraid a long long time, but Papa is here and He will take the fear away.
There is impossible joy in the midst of the world’s battle for many things. Power, possessions, and dominance.
We all know the story, even those of us who think the story of Christmas is only about being rewarded because we have not been naughty. We think we are on the ‘better be good’ part of the perceived equation. It’s not any of those things. The reason that Christmas has the impact year after year is because the story is true and the good news is impossible to explain with only words. It is indeed a feast. It is felt and it is known by all men. It is joy and the present of good news that cannot be earned. It is indeed a Christmas present that must be opened by everyone that sees it and know what it is. The only present that still surprises with astonishment. Every time. It’s pretty good. The feast of life with Jesus Norm Peterson / JackGator
It was subtle and it was a destroyer of families. Work for the men in tall buildings, not within walking distance.
The new city age of commuting, milk men down the alleys and trolley cars. The fifties, when I was single digits old. It was subtle and the beginning of an ending. The most important thing of all disappeared. Intimacy.
The way things used to be, such a common phrase indicating nostalgia for the ‘good old days’. It is much more than that. my father worked as a fireman and Mom eventually worked downtown as a secretary for the public schools. Gone was grandpa’s little farm and both families living close by to one another. A neighbor near the farm complained that Dad was supposed to live in the city to be a fireman. The move to the city was inevitable and plans were made to buy a nice house in the north side of Minneapolis. The country life was comfortable for me. The creek down the hill offered fishing and adventure. Life was the smell of good earth.
“Hey kids, tomorrow we get out the rock boat and get the rocks out of the main field.” Groans from both me and my sister but with memories of Grandma’s supper with the fresh doughnut holes with chicken dumplings and real mashed potatoes. The ‘boat’ moved slowly and Freddie, my friend nearby, joined the ‘party.’ There was always a bit of humor that came forth too. “Hey, that rock looks just like Mr. Mosher!” Grandpa laughing from the old International also saying that’s not the way to speak of him! Guilty as charged, but still snickering when we looked at each other. Working the land together as Laura Ingalls Wilder wrote about in her newspaper columns.
Not long after those halcyon days of laughter and sharing in the good times and difficult or even sad times, it ended. Gone,the best days of my life. The fire department was a good job for Dad. Secure income.
They moved into the city as Dad continued working for the fire department, and to afford the nice city house, Mom had to work and leave us alone at the new home. A lot. The one room school house a mile away was not the way things were done in the city. There weren’t any potato fields or big vegetable gardens either. The biggest loss was the absence of parents when they were needed. Not being available at home when bad things happened. I was lost in the waves of change. Waking up at Bunyan’s Vanity Fair. The cute girl next door was a forbidden friend for Jack. She went to the ‘wrong’ church.
Make your own lunch and wait after school for Mom or Dad. Alone in the house. No more family games and no neighbors or relatives coming by. The big church downtown and bullies at the neighborhood school were incomprehensible. No one seemed to care about children at home or at the next door neighbors. Gone were the sights of a broken piece of equipment on a neighbors field. “I going to go over to Rick’s place and see what we can do” sorts of things. Day cares started up and everything had a price. From workers of the soil to wage earners surviving in toil. Children did not understand this. In a child’s eye it was abandonment and loss.
And so it goes as progress turns into regress for the new price of hearth and home. Our home now had a fireplace in the living room but it was never lit. The big coal furnace in the basement provided the heat but the hearth never provided a family room’s comfort. Now the gathering of family was the flicker of the black and white television set and intimacy was knowing the names of the characters on the screen. Big life became substitute life and families losses were significant. Children became actors in the play of city life. Do well at school and play with the strangers and you make friends if you don’t cry. First grade in the big city.
Gone the instantaneous comfort of a mother’s loving touch, the guiding hand of a Grandfather as the soil turned rich under the plow and disk. Love for neighbors seen and demonstrating love for everyone. Gone was “It’s been a good day, let’s read that book! Who knows where we left off?” Instead, lonely days. Akin to a room of the house suddenly disappearing. But dad and Grandpa were good carpenters and rebuilt some of the loss.
But Dad and Grandpa were not seen during the day and Grandpa and Grandma still lived in Golden Valley. I withdrew into myself and began to embrace short wave radio after a few years in grade school. I got my ham radio license just before going into 7th grade. I then had communications with total strangers around the country that were as lonely as I was. But dad and Grandpa were good carpenters and rebuilt some of the loss with me observing the new wood shop in our basement and Grandpa teaching dad and later, dad teaching me. I still have some of the old tools and a wood tool carrier from them. Now my youngest son has some of those tools on a special shelf in his wood shop here on the farm.
There is another carpenter that will restore all our loss’. He is the best restoration worker in the world. Jesus, He will make all things new. A perfect man with wood in the shop and wood on the cross. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator Scribe
It was a hard morning to get ready for a 30+ mile drive south. It was early, my coffee was getting cold and I was getting cold as well. It was still dark and I was getting depressed. It was from fear of the world’s ways and loss I was seated in the impossible heavenly beauty and renewed and encouraged once again. The usual triggers that affect us: Checking account down under a C note, bills creating a breeze magnet on the table and prices getting into the ridiculous range at the grocery stores. Six bucks for a somewhat light loaf of bread? It must be organic, Vegan and sort of good for you if you like that sort of thing.
It is not good for anyone in the family to concentrate on those negative things, let alone the destruction of our state and country. Demented teachers running hard after perversion and seduction of children that, impossibly, seem paramount to the education agenda. No one I talk to has the slightest interest of those ideas, incredulous of how such a thing has happened.
Certainly the striped and incorrect depiction of our flag folks will respond to the above short paragraphs. I have strong memories of being underway on my Navy ship, flying the flag night and day. With a strong light upon it. The real flag, Superman’s flag of “ Truth, Justice and the American way” Not indoctrination, brain washing and the Orwellian ways. No one I meet, casual or acquaintances, has any truck with this nonsense. It’s the rural life of family, neighbors and reality.
It was time for the ritual which my young son enjoys. Laying out his coffee equipment before he awakens. Thermos, sugar and long stirring spoon. Turning on the Keurig and holding the storm door open for him (from the outside to clear his load of lunch, motorcycle helmet and warm jacket.) Then standing on the porch that faces the driveway to wave him off. It is a family tradition. If he is driving his car, he keeps the dome light on briefly so I can see him waving back. I watch till he turns north at the end of the ¼ mile driveway. With colder temps and snow, the bike goes into the storage shop and his pickup comes out of the big shop door. Power door. The exhaust from the truck swirls and a bit of heat is lost until his remote commands the door to close. The luxury of a heated garage with a hoist and many tools from the days of running a repair shop.
The parlor wood stove is now working well with new firebricks and angle/strap supports. All installed by their son. welded, ground brick to fit and cleaned and got filthy in the process. It works so much better. Warmth in later fall is welcome and secure feeling.
And so there I sit, in my chair in the dark living room of early morning. Holding my coffee, looking up at our library walk and above it at the big half round window. This morning, it was perfectly aligned just for me and, showing the families favorite constellation, Orion. His belt and his sword clear and the words came loud and clear . “He made me alive, when I was dead and he raised me up and seated me with Christ. And it’s by His grace that I am saved and it’s through faith, the very gift of God.” a.
Once again, I know my creator is smiling at me and the ‘coincidence’ perfectly arranged to show me I am seen and loved. The message is clear. Jesus is with us and sees all the trepidation and troubles of our lifes. “This time too, it will be OK” Just as the way the Lord has used his power and audible voice to literally save my life several times. This time the Lord of Lords is with me. It is not the book of Job, It is the new Testament books of Jesus healing and loving that are reflected in that window. High above and in the darkness. My family is seen and we are not alone.
Some of you older folks may remember the ‘free speech’ movement in Berkeley back in the 60’s. There were all sorts of speakers ‘for the people’ declaring the freedom to say anything they wanted to and thus, enabling everyone to do the same.
Mario Savio, Jerry Rubin and others were up there on the steps at the college,ripping up the air with megaphones and every filthy word they could muster up. The lizard was let out of the cage and it really still belongs in there today. I have noticed things that are acceptable nowadays that were not so a short time ago. Movies, literature and people on some sort of insane voyage seem to be heard and amazingly, understood and endorsed by many. It seems as though Allen Ginsburg and his ‘man/boy’ agenda has been given a new look and found politically correct this time around.
It appears that insanity and the collapse of thinking is here. Turning our children into the opposite sex and actually having people in Washington unable to define the difference between a man and a woman. That sort of thing happens in fantasy movies. Usually it is some sort of super power that appears in those kind of films.
Now, the super power is saying things that are not real and people that hear these things believe them. These new believers get angry when those of us see absurdity spoken and written. Easily seen if you haven’t drunk the cool aid. Feminine personal products available in men’s public toilets just in case they are needed. Men competing in Women’s sports events because they have changed their names to female and wear clothing to match.
Our country is on a acid trip that Timothy Leary stated would be so cool if LSD was put in all the water we drink. Conspiracy theories abound. Free injection needles for drug addicts. Creating ‘safe zones’ for rioters we now call disenfranchised and troubled youth. Shootings every night by criminals that ‘we created’ because of our racist history (which is being re-written by George Orwell’s ministry of truth)
Now we have criminals from other countries who just drifted in to enjoy the home of no savings and the land of free stuff. It is insane and we wait to awaken again in the morning to unlock the doors and peer out down the driveway to see it is still calm. Even here in rural American farmland.
I experienced the tip of that iceberg a few years ago at night. I was at a public reading by a university professor with many endorsements and accolades from the usual foundations and politically correct intellectuals. Books for sale too. Autographed as soon as the cash was given. An author that I worked alongside decades ago in a local food co-op we put together. It’s still there. I was eager to see her again and reminisce.
It was Sproul plaza again. This time without the megaphone. A totally inadequate sound system and refreshments for those of us who need those sorts of things. It was put on by a government funded institution, the St. Croix Falls Library. We were out in the delightful perfect summer evening on a plaza. Nice chairs and very friendly people.
A lot of them were friends too. The main speaker, my old friend, was reading a book of her own and it began to segue into language that is now free to use. Language of bar habitués in questionable parts of cities.
The small gathering of intellectuals began to titter and appreciatively express their delight in the continual use of curse words and the denigration of our Lord. As though He was the cause of sorrows and arbitrary wrong doing. “Is He safe? Of course not, He’s a lion but He’s good” A.
The lemonade and grapes and crackers were leaving traces to follow the crowd along. It was a courtesy by the staff to comfort us and prepare us for the endorsing of the cool-aid of the times. How exciting to hear an endorsed intellectual (with the mandatory book signing afterwards) speak those words that we all want to speak casually. Polite society is not ready for that yet. It was sad for me to experience such drivel and ‘worldliness’ from an old friend.
Before I left, I asked why she used so many F bombs and added I was offended. She replied, “I was just reading a book!” That disconnect was incomprehensible. She wasn’t reading an old Ginsberg book, she wrote this one and she owns it.
I had brought some of my columns for Sharon, my friend and fellow author, to enjoy later but I tucked them back into my journal and left. It was not very good. I was sad. Norm Peterson / Jack Gator
A.C.S. Lewis. ‘The lion, the witch and the wardrobe.
Jack gators grace notes 