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Autobiography of Norm chapter 4

/ Norman Eric Peterson / 1 Comment

Things were going well for me, teaching code and basic radio operation in San Diego. Still at Camp Nimitz and then things changed. A lot. I got orders to report to Comservron 6 in Naples Italy. I thought this must be an embassy position! Just like my first job as a radio operator for the Boy scouts! I went back to Minneapolis and caught a commercial flight to Italy via Heathrow, Berlin airports. How exciting for me, the great unknown Naval job overseas. I connected with the base in Naples and was put in a landing craft and deposited on the quarter deck of an old WWII fleet oiler. The Missisinewa AO 144

I declared, “there must be some mistake. I am to report to comservron 6!” The OOD told me I was standing on the quarterdeck of comservron 6. I saluted him and turned and saluted the flag off the stern and stepped forward with my seabag. A sailor was there waiting for me and he seemed to know what it all was about. He too, had a radioman symbol on his right shoulder along with a rocker that stated the command.

He showed me my quarters below deck and I stowed my gear and claimed my bunk. He then said he would show me my duty station. We headed aft. Is this were the radio room is? No, this is where the mess deck is. He explained: Every division on board has to send it’s most junior man to work the mess deck and that is your duty station right now. Oh. “Where do you work?” He also stated he worked the mess deck until I showed up. He was Smiling. Relieved of duty.

The mess deck lieutenant showed me where to go. The potato peeling compartment. I was to put a load of potatoes in a big stainless tub and turn it on. Water would spray in and the tub began to turn. It had notches much akin to a hand peeler all around the inside. It worked. The peels went over the side and the potatoes were quite smaller then. Dump them into a stainless bowl and repeat. I heard the bosuns pipe announce “Now arriving comservron 6” which meant our captain was aboard and we were getting underway.

I watched Naples slowly fade away and was pleased I had my very own porthole. Join the Navy and see the world though a porthole.

I peeled potatoes, went down to the freezer locker and brought up frozen chickens by the flock full. There was 324 men aboard plus staff which was my division. A lot of chickens and potatoes. There was always a lot of sliced bread for every meal. More on that later

I started to meet my fellow radiomen and began the process of friendship or not game. I felt very unfulfilled and gloomy. After a few months of scullery, frozen entrees and swabbing decks, I was informed that a new guy from our division was coming aboard! I was as happy as my 1st escort was and went to the quarterdeck when we anchored out in Malta. You know the drill.

The radio shack was on the 02 level above the main deck and I found it familiar. Same thing as I had at home a while ago. Dials and wires, guys with headphones on one ear and typewriters at every radio. Morse code keys too. I was relieved and assured by the undeniable smell of electronic power surging about the compartment. Just like my old bedroom without my bed next to my ‘rig’ I had faster code abilities then expected by the men and quickly move into the comm position of communicating with the big stations and ships we were tied to. I typed pretty well and when I got promoted when we were in Beirut, I began with my top secret clearance and a petty officers ‘crow’ on my uniforms. I was then trained in teletype in my own compartment and had to synchronize our deck to overhead transceiver with a signal from England every day. Eventually I ‘cut a tape’ at 80 words per minute. The tape was six holes across and every combination of the holes was a letter or a number. If I made a mistake, all I had to do was punch a special key and it would punch all the holes and no information would be put on the tape.

It was very good alone time because the only person allowed in besides me was our division officer, Lt Laird. A mustanger that achieved an officers rank the hard way. Work your way up from E2 to E8, master chief and move up the ladder a few more times. He was tough to say the least. Do not cross one of these guys, they can do anything they want and have all the respect due them. “Attention on deck!” “As you were men.” I had dreams of making it to chief, the brown shoe navy.

After six months at sea (one tour) the oiler was headed back to the states. Staff had to transfer all our gear, records and files to another fleet oiler next to us and begin another tour. The Neosho was my next ship. Almost all of the 300 plus ships company dreaded our arrival as it meant crowding, more work and new guys that were the command structure of the missions.

I was doing well with this life. We stopped at Izmir, Rhodes, Malta, Via France, Palma De Majorca, Gibraltar, Barcelona and a few other places I cannot remember. We always had to ‘anchor out’ because no government wanted us in port with 8 million gallons of various petroleum. I loved the bunker oil because it was stored below our deck quarters. It had to be heated to make it flow. As the ship slowly rocked, I heard the flow of oil slowly back and forth and it sounded like waves at the beach. I would be asleep easily. In the winter below the decks were warm. There were some perks to being on a big fleet oiler. To be continued chapter 5

Autobiography of Norm Chapter 3

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

My second commercial airplane ride took me to San Diego for the second time in my life.

The first time was as a 17 year old representative of Fashion Curtain Company in Traverse City Michigan. This time I was bused to recruit depot at Camp Nimitz and met with a big Marine Gunny that became my new focus in life. The usual hair buzz cut and a lot of shouting and insults. Pukes, trainees, moms boys, etc. A lot of it was true and we shaped up fast. Fire watches, endless screaming and shouting and a little manhandling. Men that know basic training

can recall those things. Mostly with laughter and even fondness for finally some direction in our lives that actually changed us. With a laugh the gunny told me I got my draft notice in the mail

We trained on board the USS Recruit with many things a ship has to offer. Ladders, hatches, fire drills. Rope, line and small stuff for knot tying and spring lines and lanyards. Lots of knots. This was important stuff for us later on in life as well. How to tie your laundry on lines with small stuff, how to slide down a ‘ladder’ (stairs) on the rails. It was neat except for all the physical training and endless marching. Left, right, left right..pick it up! Those drill sergeants ran up walls and do more push ups than there were possible. And leap and clap their hands after coming up. We were wimps.

Suddenly, there was a call for musicians and singers! The Navy Choir need some guys that could sing and march and take orders well. I stepped forward (NEVER step forward to volunteer!) the choir director was from the Mormon Tabernacle and knew his stuff. “Sing these notes” In or out and sometimes got praise. There were 10 of us in the Blue Jackets Choir. I remember their faces I remember them and where some of them went afterwards. ‘Father Flanagan in the back row went on to Pensacola to be a Navel Aviator, things like that. I am in the front row 2nd from right. We sang ‘For those in Peril on the Sea’ the Navy anthem and the National anthem along with several classical church songs on Sunday at the officers services. Marching in parades and more boot camp stuff to go with it. We had our dress blues already and there were quite a few puzzled men in our class that could not understand why an E6 was in training with them (1st class petty officer with three red stripes and a ‘crow’ on my sleeve) would just answer that I was recruit education officer which was true in a way.

I skated through boot and was assigned to A school on base for training to be a radioman. Not to New London for Submarine training! I wanted to be a nuclear technician as a career choice but my color vision was inadequate and I wore glasses. Recruiter lied to me. A common procedure, after all, the draft was full bore and I did not want to go to Viet Nam under the national draft. As I mentioned, I was drafted in boot camp and just missed the chance to be discharged early and come home with a flag over me.

The Lord of my life was unfolding His plan and I had no idea that was happening. The hymns we sang in the choir were beautiful and that planted small seeds of wonder. Much later in my life I heard His voice save me from death and to say it was extraordinary is not enough. It was a miracle.

So after basic training I went to A school right there at the camp and I was turned into a teacher at radio school. My ham radio license paid off and I was given liberty every weekend and I realized soon that this was the best duty station I would have from then on. I was free to visit my ‘sister’ during the weekends and you can read about it in “A sister from Laguna Beach” here at Gatorsgracenotes.com.

To be continued In Autobiography Chapter 4

Gives and Takes Away

/ Norman Eric Peterson / 2 Comments

It is an essential line in a song our worship group sang. It refers to the essential way that our Lord deals with his will and plan for us. We do not fully understand this. Sometimes not at all.

Our kind and essential pastoral leaders at the time, did not want this line sung. They believed in our leadership in music and even licensed us as pastors. But, they did not understand the basic truth behind the taking away part. The understanding I have is that He gives us the choice. We can embrace a bad choice which he allows as free will or we can do the opposite.

There is always a road sign on that highway we walk upon. This way to join the summer tire club in the midst of a snowstorm is a complex choice. A parable of sorts for me. (we all enjoy parables)

Approximately a half century ago I was given those plain words at a pivotal point in my life. I have told this story many times. I would not be living here with a family and delightful small farm if I had chosen death. “life or death, choose now” A direct quote from Deuteronomy that was audibly given to me. I am still stunned by that grace I was given. Obviously what I chose.

We are all of us given that choice to choose a death or life in many ways every day. Curse or bless. People are in my way. Subtle but the reward of peace in choosing to smile and find a way to give way is pretty good. Simple things but obvious to others at times. Very obvious to me.

I love the smiles and relaxed encounters that occur now and then.

There are so many frowns that remind me to smile at pray. He gives me the joy and the prayer. He can take that away if I choose to frown too. The simple phrase of giving and taking away is a lot more complex than at first thought. He gave so many Biblical people those choices and many times there was a giving and blessing from a good choice. I have read it 58 times so far in my Bible of those things.

It’s very hard sometimes to see that choice. He has allowed so many of my best friends to die. We all die but when you live a long time they are taken away. Was it a choice for them to die?

We don’t know any of that. It involves eternity and that is beyond my comprehension. It’s an entertainment at times to be in a serious discussion with others to deal with eternity. It usually ends with laughter at ourselves and joy at the same time. It’s really pretty good we have a choice to embrace our humanity and blessings to not try to be God and know those things. We grieve and that is necessary.

One man I know chose both life and death, just for me and you. It resulted in eternal joy for all men.

As C.S. Lewis wrote: “God has an eternity to spend with a pilot in a Corsair in WWII going down in flames.” Just the two of them. Do you understand that? I don’t but I love to read my favorite author speculate and challenge my intellect. I set that thought aside most days and go back to it sometimes just for reassurance. I thank God he has given me that man’s wisdom to read and enjoy. I Love it, Life, it’s pretty good. Jack Gator

A time to Live and a Time to Die

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

There is one word we use more than any other in our speech. It is related to everything we do as well. The Latin word is Tempus. Time

Think about it if you have the time. What time is it anyway? Did you set the timer?

No time like the present. Time is money. It was just his time. Time’s a wasting. About time!

Try it some time and see how long you last before using the word. I was lap swimming the other day and usually start by counting the laps and then at the far end of the pool, there is a big clock on the wall. I can see how much time I have left before I have to get out. There is another clock in the locker room to make certain I leave before ‘times up’ and the lifeguard ducks her head in the entry door asking if there is anyone there. I got out on time today. She has a rigid time schedule too.

Driving home it seemed I was not at the right speed for the cars and trucks behind me. The biggest dial in front of me points out how much time would elapse with the formula for velocity coupled with time (MPH). I am always being passed at all times, it seems that most drivers are out of time and concerned they will not get to where they need to be at the correct time. Deer collisions, accidents while not passing at the right time, or driving by a squad at one of those times are secondary concerns.

I volunteer as an assistant director at a big church and over my comm I announce the next shots that need to be taken for the video to be dynamic and follow the time signature. It helps the director to put the shots in the video mix. It takes more time to explain than when it occurs. Seconds to the next take. It’s critical to the timing to tell the operators where they should be and giving them about two measures or so before the shot is ‘taken’ by the the director. Like a video ballet, and if the timing is right, seamless and pleasing to people in the audience. Setting up the shots along with who is playing at the right time. I particularly like the shots of the keyboard and hands just when that slower part happens. Excellent music is, of course, timeless. While the band is playing, there are very large screens that show the ‘ballet’on each side of the ballet. It really helps ‘tell the story’ No one sees us and they shouldn’t even be aware of us. (see men in black productions)

Speaking of music, there is a song on an album done by Pink Floyd that is still one of the top songs searched on the internet. The Album is ‘Dark side of the Moon’ and the title of the famous song is, of course, Time. It’s in F#minor. I myself like the rototoms in the rhythm with the clock sounds

In medieval times, the town clock would ring often at 8am, noon and 6pm to remind the townsfolk it was time to pray. Good idea to pray, I did while I was doing my swim today and realized how locked in I was by my time, the time, all time and began to relax and not worry about what the clock said. It’s hard to do but it seemed to start making a difference in me. I was talking to our Lord just before I sat on the edge of the pool and He said these things to me. Read all about Him from the first words of scripture: ‘In the beginning’ that’s when He invented time. There is eternity, and time is just for us to measure the seasons and our heartbeats. How old are you? Isn’t it time to eat? Stop watching your watches and perhaps you will see what I am saying to you. ” Can we talk?” I’ll make the time. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator

A World’s Image of Our America

/ Norman Eric Peterson / 1 Comment

Sad but true. What do our enemies abroad think of us? What sorts of images come to their and our minds? Big box stores where all of us overweight people park our overweight vehicles and waddle up to the automatic BIG doors and grasp a hold of the ubiquitous shopping cart. Testing it’s alignment and pushing it through to where we need to go to fill it up.

I find gazing at things and parking the cart out of the way to to allow room to fellow shoppers. It feels right and is grace to them. (I do like the early morning empty car lot pleasant and park at row 7. close in.)

The freeway isles of the Big Box are tricky and heads up when you swing around the corners! Speed is of the essence and yielding has to be done way ahead of time. I like to take my time, just like I drive my car. Observant and switching lanes when it seems prudent for traffic flow.

Watch out for the speeders! The parking lot can be dangerous as anxiety takes a hold and a 15 mile and hour speed is pretty fast. On or off the road, speed limits are to be interpreted in our favor and the cops are far and few. Again, this goes for any vehicle. Car, truck or cart. The staff move even faster as they know where to go, sometimes and they have huge carts. They shop for drive through lazy boys and park their huge carts in aisles that you need to navigate. Oh, and watch out for the fruit squeezers, they take their time with alacrity and park right where you need to be. Park next to the keto display and you will be out of their way.

Looking with disdain upon the box food in the baking aisle, I search for my list elsewhere. The unsweetened and organic chocolate require patience but again, the shelves are full. I try to escape from the on sale bakery goods that are usually sold out or down to the boxes with a dozen or more within them. That will not do as I cannot eat them all before coming home. The evidence of my clothing and the mess would give me away.

I would also be fat and running with my treasures. A plain cake doughnut and some yogurt will suffice for a snack I can easily eat in the parking lot as I wait for the rush to park to subside somewhat.

To be disgusted or empathetic is my decision and these emotive responses are my hearts response. I can decide to call employees by the name tags I surreptitiously see. My choice of seeing all of creation as fascinating and wonderful or to be the judge of people by my selfish heart. Life or death, Choose now. Jack Gator With thanks to C.S. lewis’ ‘Men without Chests’

Hit and Miss

/ Norman Eric Peterson / 1 Comment

Working the railroad section and riding the crew car to the work site. You’ve seen them, short and yellow metal with the crew riding in the open. Putt putting down the track. An amazing thing about them is how they go in reverse. Shut the ignition off and as the slow, single cylinder engine puts it’s last putt before coming to a stop turn the ignition back on at just the right time, and it begins to run in the opposite direction!

Handy, no gear box needed. This is a akin to my life at times. When I feel that I am going in the wrong direction, I have to quiet my self and listen to someone else to discover the path that leads to peace and even back the way I came and finding the place I began. Just shut off as His spirit begins to quiet my chattering mind.

As I like to say, “A suddenly occurs” and a sunrise begins to warm my face and reminds me, once again, there is light that shows that path upon the narrow road. A path that I am guaranteed not to go astray upon.

I am reminded at times about navigation with a compass and sextant when lost at sea, going in the wrong direction. The reliable clock in my possession tells me where the sun and compass should be. I ‘shoot’ the sun and drop it to the horizon to tell me where I am with the compass and chart and make a correction of direction. Harder to do in an area with strong magnetic fields but through a learned skill, I can now make what is called ‘dead reckoning’ a good decision to continue.

I know I am off course at times and the quietness gives me time to realize I am dead again and I need to hear that still, small voice that tells me the course to take. I reckon and quietly hear the true course laid out. The chart book always is right and after reading it, the course is set once again.

It’s relatively easy to get off course, we all do it. We have to shut our engine down and often reverse course to get to where we started and find the track we should have gone down. Love and forgiveness of offense, forgiveness to our self image for taking the wrong course too. It happens to everyone. Listen the the true navigator of our lives and look to the Son and bring his light close to our horizon. Not easy, I have to learn how to use that sextant of my spirit and read the chart. The Bible. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator

Truth Vs Propaganda

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It was of great delight that a perusal of a second hand stores book shelves revealed another gem. One of the Harvard Classics, It was printed when I was in my early 20’s. Roughly 6 decades ago. (The 1st publication date is 1939) What a find for a dedicated fan of reading books and storing them away with groaning shelves everywhere in our house.

This book has English essays from Sir Philip Sidney to Macaulay. Ben Johnson, Joseph Addison, Johnathan Swift and David Hume to name a few of them. Quite an assortment of analysis, praise of earlier authors is in this book. A treasure to a writer to glean ideas, precious quotes and insights. They did it, why not me?

The essay by David Hume on Taste was intriguing. It struck to the bedrock of philosophy on human behavior. That sort of subject has been on the best seller list since the times of Homer and the Greek writers of that era.

Everyone, well, most everyone likes to know if their visions of civilized society and the world we live in have been written about. Written and put into practice for all of known history.

Stunningly, yet another movement has begun to re-write history to suit tastes of some group alienated from truth. Akin to ‘1984’ or ‘Brave new world’ classics are these attempts. Always for power and influence as though anybody with the ability to think and read would fall for it. Propaganda is the term and even during WWII there was a ministry of propaganda in Nazi Germany. It was headed up by Joseph Goebbels and his pal, Leni Reifenstahl. The movie that Leni made, Triumph des Willens (Triumph of the Will) showed the Nazi dream and is still known as the most successful propaganda film of all time.

It’s an old story that, driven by insanity, drives the insane to rewrite human history to fit their version of reality. Today it is the denial of truth of humanity itself. Not only revisionist history to enable money to be funded to people that feel they are owed for things that happened over a century ago, but to rewrite history that somehow enabled these things. The oppression happened but not at all as re-written. Some of the derogatory language had been imported from Scotland as well as their lightening quick deadly response to insult, real or imagined. These things are still embraced today by youths that do not know real history. Read some Tomas Sowell for clarification.

Oh, I forgot, no one reads these things today going back to Greek philosophy forwards to today. Movies of distraction are popular. Considering our confused nation and the recession, it fits the mind set of the great depression of the last century. Scholars and thinkers are passe’ and it’s the New Thing that captures the hunger of our nation. “History is false” “Change your sex if you feel like it” “Educate the children to all these lies”

Why? Indeed, the question of the hour. Even our government has been deluded and encourages lies much akin to the WWII ministries of propaganda. As Solomon wrote, all is vanity and there is nothing new under the sun.

Why do these things happen over and over again throughout our history? It goes back to our very beginning. “Did God really say?” And thus, the battle had begun. Read all about it.

It’s interesting and sometimes pretty good. Jack Gator

Beauty in the Township

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It began with an invite from Norm’s friend, the one he really met in a hospital. That’s in another column, ‘A battle for individual worth’ When that friend says something to Norm, it’s important and he listens.

This time was over a food truck Gyro. A casual remark about a gathering near their homes. About a mile or so away at the Trade Lake Swedish Mission church Up on a hill from the one time bustling community of Trade Lake.

A picnic/potluck was promised and Norm got mildly interested. “It’s next Saturday. Pick me up, I’ll be waiting at the door” Norm looked it up with a quick search of the paper archive (the one Norm used write for). The time was listed as well as the main speaker. He was a former pastor of his for 10 years and the mild interest turned into a firm draw. Since Norm and Julie had a pretty successful garden that year, It seemed good to pick and slice up some ripe tomatoes and offer those. Julie finished the offering with an oval Pfaltzgraff serving plate and perfect garnish’s of Basil leafs with fresh picked snow peas in the center. Norm was hoping this would be OK and it was an instant hit and ALL of it was eaten afterwards. It was well received as fall had begun in earnest and picnic dining was looking OK, nice late fall. Back to the service…

Norm picked his usual spot in the front pew and had a little chat with the two brothers that were doing the worship. Nice young men, and they listed the songs. Hymn’s. The beginning one, however, is one of Norm’s new favorites, ‘How great thou art’ done by a Gaelic band with bagpipes. It sounded promising. Two guitars.

The young men began, and when it got to the chorus, Norm rapidly began weeping and stood up. Maybe it was the other way around. Hands held high and really worshiping as the song rang out in that old wooden Mission church. The tears were unbidden and unexpected and he did not care if no one else was standing or not. He was in the front pew and it was easy to just let go and leap up.

The salt from the tears became a badge to him that a good thing was happening. Right there, right now. It felt so free. The last song was America and Norm, military fellow he was, stood with hand on his heart and thoughts of this incredible constitutional country where he could stand for the flag. Below the flag, fastened to the wall, was one of those classic paintings of Jesus with His eyes looking up. Right at the flag.

The two guitarists played more songs and Norm noticed one looked a lot like his youngest son and he was deep into the songs. He knows that look and that sound. It’s obvious, undeniable and perfect.

Looking down at his feet, firmly planted on the old puncheon floor he was transported to a C.S. Lewis vision of an old farmer worshiping at vespers. Ask Norm, he can detail it for you.

It was a simple old church building with a nice isinglass wood stove and photos lining a wall of neighbors long gone who’s names are still on the mailboxes. It was called a mission church because camp missions were funded by potatoes sold to the local starch factory. The factory is long gone but some of the funded local church camps are close by that grew out of those times.

There were four of them within the township. Two have been sold, one of which Norm met his wife at. Whispering Pines Camp. She was the director and introduced him to a mile and a half of pristine lake shore with an isthmus called picnic point. Tall pines and trails for young campers that came, spring to fall. The lake shore view brilliant with reds and yellows around the lake. The season was then closing down and near the end of tents and dining hall chatter for another season. The sale of this beauty was imminent and the buyer, a developer, built his mansion out on the point. They took down the cross, chained to two trees near the lake and that was somehow, the saddest loss.

At the mission church, (which will never be sold) it was the way worship should always be done. Done well with heart and spirit shifted into top gear and the accelerator floored. Still transfixed as I type this. Unanticipated ecstasy and revival of the best kind. It was beauty and poetry of the best kind. Norm picked up their clean oval dish and they went home. Another memory of clarity and beauty.

It’s pretty good Jack Gator

What did I expect of Knowledge?

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It was a ‘mandatory’ meeting. All hands on deck sort of thing. No head counts per Se’ but the feeling of head swivels noting that sort of thing. Facing forward we all pay attention to what is being said or demonstrated to us. This information is essential and a lot of us take notes in our journals. The desire is to understand it all with alacrity and conviction. This meeting should help.

The mandatory part is spelled out in a very old book. The folks that wrote that ‘how to’ manual knew things some of us have forgotten, even if we had read them a while back.

Memory is not the problem. The desire to remember is. Once a week we all meet together.

Quite a bit of the information is written by different authors and some of them use different sentence structures and can be unclear to some of us, including myself. Basic stuff as to which way do you want to live in the world. Always your choice to know which path you are to go to.

Revelations are quietly done. Creator to created. A lot of times just the two of you. There are no badges of seniority or symbols as such. Just knowing what comes next is exciting enough. The pay is the same plus very good retirement benefits. Learn everything but knowing your Creator is the outcome expected. Not knowing about Him but knowing Him as your closest friend. His heart is always open but incredibly enough, quite a few of us just want to read about Him thinking perhaps we know everything and have discovered a precious jewel in that knowledge. 1.

So, there are some of us who listen, but just ‘tune out’ and think about other things. The main speaker is serious and often humorous. It’s more common than we think. I can only imagine the research and inspired writing that coalesces into these talks. It seems so fluid and easy. It isn’t.

I am one of the blessed few that stay behind after the meeting is over to talk with anyone that wants to know more about the world and what it means to them. I am very glad to be called to be there because it usually leads into revelation about our world to both of us. There are a handful or less that attend to help right afterwards. For a room that once held hundreds, perhaps a dozen or so would like to be prayed over about their lives. Hunger for more than just knowledge is the key. Hunger for love reassured. Hunger for the food of love and the water of life.

The world’s part is worship and knowing it’s Creator with eager and open hearts. It is my extreme pleasure to tell them of this Creator and that He knows everything about them. He is eager to help and above all that, loves to hear our concerns about our lives. He is Jesus, King of the universe. Getting to know him and talk to Him is the greatest reward of our life. It’s the hardest and best thing we can ever do. {It gets easier!) and It’s pretty good, Jack Gator

1. George MacDonald

Country Life

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

History thoughts began with my morning drive to a Bible study. Starting to drive over our hill to the lake ‘cabins’ below the hill. Nice road, paved a number of decades ago. Before the pavement, the drive was quiet and the lake had about 500 feet or more between each cabin. First was the WWII surplus Quonset hut that had snapping turtle shells arranged on the garage. A garland of them. Nice folks with an artesian spring who’s outlet went under the road, down to the lake shore and kept a stock tank going all year filled with healthy fishing minnows.

The next cabin down the road was old and had a little outhouse next to it. There wasn’t anything for hundreds of feet until just before the bridge there was an old Ma and Pa ‘resort’ with four red cabins. Another few hundred feet down was an old farmhouse on a hill with butternut trees. Butternut hill. A ways down was another small cabin and that was about it.

The snapping turtle folks had a dock and the resort had one too. Things have changed a bit in the last half century or so. Another dozen homes and as many docks are there and along with it a lot of chained gates on the driveways. Another new road to the east and one going south to the public landing with about twenty more homes.

The two lakes, big and little Trade, connected with the bridge, were pretty decent fishing lakes and the water was clear. Today the smaller lake is surrounded with new houses, some of them with multiple chimneys and three new roads.

The flat bottom boats or the ‘newer’ aluminum V hulls with small motors have been replaced with pontoons and 500 horsepower Japanese engines on low gunnel bass boats. There are still some fish here and there and the water is all green and weedy. It seems that all those incredibly powerful motors churn up the bottom of the lake. Something about releasing phosphorus that hangs out at the bottom for a while.

There is also a fascinating invention called a Jet-Ski that holds one person, goes incredibly fast and all the loons and fish are a bit disturbed about it. Very loud they are. Sort of sounds like a 57 Chevy with a hot engine and straight exhaust pipes. Going around and around an old flat bottom fishing boat with gaiety and huge waves. The boat attempts to surf much like I did in California with storm surf.

At least there are no dangers of jelly fish although the boat could ‘pearl’ (that’s when the front end of your board goes under the wave a bit) I did that once and a jelly fish slid under my surprised jump and went off behind me. Their boat now could take on a bit of water and cause the the gunnels to get a bit closer to the surface.

The noise on the weekends gives the impression that a small highway is just over the hill and the evening fireworks are competing with thunder from huge pickups towing boats. A lot of the new folks are pretty friendly and know our outfit on the fringe of the lake. They buy eggs from us now and then. One of them remarked about our old style home with the blue fan wood sunrise trim above the gables and porch. A few upgrades over the last 30 years or so. One comment was intriguing. “It’s too bad it’s not closer to the road so you could see it!” One fifth of a mile is close enough for us.

Everyone knows these things. It’s the illusion of progress. The dodge em’ cars are fast and some are electric. Go fast, pass everyone and get ahead for some reason. An anachronism song from my past comes to mind as I drive our old Ford Ranger and I sing, “Forty miles an hour is a good speed to go” Besides that, if I go any faster, the now empty garbage can in the bed will fly out. Just a trip to the village recycling and home again to our flashy old home that inspires somehow. Nice place, some wish it were theirs to own and be seen.

As an old friend once said on his radio show: “That’s all the news from Lake Wobegon” It’s pretty good. Jack