writing

Flannel Graph Jesus

/ Norman Eric Peterson / 1 Comment

We are made in his image. We breath in every breath Twenty five Sextillion molecules which get fed into sixty thousand miles of veins, arteries and capillaries. And the 1+1+1 = 1 made it all within us. As far as we can see into the universe. It is now seen as at least 93 billion light Years long or wide, whatever you want to try and imagine as impossible to comprehend.

God spoke it to existence by the way. How big or small is the Lord of creation?

I read a lot and some things stick a bit longer in me such as I have mentioned, meditating on simple things such as “who are you Lord and who am I praying to?” 1. I have also read about a church that Frederic Buechner searched for. He visited them all nearby. Lutheran, Methodist, Catholic, Presbyterian, New age, Old age and all the rest. He finally settled on one called Smokey Mary’s.

It was a large cathedral type with constant incense burning and smelled like Christmas. At the stage or platform as it is called, were the leaders and priests/clergy dressed in elaborate ways that seemed as the Micado was in production. There was chanting in Latin or perhaps Russian. It seems to me Frederic was seeking Holiness, mystery and something incomprehensible to him. It worked and the mystery was there. I would like to visit there too. “Never loose a Holy curiosity” 2.

No flannel graph Bibles to be seen. Otherworldly approaches to everything of religion and faith in an incomprehensible worship of the God of creation. A good start. There was no preaching with words that we have grown used to and even doze a bit thinking about Sunday dinner. Sin, Transfiguration, repentance and such. We just breeze by listening sometimes and once again, try to imagine what God meant when he stated we were made in their image.

I wear flannel shirts sometimes. I could be stuck to a graph in two dimensional purgatory for all I know. I heard His voice once, saved my life but I did not see Him or a burning bush either. I know I have been blessed beyond my comprehension many times and the only answer to that is my purpose is to tell everyone I can about the love of God.

What does He look like we all wonder. I stood and stared at the ceiling of the Sistine chapel and the finger of God reaching towards Adam. It worked as an image for a while. The best that Michelangelo could come up with. Anthropomorphic, to keep us all a little calmer when thinking of a million galaxies and it’s creation. By one word. A planet in the unfashionable spiral arm of the Milky Way. Orbiting a yellow dwarf star at 161,000 miles per hour. Every second our star burns 4 million tons of matter into fusion energy (E=MC2) Oh yes, we spin at 1,000 mph. What a creation. Just for us, perfect except for the north and south poles. Hard to live there.

1. Frederic Beuchner Also with many thanks to Henri Nouwen, Mark Batterson, and Tycho Brahe

2. Albert Einstein

It’s pretty good. Norman Peterson / Jack Gator

Chief Cornerstone Communication

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

It was early afternoon, it was below zero and I was headed down to the wood shed with the empty wheelbarrow for yet another load of ‘all nighters’ if I could find some among the rank.

Suddenly, I felt His presence again. Unexpected, not a result of praying or listening or reading particularly. I felt just for a moment something was going to happen to me, perhaps unpleasant and God was about ready to soften the event with a bit of a heads up. I thought it was the end. I began silently singing cornerstone where I am firm with no scheme of man could pluck me from His hand. I was shaky but ready Lord. Very clearly Jesus asked: “Who is condemning you?”

He just began talking to me and showing clearly that the anger and fear were totally my own doing. Simply put that I did not have to condemn myself for failures with relationships. With All the family. All of them along with close friends

“Listen, ask questions and above all, don’t retreat into yourself feeling once again everyone, is pointing their finger at you” They love you, I love you, I love how you write about me. Reveal your heart as I am teaching you to do so in your writing. Now it is time to open that door you have been longing to have swing open. Let them in so you can really see them the way I do!” 1.

I am worthy! they are worthy! The only one who can do any condemnation is me! Why do I do that?

An old habit, decision, who knows. My life has been filled with decisions made to myself from the world and in doing so, the glass door that leads into my heart has the sign ‘Closed’ visible from out side. Protection that I thought was needed! Open heart indeed! Many betrayals is the worst feeling of all. “How can I make this right?” this is the way to begin. Ask a good, heartfelt question.

Betrayed or the betrayer. To be dealt with in a similar fashion. Pursuing rectitude in all directions. The really hard stuff we know is our lot in the world. Always lurking around corners for all of us. The sudden intake of breath and the surprise heartbeat increase. Realization of a boatload of bad decisions and coming to a conclusion that there is no end to it and nothing that can be done about it.

Beyond depressing. Your last meal of love already finished and all that needs doing is a little washing up. Stack the cups of anger and defeat so they can be used once more. Open the cupboard of your heart once again that is stacked with these cups of wrath.

“Nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen” 2. The blues from the one who knew these things.

Upon finishing up the wood stacking on the porch, I came inside and Julie handed me a short post on Valentines day with a beautiful healing message on healing the fear of rejection. It had come into her computer in-box when I was out, doing the wood and being spoken to and comforted by the Lord. I was ready for that. Perhaps the first time in my life. Eager to learn, eager to heal and be healed. It’s pretty good.

Norman Peterson / Jack Gator

1. Chief Cornerstone 2. Louis Armstrong

Forty Years of Touring

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

A musical career that started around 1962 when I hung around with a four piece right out of high school. The Fables. We lived right down the block from The Trash Men and it seemed like a good path to follow. I just played bongos at that time even though keys were my strength.

In basic training, San Diego, I joined the Blue jackets Choir and marched and sang with them all through basic.

Next I was fresh out of the service and played at the Minneapolis YMCA for a youth gathering a few times a week. That time with my brand new Martin D-28 doing folk music. Peter Paul and Mary, Bob Dylan, Joan Baez songs. Got engaged for a brief time too!

Soon afterwards met another two 12 string guitar players and toured to the west coast and back. We were calling ourselves “Actual Mexicans” and I wound up living in my truck out in the bay area and playing on the street. Mostly in front of my favorite Safeway grocery store.

Back in Minneapolis I did a few folk gigs on the West Bank at the Riverside Cafe and then toured with Hinkley and Larsen and Mike Cass through the upper Midwest and up the east coast to NY state. We played obscure tunes, some of them a bit risque. Bob Frank, Fraser and DeBolt, and homemade ones. Mostly blues and folk style.

Back in Minneapolis I played on the West Bank again and in famous jams with Peter Ostrushko, Stephan Grapelli and the Grateful Dead. I was offered a guitar job by Jerry Garcia. He liked my odd rhythm chops. The bay area summer of love bands are all dead, heroin. I declined his surprising and tempting offer. Read Motorcycle Pilgrimage 4 and 5 for more details

Off to live in Wisconsin on 30 acres and began playing with a country Western band, Dandelion Wine. Singing classics and playing guitar and fiddle. Bars, clubs, dances and weddings.

Years afterwards with that little farm and a delightful family I toured with Duck for the Oyster, a square dance band for years and even played in my own wedding with Bill Hinkley, Kevin McMullin, and Mary Dushane with our four fiddles for the wedding march. Fantastic wedding in Lewis.

I was on our families worship team, Well Spring and we went and played on the National Mall, sang at Times Square church, Madison, Milwaukee, Superior, and local church events as well as in our own created house of prayer in Frederic for four years every Thursday.

There was a terrific guitar player, Jeff Warren, I played with at a local church, New life, for several years. Fiddle, Viola and Mandolin with him. And that was about it. I play a little at home and try to keep my ears and fingers working and adding our Cabinet grand to worship in our living room. That’s it for now as I am aging a bit after Otto Uno times around the sun.

I sing along with songs from my PC right next the piano and am satisfied with 40 years of touring. I now work for Eagle Brook Church in Video production and it is very satisfying. Often I wonder why I do not get asked to play with some of the groups that I still come in contact with, impromptu gigs as well as posted ones in local coffee houses and the small town newspaper nearby.

I believe it is the Lord and his Holy paint caravan showing me once again, A fool on the road to redemption (title of my upcoming book)1stprinting 1stbook for sale for $25,000

As usual, It’s pretty good. Norman Peterson / Jack Gator

Photo of Bill and Judy with thanks to The Prairie Home Companion

Photo below of Bruce Berglund, founder of Actual Mexicans band and my best friend

It Swirls Like Smoke on the Ridge

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A sunny morning in winter found me reading in our living room in my favorite chair. An excellent book by Frederick Buechner. His story inspires mine. I was also glancing up and watching fine, powder snow swirl in strong wind just beyond the window on my left.

It was blowing off the barn edges and up on the high hill, obscuring the 40 foot tall pine rows. It was swirling about in a Brownian movement. Circling about itself and appearing as smoke that is mostly seen as driven snow, sleething across a highway

Reading on in Frederick’s book , Listening to your life. I began following the intimate thoughts and loss of dear friends that shared poetry of life with me. An unusual chord progression or high harmonic would engender conversation, long after the shared concerto we were playing, just the two or three of us in a room. Swirling about in delight for us all. Never repeated or written down.

I miss those friends and their instruments that opened from the cases with the snap of clasps. Tuning just a bit with their 12 strings that needed constant attention. My six was in tune before theirs were. We would then start playing, slowly until the tune would catch up with us and akin to the smoky snow swirls, would indeed spin around, settle in a new mound of notes and harmonies never before heard.

As I continued reading I began to see my desire for that engaging and impromptu beauty with dear departed ones. We sat many hours and years together, also impromptu, delightfully just in time for another go at it. We were separated later in life by long lines on a map and later by eternity itself. They are together, waiting for me to join the beauty of music. King David would perhaps join in the jam session on his harp with Asaph with his beauty with words.

A vision brought to me by the gift of a perfect small snow blizzard as I sat near the parlor stove. Looking out our big windows. I could feel that beauty. Never to be repeated as every snow flake is different in uncountable numbers.

I see that hunger for communication now with others, often as old as I am. We wander about in the large parking lots and buildings or even on the opposite sides of gas pumps. There is a sign from each of us as shared events and life experiences that only are remembered by our generations. Duck and cover, the draft and several puzzling wars we all were in. I see them proudly wearing their ball caps usually with Vietnam Veteran on them. A glance and a brief nod of my head is enough for both of us. Adrift and swirling around our world and just needing that high E string tweaked. Harmony and those 12th fret harmonics signaling unity in tune with one another. I miss those friends and I know you still miss someone when all of the love was there.

It’s pretty good. Norman Peterson / Jack Gator

I Am Not Alone Anymore

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

It was always there. A loss, not even known for what it was. An emptiness that fell upon every thing that I experienced through my life. Empty of love and lost it when I was a child. I weep now when I realize what I felt that time when the emptiness took hold of me. I always thought it was abandonment. A memory that diffused relationship with everyone. I tried to cope with that memory, not even aware I was doing that. Clever words spoken and written. There were many times when that empty feeling would diminish and it was always the same thing. Smiles and words that promise embracing mutual friendship. I needed to forgive the people that it seemed I was abandoned by. My family did not know me nor did I know them. Relatives that should have known those things too. Inherited behavior, perhaps cultural.

“I believe that God’s purpose in giving us memory is to enable us to go back in time so if we didn’t play those roles right the first time round, we can still have another go at it now…finish with the past in the sense of removing it’s power to hurt us and other people” Frederic Beuchner

Music was soothing then and a smile inside at a moments of beauty got me hooked into that beauty. Songs and orchestral creations still work well. I remember some of those songs. that I played. the phrases of praise momentarily fill the emptiness. ”I loved what you did” or sometimes just a few notes spoken of. It always makes the emptiness fade. I still crave approval and contact. Applause was nice but fleeting, Playing Ashokan Farewell on the violin perfectly, without an accompanist on guitar for example. Fulfilling for a moment. List, Chopin and Beethoven are soothing time and again. A perfect den of pleasure, even driving. Alone.

It was a coldness in my very core that drove me to play well, and now, to write well. A romantic spirit. Those moments are when the emptiness would back off. Approval and love of just me. I did not know why those times of contact and praise satisfy. It seems selfish to enjoy a secret pleasure in being alone.

Isn’t it like that for everyone? Seeking smiles and laughter from people and amazingly, an interest in us that might be a friend. There are few friends that I can contact anytime for their care and seeing me and they myself for what we are. An empty man, perhaps like they are. Leaning on one another like an unmovable roof truss. Solid wood. With knot holes and defects but Oak or Gopher wood. A trust able to withstand bad storms.

Many of them are Gone now from the inevitable event we all must experience. They died. How inconvenient of them to do so. I still love them dearly and I know they still do. One close friend appeared to me just as he was dying. He was 2000 miles away, so it figures friendship and love is eternal. I lean on Jesus often, especially when I am desperate.

Most of those friends were the kind we all need. A phone call or even showing up without calling, just showing up. Not even a hint of inconvenience from the open door. “You were in the neighborhood? That’s over a hundred mile trip! Tell me what’s going on, I feel that you need encouragement and a good hug.

The day of the wall phone is gone. Now we have Facebook and posts telling us what’s right with us. All neat and clean without any tears or embraces of understanding. Isaac Asimov’s robots now have cell phones and good internet. We edit conversations akin to open book exams.

The two years of isolation and fear reduced our civilization to rubble. The covid theatre that had bodies piling up that where not there when the curtain was lifted. No smiles seen from anyone. The old game of keep away. A scowl if you were in public without ‘the mask’ The deadly bat flu made it fearful to come near and we were so much poorer, even crippled by it. We all lost and the stats and graphs and zoom meetings were just party favors for the worthless messages of untimely death. It’s always untimely for everyone. We always think we will live forever. That is true but not in the limited way we think of it.

There was enough money generated by the scamdemic to weigh it by the semi trailer load. Easier to count that way There was no one accountable anyway, Not yet.

I an not alone in my quest now. The world needs good friends and we must learn how to do it. Smiles. Waving from the mailbox at the lake people with cabins just over our hill that are seen in season. I have noticed that a slight smile and a nod are beginning to make a difference. Smiles and laughter ring out as bells from the steeple. Come. Gather together and be thankful for blessings and deliverance from evil. Look upon the world as a small child’s smile at an adoring adult. It opens our hearts as we look upon our world. Not through rose colored glasses but with clear vision. We take off the disguise of indifference and reveal ourselves and see.

This is who we were created to be. I’m not afraid of you. It’s civilization 101. I have been hiding for most of my life and I have began to offer myself to my best friend who is nearby. Close as my heart beats in synchrony with His. Asleep while I am dreaming, He tells me stories of romance and adventure.

The creator of us all, different and beautiful. Loved and embraced as we listen and the world becomes pleasant and we enter into the joy of the Lord. Well done good and faithful. Well done.

It’s pretty good. Norm Peterson / Jack Gator

Photo of my bench on the south hill (the cathedral) built by Soren

Musicians of Eternal Sound and Sight

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

There I was, Camera 2 on a tripod mounted at Front of House. Instructed over my head com to push in with the lens and get a closer view of the electric guitar on the left side of the platform.

What a sound! The number 4 camera got a really nice shot and the director kept that shot on the side screens and lobby screens for a LONG time as Troy played the song. ..” I see creatures all around you, thunders and lightnings” of the Revelation song. It was loud, wicked and over the top” You could see troy with his famous grin, enjoying the worship with a heart filled with adoration. He was having too much fun.

The steam powered Bigsby bar sound coupled with a metal finger slide brought the house down and suddenly, there was a loud scream from the front of the room: “I’ve been washed!”

She was dancing and leaping about and kept her hand over her heart and security just stood there amazed, stunned and reassured that the Holy Spirit was in full force in the room and in them. A thousand people or more just filled with Joy they never experienced nor expected.

We got it all and the simulcast went all over the world. Things began to happen in England, Poland, Australia and other places too fast to type down off the internet feed. It was glorious. The room began a conga line up and down the aisles, laughing and enjoying the joy that spread throughout…everywhere. “Holy, Holy is the Lord God almighty” was heard six times every second around the world. The speed of light is like that. Fast.

There was a sea of glass in all skies, blazing and the man with eyes of fire replaced the sun and moon and called us to join him in rapture. Forever. It was pretty good! Norm Peterson / Jack Gator

  • Many thanks to Mitch Teemley for capturing the picture of the guitar

Clearing a Pathway to Shelter and Life

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

It’s one of the farm chores in the winter. Looking towards the east of this photo is the barn. When we had horses and a few cows, a pathway would have be made from the driveway east about 150 feet or so. If the walk behind snowblower started. We always had a laugh about our snowblower that did not like to start when it was cold. The big snowblower for the driveway was not used for the path. Too many stumps and debris that were hard to see from the tractor seat. The walk behind would not be damaged bumping into such things. Nice and slow and closer to the ground.

The hose for filling the water trough would be laid out next to the path. When the trough was full, the hose which was set up on hooks that were screwed into the garden end posts. Then the hose would be blown out with the air hose from the shop which has a manifold to the water supply. Tedious work and the hose ran right across the parking lot and had a few damaged sections seen in the spring and had to be repaired. It was easier to see the leaks in winter and make note of them.

The chicken coop was next to the barn and of course, needed water as well. We sold the horses and ate the cows and the chicken coop is built on running gear. When a place is cleared nearer to the house it will be much easier to gather eggs and give them food and water. Meanwhile the water had to be taken in a wheelbarrow in summer when the hose and horses were gone. A declaration over breakfast “who’s going to water the chickens?” A brief summery which chickens were sharing a nest and how many eggs should be in it.

Farm life without a stand pipe in the barn. Labor or a lot of money to bury the water line. Which choice to make after cursory glances at the bank balance?

There are other paths that do not require snow blower attachments, or shovels and cups of coffee to accomplish. These are paths much more important than watering troughs or gardens in the spring. Paths for us every hour of our days till transformation to what we really are. We are created as eternal beings. All of us.

A place, a time and a decision can put a path in front of us. I made a decision on an address that had the first three numbers of my old Gibson mandolin as I walked by. 777. It seemed right and stunning. I kept walking into a church because of that sign. A guidepost for only myself that I trusted immediately. I Still go there.

I was walking out to the barn in the middle of a snowstorm and when I reached the barn, there was a white out of snow. The only way back home was to follow that water hose , or be lost. Trust in the creator of all things and He shows us how to walk out of the wilderness. I was lost and now am found.

The shelter He calls us to when we have a bale in each hand when the wind blows bitter and the shadows are dark A.

The architects of large buildings of every kind do not know how pathways are supposed to be built. They watch and look for wear and footprints of the people drawn or working there. Those paths tell them where to put sidewalks. They are called meander lines. No one gets lost in a blizzard there but it can be tedious to find doors if there are no direct walkways.

Be steady on your walk through life and look for that lifeline that is given by the spirit of the living God within you. It’s pretty good. Norm Peterson / Jack Gator

A. Frederick Buechner

String theory on the Intelligentsia Playground

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In order to prove the theory of gravitation which is linked with the resonance of particulars, a linear accelerator the size of a galaxy would be needed. That would take quite a government grant. Another quote: “..it all depends on exactly what you call gravity” or, “ will we ever know the real nature of space and time?”

We Have a swell free magazine operation. Early or late, 24 hours open is the library magazine drop off . (It is the place where I met the ‘North Dakota Drifter’) I stopped on my way to an early morning swim, stopped at the Wisconsin small town library heated atrium with a small bench and deposit slots for media and books. On the bench cardboard magazine contribution box I found several magazines of interest. One of them in particular that had an article speculating on the beginning of space and time. There is some disagreement among the research and the most popular version involves a fantastic theorem. Well researched and well written too.

Roughly the theory speculates that both space and time emerged from the structure and behavior of more basic components of nature. It is often referred to as “The theory of everything” This might be the analysis that the Monte Python movie was inspired by. Hyper pan dimensional mice are responsible for creation is that theory. Quite close to the article in Scientific American actually. Suddenly, in the midst of this complex article the “Big Bang” gets brought into the playground. OK, here is the summary in the article. String Theory: “It’s eponymous strings are the fundamental constituents of matter and energy, giving rise to myriad fundamental subatomic particles at particle accelerators around the world.”

That’s pretty basic stuff and it goes on from there. If you are a nuclear physicist, this is just the credits before the main attraction. Sort of like the disclaimer in action movies that state all names, places and people are fictional and bear no resemblance to real ones. Entertaining if you like to go to those sort of movies. And of course, we have to add Star Trek nomenclature into the thesis with black holes. Not the ones at the on ramp to highway 8. Those holes can take you where you have never gone before. Places like Jay Austins Auto sales and service.

Seriously, there is more with diagrams of resonance to particles galaxies away. Now they are getting somewhat closer. Science fiction such as “Out of the silent planet” or ‘Perelandra’ by C.S. Lewis are more entertaining with the precepts given in those books. Try ‘Life, the universe and everything’ by Douglas Adams. There is even a movie made out of that one. Hitchhikers guide to the Galaxy.

I am looking forward to that answer. Perhaps, as I speculated in one of my columns, ‘The watchmaker in Paradise’ (published October 27th 2021) We have no idea what we will encounter in a place indeed without time or perhaps the universe as we see or imagine it is. This thought ‘string’ is perhaps what all these brilliant physicists are searching for. Desperately searching for anything to explain how and why we are here, or what here is.

I know there is a mind that created me and you and all that we are and will be. After all, the brilliance of scientists ends at the endorsement of the theory of ‘The big bang’ a popular view that takes God out of the creation. Perhaps some scientist will actually believe that they can create life from elements of our earth or discover life in our own backyard of the solar system. The challenge to create life from dirt is you have to get your own dirt. Evolution does not compute at all. My eye could not possibly be built by waiting 5 billion years for eyes to ‘evolve’ As in the article of string theory it could be said, “Get your own string” The most basic thoughts from children is “If there was a big bang, where did it come from and who lit the fuse?”

Three words can describe our existence and they are written down in an incredible book. “In the beginning..” Is anything impossible to the eternal God that was not created that can spend an eternity with just you or me?

Eternity indeed is calling me away, calling me home and it’s pretty good.. Norman Peterson /Jack Gator

Open Windows II

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As goes a saying, especially in a novel by George MacDonald (At the back of the North Wind), the window in our hearts has to be open for change to enter. Of course, the change has to be done by Adonni. The man of no reputation, the healer and the Abba Father. More on that later.

I used to think that the window was the focus, as could be interpreted in the novel. After all, the North Wind says it isn’t A window, it was Her window. The Holy Spirit’s window.

If the cleanliness of the window was the issue, it would not be good. My heart especially. If you have read a few of these columns over the last few years, you know a bit of my life. Not very sociable is a light term. Speaking of which, another column more recently addressed that issue. Especially church attenders and faithful ones too. Open Windows.

This column is dedicated to the folks that have been attending church for some time, some even since childhood. Deacons, leaders and elders too, attentive and a lot of times, complimenting the Pastor/speaker on their talk. Just say ‘thanks, I needed that’. It’s good, don’t misunderstand me. As had been said by my very closest friend, Julie, “don’t take condemnation”Pay attention to what I am saying without judgment please. It works to think beyond our image of ourselves. Growing up is better and preferred. It’s hard and often embarrassing. We all need to grow, constantly. It’s why we listen.

All this illuminating about scripture can be rather distracting if we are not paying attention to the complete conviction and the very passionate person standing in front of you,saying these important things. It’s not a college lecture on philosophy or metaphysics. It’s not the old Greek style of a famous orator. Taking notes is very good, I do that too. The notes are not the passion. They are to be read now and then. After all , you wrote them for that reason! Just as in school you wrote crib notes for the coming exams. The thoughts of those notes return

‘Watch, look and listen’ just as at a railroad crossing is good advice. If we don’t, it’s easy to get distracted by the speeding train in our minds. “I wonder what’s for lunch?” “That gal I saw in the lobby certainly caught my eye till I remembered God’s word on that!” the worst one for me is “I wonder when church will be over, I’ve got to get some shopping done”

We must open our hearts to what is being said, don’t concern yourself about schedules and perhaps about the dirt on your ‘window’. Throw up the sash and let that cool breeze into your heart. When you start to weep, that is the first sign of successful communication and often, astonishment. Those besides you may ask, “What’s wrong!” The correct answer from me is: “these are tears of joy! I cry at great music too”

A word of caution! Don’t wipe your eyes, just get the run off. Tears are good for you. The Lord says he treasures them for grief and this grief is real. It’s conviction for how short our arrows fall when we think we are making a bulls eye with our life. The voice you hear goes way beyond the speaker in front of you.

Let the transformation begin when our dirty window is even slightly open. It isn’t a window per se, It’s just our guard we have developed to protect our damage and disappointments. Filthy windows, and hard to see into as well. We know the dirt and smudges and they mean nothing to who we are. We are created as one of a kind, a miracle of incredible complexity and unique potential. Throw open the sash and indeed, the tears will flow when truth is heard. We don’t usually hear truth about ourselves supernaturally. It’s pretty good. Norm / Jack

Neighbors Noises

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I was curious. There was a noise about a mile away, maybe two that was irritating me. A noise like a Chinese water torture. A machine emitting the beep beep beep as it backed up. Over and over, all summer and fall and now approaching winter. None of my family was irritated, but I heard a constant A above C wherever I was working on the ranch. Over and over for months and finally it was time to find the source. Perhaps a bobcat or Track Hoe building a road or parking lot. Big parking lot.

Finally, the last wheelbarrow of dry firewood was stacked on the porch and I had it. I got into the old Ranger and drove to the noise. Backtracked once but found the source. There is a road that goes off the main highway to a gated housing community. New homes. Gravel road. Gator drove up to the gate which was open. An electrically operated gate. There was a new road punched through the woods covered with #3 coarse rock for a short distance. I could hear the beep beep and knew it was the source area. I began walking up after shutting off the truck with it in reverse gear selected.

Realizing I might look out of place, I grabbed a couple of papers out of the glove box. Looking like an inspector of sorts as I walked up the wobbly rock. There was a parked truck just up ahead. It wasn’t bad going until I got past the truck. Then wet clay with puddles. Nope, too mucky.

Nothing within sight, curiosity somewhat satisfied, I started back to the truck. No truck. What! I looked left and right for it and rounding the corner, saw the truck. It was parked in a ditch on the wrong side of the road. A rather steep ditch and walking up to it, I found the ditch as ‘a bit wet’. Truck was ok, started but just spun the wheels (not 4wd). Suddenly a young man up on the hill at the only home on the road so far, called out to him and said he could help. A tractor started and began to warm up in a shop and the young man walked down his driveway with a canvas tow strap and chain attached.

Astonished, I immediately got down on the wet ground and hooked the strap to a convenient tow hook on the front of the Ranger. The strap was of a perfect length and shortly, down the driveway came a nice sized New Holland 4wd tractor. Gator easily hooked the hook to a small length of chain on the top of the bucket. A nod and thumbs up from the driver, back to the Ranger and the tractor pulled me out to the road. I crawled back under the front end of the truck (now with wet pants but not in 2 inches of water) got the strap off and the young man came off the seat of the tractor. He had a lit cigarette and I asked him for a smoke. Standing there with the crisis over, I was back in the military when only a smoke would do to relax. I have not smoked for decades but it is the thing to do when your life has been saved.

Several cars drove by, high end cars without a glance in their direction. Nice Mercedes’. A few minutes earlier, there would have been a serious problem. A sixty thousand dollar car with an old Ford rolling backwards across the road. I must have missed the last quarter of an inch engaging reverse or perhaps it just popped out from the strain of the steep road. The parking brake cables had long ago broken and if you are familiar with rear drum brakes, the repair is not fun, expensive and who needs parking brakes anyway? We never think those are also referred to as emergency brakes. I didn’t, I do now.

It was amazing and impossible. Shaking and humbled, I drove home, thanking the Lord over and over for His protection and help.

My expotition (family word from wind in the willows) was successful as my rescuer filled me in on the development project. It was a driveway to a sold winery that overlooked Little Trade Lake. A good friend and neighbor that lives on the lake, Rick, the was pleased as this turn of events. The winery had numerous parties that echoed over the lake waters late at night.

We could hear those parties now and then, but high above the water with amplified acoustics, it was over the top for our friend Rick. Of course, as a small bonus, lake development in rural America is funding a large amount of township taxes. I lived in the ‘cities’ most of my life and can comprehend the quiet of rural lake cabins. Mostly quiet. Now it’s power bass boats and jet riders but only on the weekends that are warm. As a pleasant sound, those weekends are sprinkled with kids laughing and sporting their parents side by side ‘golf carts’ up and down our road. It has to be an incredible feeling of freedom for them and does not irritate me at all. Just the incessant beep beep backup alarm on a bobcat. For months.

We disconnected that on Rick’s bobcat a long time ago when we serviced and used it. No one has gotten run over yet.

It’s pretty good. Norm/ Jack