Sunday, December 27, 2015

A Depression Christmas Tree

Oh, the memories brought back by this photo taken in our dining room in the 1930's! The black telephone on the wall was a party line shared by neighbors who, at opportune times, listened in to others conversations. There was no TV, cell phones, computers or any other instant messaging. It took longer to get the news. We actually learned the latest through the newspapers, magazines, radio or the gossip line. That allowed time to reflect during bus rides, meandering walks, fingering through the garden dirt, biking, cleaning the house, washing, hanging and ironing the clothes, petting the cat, peeling potatoes, washing the car or putting a puzzle together.

The Christmas tree selection each year was a lengthy process. We joined our Dad in venturing out into the woods to pick that perfect tree. If it wasn't to Mom's satisfaction, we drove back out to choose another one. Some years it was a spruce, another year a balsam or pine, but each and every year it had to be perfectly formed to meet my mother's approval.

Next came the lights, and that was not a simple task. Every year there were some lights that were burned out and needed replacing before we could place the decorations, carefully and individually wrapped, on the tree. Last of all, and most agonizing, was the final touch, the silver tinsel that had to be, and I mean, had to be, hung straight and with utmost care on each branch of the tree.

Although we all contributed to this holiday perfection, most of the work was left to the oldest in the family. I, being the youngest, gave up the fastest. This tinsel hanging was difficult and tedious and the final touches were often left to my oldest brother. After the season when the tree was taken down, each piece of tinsel was carefully removed and wrapped around a cardboard sleeve to be re-used the following Christmas.

Looking at this photo taken so many years ago (although it seems like yesterday), I marvel that we took the time to slowly and carefully hang each piece of the shiny tinsel. But then we had more time, with less distractions, to create perfection. We were not bombarded by the instant media and demands of today. Perhaps we achieve more today than yesterday, but in the process do we lose some of the thoughtful creativity that comes with time, peace and quiet?

Inventions are wonderful and I appreciate them to no end, but at times, during moments of solitude, I can't help but wonder. Have we lost more than we have gained? These thoughts filter through my mind as I look at this fading photo from long ago.

Saturday, December 12, 2015

Our Magic Circle

This holiday season I did it! I went into every store in town and found gifts for everyone on my gift list. I did not want to support Amazon, Walmart or any other big on-line business. I love to touch and see my gifts. Can't do that on-line. Secondly, I want the money I spend to support my community. I want those who live and work here to help their kids attend school. I want them to pay the city taxes that pay for everything we all use. I want the businesses to be able to support our local charities, such as our Boys and Girls Club, our museum, Mammoth Site, nursing home, food shelf, etc.

I published an editorial in our home town paper titled "The Magic Circle." Briefly I said if I spend money at a local restaurant, that person goes to another business to make a purchase. Later someone in the business eats at that restaurant. What goes around, comes around. I'm not sure how many will take heed. I know some want the packages dropped at their front door. They don't want to bother to go into our local stores, browse, touch, admire and maybe, just maybe, find a thoughtful gift for someone they love. Even if it is not the perfect gift, the purchase helps those who live among us and who spend some of their money in our town.

We are losing the small stores in our country and in the malls. They are disappearing to the on-line businesses. On-line is convenient, especially for those who cannot get to the stores to see the merchandise first-hand and examine it closely. I use it occasionally when I cannot find an item locally. On-line is convenient and easy, but for the most part, while I am able, I will struggle through the wet snow and sloppy streets to browse and enjoy visiting with those who are our neighbors and who spend their lives trying to share with us and make a living for themselves.

I do not want the small businesses to have to fold up and leave deserted store fronts. I do not want the malls to disappear from the city suburbs. It was a way of life that I long enjoyed when I lived in the Twin Cities, but for now, retired in a rural town, I will forgo convenience of the Internet in the hopes that the small stores will, perhaps with a struggle, remain to brighten the quiet streets of our peaceful community in the Black Hills of South Dakota.

Here's to the small business owners everywhere. Long may they reign!

Friday, December 4, 2015

December in Hot Springs


Lights, lights, everywhere. In fact, it was so bright that one night as I was driving home from a meeting I was stopped by the police. "Was I going to slow?" I wondered.

I rolled down my window. "Sorry, officer. I did not see your lights until the truck flashed his lights at me."

"The reason he flashed his lights is because you were driving without your lights, "the officer told me.

No lights! I never noticed. I was too busy admiring the brightly lit store fronts and electric poles along River Street. I guess I saw no need to add my lights to the mix.

It is another December in our small town. We had a Christmas parade, concert and a cookie cruise. The town was filled with people watching, eating, shopping. Earlier in the day we had a meeting with folks of every political persuasion. All were gathered to listen to a common concern, "save our water." It is a good feeling to see those of opposing views on many issues be in agreement on protecting our water from contaminated dumping in our garbage sites and from fracking into our aquifers.

In the midst of the festivities we attended two meetings about and by the EIS regarding the on-going battle to save our VA. The battle continues but is somewhat on hold during the celebratory month of December. There is still some quiet planning on the side, but most of the room in our lives centers around the music and lights of the Christmas season.

Our local artisans have a holiday marketplace each December showing off their hand-crafted items, from homemade jams and jewelry to quilts, dolls and scarves and mittens. Admission into the market is a donation to our local food shelf. There are booths to visit, friends to greet, food to eat, charities selling goodies, music, sleigh rides and, of course, Mr. and Mrs. Santa Claus.

Then there is a  Christmas play directed by a local writer and director and acted by local talent, both young and old. On and on it goes. The community is filled with the holiday spirit of sharing and giving. It is a feeling of warmth and few "bah, humbugs."

It is our sanctuary, for a time, a place of forgetting the stresses of much of the rest of the world. We have our spot of serenity. It is not that we are unaware of the tragedies unfolding each day. The news follows us, but for some time, during the month of December, we can forget for a while and enjoy the tranquility, friendliness and lights that brighten the early darkness of the season.

It is a time of renewal and hope. The shining lights are a reminder of that hope. "It is better to light one candle......." This is our reminder to remember, "better to light one candle than to curse the darkness."

It is the darkest of winter months, but we have lit the lights to help us remember. We are the heartland of America. We have the lights to hope.

Saturday, November 28, 2015

A Trucker's Thanksgiving

Every year the American Legion in Hot Springs, SD, serves a scrumptious Thanksgiving dinner to veterans and all town's people. This year they served 200 people, giving up their private Thanksgiving at home to wait on all of the people who were not able to cook, who did not want to cook or who had nowhere else to celebrate the holiday.

The Legion veterans asked for donations only, providing for those who could not afford to pay. It made no difference to the Hot Springs veterans who could afford to contribute and those who could not but equally partook of the feast and left the Legion hall with a full stomach and a warmed heart.

During the festivities an on-the-road trucker had stopped at our local Motel 6. The downtown was deserted late in the snowy, cold afternoon, restaurants closed, so the management at the desk of the motel suggested the trucker could get a filling holiday meal, complete with all the trimmings, at the local American Legion.

One problem: the trucker could not drive his huge vehicle and park at the parking lot of the Legion.

"No problem", said the worker at Motel 6. "Here are my car keys. Take my car and enjoy the holiday."

Oh, yes, Hot Springs is truly the Veteran's Town. The local American Legion of veterans who have made Hot Springs their home, embrace everyone.....veterans, locals, truckers and any who are fortunate enough to find themselves in this town during a holiday.





Saturday, November 21, 2015

Tracking Time

Yesterday we had our first snowfall. It seemed a bit early, but the first thing I do in the morning is open the shades and look for tracks. Those tracks prove which visitors we had in our yard overnight. Usually the first ones I see are those of the cuddly, grey rabbits. Not this year. The neighbors let their dogs run at night and I have not seen a wild bunny in months.

There are dog tracks to be sure. No surprise to see them. They begin at the neighbor's house, circle our back yard and meander into the front, across to next door and end up back at the neighbors who prefer their dogs to relieve themselves somewhere else. How thoughtful, I muse to know one in particular.

Later in the morning I layer warmly and go out into the back yard to do the daily chicken chores. Surprise! As I enter the garden I see the tracks of a turkey. Now I know the turkey routine. One scouts out the neighborhood during the first snow to see where the rest of the flock can feed during the food scarcity in the snow-covered woods a block away. In the past I fed the birds and would see one or two turkeys enjoying the feed scattered under the feeder. No problem, but within a few more days the entire group would devour the food both under the feeder, and somehow would jump to knock the seed out of the feeder.

First I would pound on the window and the turkeys would scatter. It did not take many days before they became bolder and would ignore my noise and continue feasting. Between the wild scavengers and the stray cats that came around, I reluctantly ceased the bird banquet.

But lo and behold, there were turkey tracks in our fenced in garden, also home to our chickens. It must have flown over the fence. The tracks ran across the back of the garden and then, to my dismay, into the chicken pen! I followed them around the pen and into the coop entry where I am certain he indulged in the easy-picking chicken food.

And my chickens, where were they? They were roosting snuggly inside the coop, having ignored the turkey, or the cold or both. I did not know for certain, but when I opened the coop for cleaning they fluttered out, wandered around in the pen, and tip-toed gingerly through the snow on the shoveled path in the garden. They waited for their scratch food, picked quickly and promptly returned to snow less coop.

I knew the turkey routine....find the goodies and return with the others another day. No way! My chickens would not leave the pen, let alone the coop so I closed the gate to the pen. I refuse to pay for turkey food. When they return they will no longer have easy access to the food purchased for the hens.

Sorry, turkeys. I know your routine and the tracks in the freshly fallen snow gave me the upper hand.You will have to scavenge at someone else's feeders. Your tracks gave you away.

Saturday, November 14, 2015

Paris Bleeding

Not again! Innocent lives wiped out by fanatics. We, in the States may be far removed from the horrors of the latest attacks but we are affected. We are moved, saddened, angered by the stupidity of extremists. These acts of terrorism in the name of a cause....??????  Life brings enough trials to everyone at one time or another, without the needless acts that affect not only the loved ones of those injured or killed, but also to those who share the faith of the radicals, but not the radicalism, and who by association are looked upon with a general hatred, fear and scorn by others not of their faith.

All of these acts against others are senseless, barbaric and loveless. Many are punished by the few who are filled with rage. Their fury takes over any compassion, love or hope in themselves and for others. All that is left is despair.


Today I fled to my haven of peace. I sat by our river....soothing, peaceful and restorative. We who live in the sanctuary of the beautiful Black Hills are fortunate, and during the shocking news the past two days, are grateful, ever so grateful to watch this latest tragedy unfold far away.

Saturday, November 7, 2015

The First and the Last

Henny and Penny arrived in our lives early this summer. Penny is hyper, at times frantic. Her first night she flew up in a tree above the coop while Henny clucked worriedly below. Bob managed to pluck the elusive Penny down and into the safety of her new home in our backyard.

Surprisingly, the very next morning Penny thoughtfully laid a warm, bluish egg in the nest. It was our first and we were delighted to begin our egg-gathering adventure for the season. As many know, chickens stop laying come the shorter days of fall. They need about 14 hours of daylight to continue egg production. Some farmers place lights into the chicken coops so that there hens lay all through the winter. We chose not to use lights and let Henny and Penny follow the natural light of the changing seasons.

Henny and Penny laid faithfully six days a week throughout the summer, with no nod of superiority over our three young chicks we added to the coop in August. In late September there were no longer one or two eggs each day to enrich our breakfasts. Some days there were one and other days the nest box lay empty. By October we gathered only an occasional egg.

During the third week of October Penny stayed in the nest box longer than usual, remaining unusually silent while I cleaned the coop around her. Henny came to the entrance at the bottom, looking up into the box, fussing a bit with some concern. After cleaning the coop and pen I scattered the scratch food, but Penny did not fly out of her nest to bully her way with the new chicks for the treats. Finally, after hours in the nesting box, Penny flew out quickly and silently and went to work pecking over-looked scratch food in the pen long since abandoned by Henny and the young, non-laying birds.

I opened the box and there it was! The last blue egg of the season. Penny may be hyper and keep her distance but she did manage to lay the first and last egg. I guess she has earned her keep. Looking forward to next spring. Long may she lay!



Tuesday, November 3, 2015

The Fight is Not Over

Today there is hope. I have found out that the Environmental Impact Statement (EIS) made public last week by the VA used flawed data to come to its conclusion that our VA should close and our Save the VA committee in Hot Springs intends to fight their recommendations and they believe that they can win. Here are the feelings and views of some of our veterans:

"He's excited about taking on the VA lies through the court system and through public displays of solidarity among veterans and in communities like Hot Springs."

"Ackerman intends to take the VA on. He says they are such an easy target now that its like playing chess with a person who offers you checkmate in just two moves."

"We can win, unless we give up.....and we're going to win. They made it too easy with their lies. We're going to fight."

"I want to remind people that there's been no decision made and we need to stay engaged in this fight. We have 60 days to make comments about the EIS. It's not over till it's over."

These comment are from our veterans in Hot Springs. There is passion behind this battle, filled with fury and disappointment and sadness and mistrust. There are also many behind this battle for and by the veterans, from our local politicians and citizens to our national American Legion.

With such passion and concern for our veterans I believe that the battle is not yet over. My anger and sadness has once again turned to hope. For now I will trust in the Davids against Goliath.

It is back to the battle. Keep tuned in.

Thursday, October 29, 2015

Goodbye to our VA

"The government stinks", wrote someone on face book. There may be many more citizens who feel this way. Certainly in Hot Springs today many wonder, "How can our government send our young men and women to fight overseas and then not take care of them on their return to civilian life?"

We are told by many veterans that our VA is one of the best in the country for treating veterans with PTSD, brain trauma, substance abuse and other emotional issues common to those who have seen the horrors of battle. And yet, the EIS study returned their verdict to close our VA and open a clinic in Rapid City, an hour to the north. They admit it will not save the taxpayers money, but that it will better service our veterans. Really? Ask a veteran who has received help at our VA and first tried a program at other facilities. They will let you know that Hot Springs has the best of the best treatment programs, and for an added bonus it is situated in a healing rural area, conducive to less outside stresses common in the larger cities.

Ask a resident of Hot Springs. They will tell you that losing our VA will affect the entire community. Businesses will lose customers, rentals will diminish, class size in the schools will shrink, jobs will be lost and the area will struggle to regain its dignity and identity.

We have been the Veterans Town for over 100 years. We will still have the State Home for retired veterans, but the larger, more glorious structure on the hill will lose its young, vital returning soldiers along with the many doctors, nurses, kitchen, custodial and auxiliary help.

The really sad part of this story is that none of this was necessary. None of this had to happen and none of it would have but for the stupidity and arrogance of those in Washington. It angers me and saddens me. Our town has fought long and hard for the rights of our veterans. It was on the front line of this battle to save our VA. We cared, we hoped, we tried. We talked often with our veterans during and after their treatment. We sat with them in the steam room and sauna at our mineral water facility down the hill from the VA. We heard their stories, we felt for them and worried with them about their return to society.

We wrote letters, we had meetings, we picketed and protested.
We met with our state representatives. But mainly we cared. We cared for our returning soldiers and the future of our country. We will continue to care. If there is more that we can do, we will.

At this time as I write these words I feel pain and deep sorrow. This is the end of my blog for today.

Saturday, October 24, 2015

Words to Remember

She was tall, dark and attractive, wearing a brightly colored t-shirt. She was difficult to miss. I was busy finishing up my laundry for the week and briefly noticed her. As usual, I was focused on my chores for the day, but as I left the laundromat she walked up to me and said, "I love your writing."

I was taken aback and asked, "Do you mean my blog?" At this time I had been mulling over an idea for my weekly blog.

"No, I didn't know about your blog. I mean your books. I love your books."

"Which ones?"

"All three. I have all of them and I love them all. I admire your spirit."

This was something I had not heard before. Yes, people told me about this or that book that they had read, but this was a first for me to hear appreciation for all three of my books. Of course I loved hearing the praise. My attention had passed from those books and was now centered on my blog and other writings such as a monthly newsletter. So much the better to hear this woman remark on my books that I had spent considerable time on in the past. If the books are not forgotten and the people I wrote about, my time will have been well spent. It warmed my heart to realize that those that I had interviewed in my last two books, and those I had recalled in my first book, will, for some reader, some day, some where, be thought about and remembered.

Ah, yes, my time was well spent.






Saturday, October 17, 2015

No More One-Size-Fits-All

"There is a spot on your x-ray of your left breast." It was the spring of 2012 and my annual mammogram time. Each year, following doctor's advice, I submitted myself to "squeeze and hold".

Back in 1994 a spot was found on my left breast. Following the research at that time I had a lumpectomy, followed by radiation and 5 years of drug therapy. I continued to be faithful with my yearly screenings, but was still stunned when the radiologist told me that a spot was discovered once again in the same breast. He advised me to make an appointment with a surgeon with no delay. During that appointment, unlike the previous time. I was advised to have a mastectomy.

Still in shock, I proceeded speedily to follow his advice. Another surgeon recommended reconstruction surgery. After all, did I want to be lopsided? My breasts had always been one of my best physical qualities and after many years of life I had become rather attached to them.

During the surgery, cancer was discovered in the other breast. Five days later that breast was removed. During this time I was visited by former cancer patients who gave well-meaning advice, all of which proved to be misguided, if not bogus. I found my own way to purchase less expensive items than they suggested. (Mastectomy swim suits were far cheaper from Lands End, formed bras from Sears rather than the over-priced store recommended by the ladies in pink.). I covered my costs without taxpayer funding through Medicare.

Two people were enormously helpful in my choice to reject the reconstruction surgeries. A sympathetic nurse came into my hospital room and, while tucking in my bed sheets, asked me why I was considering reconstruction surgery.

"I have just been mulling this over", I replied to her question. After the nurse left my room I pondered her question further and asked myself, "Why? Why on earth would I have reconstruction at my age? I could wear the 'stuffed bras' or simply go flat and proud. Also, so very important, I was married to a
man who loved me with or without and he only wanted what was in my best interests.

Later my husband questioned the plastic surgeon thoroughly. We learned about the years, time and pain that was involved in reconstruction surgery. My husband and that wise nurse helped direct me on a safer, saner path.

I got an infection after my two surgeries and needed to have a third one, but, oh, I am eternally grateful I did not opt for the multiple surgeries, time and pain that follow reconstruction. The three surgeries in a month's time were hard enough on me and the years I have left are too precious and too few to waste in a plastic surgeon's office....and, all of this would be covered by taxpayer money.

Today many medical professionals no longer recommend radical measures, unless it is the type of cancer that spreads quickly. It is a "take your time" attitude to make a large medical decision. Less invasive means are available even after the "shock effect" of that "spot on the x-ray" is discovered. Patients are advised on an individual basis.

Change is constant and we must live with that or be in denial. We are advised by the "experts" to do one thing, and then, with more research, there is a change of direction.

Today would I make different decisions? What I do know is that I would take more time, do extensive research, consult several doctors and choose the path that fit my needs with my diagnosis. With the latest available data I might choose to do less, and, for certain, would not even consider reconstruction.

One more thing. Never, never ask me to wear pink!



Saturday, October 10, 2015

Again October

Yet another glorious October day! I have lived through many such days in my lifetime, but each fall they once again amaze me. The day was crisp early on and then with blue skies warmed into the 80's. Neighbors chatted, children laughed and jumped on trampolines. Later in the day we attended two fund raisers in our town, mingled with locals and tourists and during the early evening Bob and I enjoyed watching our chickens preen and fuss with much ado as they retired into their coop.

The experts will inform you that free-range chickens provide healthier eggs, enrich your soil with the best fertilizer and rid your garden of the pesky insects. Ours do all of this, but what most inspires us to spend the time raising these birds is more than healthy eggs, enriched soil and diminishing bugs. It is the calming, meditative effect that surrounds us as we watch these amusing creatures scratch, peck, fuss, run, drink and follow the leader to what is of the interest of the moment. They bring predictability and roots to the natural world that now days often becomes lost among the modern technology of smart phones, internet, instant communication and television.

During those moments we watch our chickens we connect to the simpler life of the past. We forget the inundation of information and the demands of the present. We relax, enjoy and celebrate. We are transported to another time, another world. It is our time of peace.

Sunday, October 4, 2015

Another Letter from Alaska

August 26, 2015

Hi Robert and Mary,

Haven't forgotten about you, it's just that Summer in Alaska is one busy time - mostly used in preparing for winter. The "preparing" gets harder all the time - partially as I am more resistant in tackling major jobs and winters are changing so much it is hard to know what to prepare for.

Normally, what we call "Break-up" (when the river's ice start to break up) is in April but this late April we had 80's and blue skies. Our river, anyway, never really looked frozen until very late January and, in fact, never did freeze enough that folks would walk on it. Lots of local trappers rely, and some who live out in the bush, rely on the rivers as mini-highways to get to trap lines or other villages.

Weather stayed nice through July but so dry that over 5 million acres burned. Mostly so rural that no one live there but a few that threatened housing. Still, since all of us down in this area live in forest, it was a worrisome time. August was rainy as usual but due to the early heat, we had a bumper crop of tomatoes, cukes, string beans and zucchini - so we are munching well on food that tastes like food......

.....This last winter was a big change - a couple more feet of snow than usual and this stuff is the wet, heavy stuff. Temps were much milder with only a couple of 40's whereas there are usually quite a few of those. And, it really didn't start until we got back so much earlier than expected at the end of Dec.......

.......We had a lousy fishing year though plenty of folks still came. For whatever reason, the salmon for centuries would swim up the sides of the very fast and powerful rivers. Only the very big King Salmon at 35-60 lbs. were strong enough to swim up in the middle. This year we had more salmon than usual but much fewer caught as they all went up the center for a very odd change.

It's been odd to figure this kind of stuff out as the oceans themselves are changing so rapidly. We have a large 'dead zone' between us and Russia which the salmon usually have to cross to return and just this summer alone have seen a large 'die-off'' of fully grown whales in the Gulf of Alaska. The 'why's' of this stuff are, as yet, unknown but the salmon we did get were a pound or so smaller.....

.........
Love,



Saturday, September 26, 2015

Needed: More Good Karma

We listened to Germans, French and one from the Netherlands. While in Iceland we heard their tales of the refugee crisis. There are no easy answers. Human beings need sanctuary. The homeless have fled the carnage and ravages of war and have come to the richest of the European countries. Most bring a desire for work, education for their children, a home and safety. They also bring their faith, a sharp contrast to those long settled in Europe. This difference, together with the monetary cost and temporary upheaval have unsettled and disturbed the Europeans. They are struggling in their governments and in the consciences of each individual, causing some divisions among families and friends.

These stories we heard are not new. In fact, they are all too familiar to those of us who have lived through the migrations of the displaced in World War II, Vietnam and more recent conflicts. To be sure, we have all have seen conflicts about differences closer to home.....in our own families, neighborhoods and local governments.

While immersing ourselves in the culture of Iceland, there was a city council meeting back here in our home town of Hot Springs, SD. On return we heard that the council and citizens in attendance were deeply divided over some issues regarding the finances of our local tourist attraction/health club called Evans Plunge. This Plunge is the oldest tourist attraction in the Black Hills and has been a year-round destination for local residents seeking to improve their health and well being. It offers all types of exercise, including the healing mineral waters for swimming and the hot tubs, sauna and steam room that are conducive to relief of aching muscles, as well as a social oasis during the darkest days of winter.

We returned from our "Viking" adventure to the furor of residents who wanted the city to carry all debt to those who wanted some cuts to assist the health of the city finances. Each person had an opinion. Each one wanted it resolved in their way. Each wanted what they felt was best for the city.

There was another meeting by the Plunge Advisory Committee that oversees the Plunge and its finances. They listened to all sides, from "close the golf course, to keep the Plunge open all days, some days, shorten hours, raise rates, lower rates, market more", and on and on.

This committee had yet another meeting. They made compromises in an attempt to appease all sides. They presented their findings at the next city council meeting. Wonder of wonders, each and every council member voted for their compromise! Each council member seemed to appreciate the hard work and decisions made by the advisory group.

I sat in quiet awe. I felt a feeling such as a wave of good karma had filled the chamber. Anger had dissipated and an overwhelming calm was left in its wake. I observed first hand how a small group of determined volunteers had done their extensive research, dismissed their egos and tweaked their initial proposal for the general good.

It can be done. It was done in our small community of Hot Springs, SD. Long may it continue, both here and, just maybe, fingers crossed, it can happen "out there!"

Sunday, September 20, 2015

Hello and Goodbye to Iceland

We recently returned from the land of the geysirs, waterfalls, glaciers, volcanoes and geothermal used in heating homes, businesses and greenhouses. There are numerous hot springs that are also used by the locals throughout the country for their recreational soaks and social gatherings. Many have been made into outdoor pools, used through out all seasons because of their temperatures averaging 100 degrees. The American and Eurasian tectonic plates which are pulling apart at the rate of a few centimeters a year, can be seen right through the middle of the country.

I was confused. It is also the land of the Vikings. The Vikings were known as explorers, conquerors and pillagers. They could travel miles by water, on oceans and up rivers. It is known that they explored America long before Columbus. And yet, today, the people of this country appeared friendly, kind and extremely polite. You never heard the angry tooting of a car horn or saw the police. Crime is almost non-existent. We saw no beggars, homeless or indigent. The streets were clean and bike/hiking paths were numerous and well-used.

Parliament began here, long before any other country. They settled their disputes by law. When there was an issue over legal issues by two sides - pagans and Christians, it was settled by one man. He mulled it over during one night and made his decision: Christianity would be the official religion but paganism would be allowed in private. There was no bloodshed over this decision. All accepted it and went back to their homes and lives.

In present day Iceland there is no army. Tax money is used on health care and education. Where is the Viking spirit? Perhaps it is channeled into their environmental exploration and their conquering of world visitors through their extensive and convenient tourism spirit using all of their natural resources that appeal to both the adventuresome seeking adventure on the glaciers and river rafting and those who simply want to observe the natural wonders or soak in the warm healing natural mineral waters.

I left Iceland with appreciation for all they have achieved in our world of today, but, as always when I return from another country, with gratitude for my country, with all it flaws and struggles. We can learn from visiting other cultures, hopefully taking the best of what they have to offer and merging it gradually into our own.

Grandma may have had the best recipe for her marvelous bread or chocolate cake, but that does not eliminate some amount of improvement with a dash of a spice from some foreign land. Mixing, blending, while retaining the essence of a way of life, just might bring some enrichment in an unexpected way.

Perhaps when jet lag has evaporated I may return to some adventures in Iceland, but for now I will leave this journey and get some much needed rest.
Soaking in the mineral waters of the Blue Lagoon



Saturday, September 5, 2015

Through the Eyes of a Child

When do things change? When do we lose taking the normal breathes from our stomach as a baby does? When do we lose our daring to hope? When do we lose the dreams?

Somewhere between childhood and maturity we discard the sense of wonder at the beauty around us, long taken for granted. We become jaded, afraid to love and be hurt.

We become wise and cautious. We learn to be careful. We have been hurt too many times to count. We choose safety, but somewhere in the tangle of our lives we lose the marvel surrounding us in each sunset, flower, bird, butterfly and crawling insect. When I was a child I studied everything around me.....rocks, turtles, chipmunks, salamanders, night crawlers, trees. I watched them closely, at times touched them, held them and admired them.

Children observe and listen to all around them. As we mature we tend to listen less and spout our views. There is much to be said for acquiring wisdom, but in the process, let us never lose our sense of amazement in the world around us. Let us listen, behold, and age with grace and a dogged belief in miracles.

Tuesday, September 1, 2015

And They Still Want to Close Our VA!



SEPTEMBER IS SUICIDE PREVENTION MONTH_
(From the Military Order of the Purple Heart)

According to a recent article in The Huffington Post, "A tragic milestone was reached last year, when 185 active-duty Army soldiers died by suicide, surpassing the 176 soldiers killed in battle in Afghanistan that year. The Army's annual death toll from suicide has more than tripled since 2001, when 52 active-duty soldiers took their own lives."

This tragic epidemic reflects severe strains on military personnel burdened with more than a decade of combat in Iraq and Afghanistan, complicated by anxiety over the current prospect of being forced out of a shrinking force.

 This news comes at a time when the Departments of Defense and Veterans Affairs have mounted an aggressive series of suicide prevention campaigns and offer a wide range of resources to help active duty military, veterans, and their families cope with the pressures of military service. Despite these efforts, the Defense Department's own Suicide Prevention Office predicts "increasing suicide rates, despite over _900_ prevention programs."

 In June 2015, thanks in part to intense lobbying by a coalition of Veteran Service Organizations that included the MOPH, the US Congress passed landmark legislation to address military and veteran related suicides. The $22 Million, "_Clay Hunt Suicide Prevention for American Veterans Act_" calls for independent evaluations of all mental health-care and suicide-prevention programs in the VA and Department of Defense. A part of this Act requires an annual evaluation to determine the effectiveness of VA suicide prevention programs and the establishment of new veteran peer support programs. It also called for the creation of a new website, now available at:

www.mentalhealth.va.gov, [2] to better explain what mental health resources are available to veterans.

 The Suicide Prevention Act was named for Marine Cpl. Clay Hunt, a 28 year old, combat wounded Iraq and Afghanistan veteran who committed suicide in 2011. After leaving the Marine Corps, he struggled with depression, panic attacks and post-traumatic stress, despite dedicating himself to veterans' advocacy and humanitarian work. After his death, family and friends said he had been battling the Department of Veterans Affairs to get his disability rating upgraded from 30 percent, as well as struggling with unemployment and a marriage that was unraveling.

Cpl. Hunt's case is often cited as an example of the problems within the VA.
He told his Mother in March 2011 that he would not go back to the VA because dealing with them was just too stressful. Two weeks later, he locked himself in his apartment, and committed suicide.

 Military leaders say that some programs appear to be working, but it's too soon to declare success in the battle against suicides. Most importantly, the cultural mindset has changed -- it's now OK for a sailor, a soldier, an airman, or a Marine to come forward and ask for help, thus giving hope that prevention programs and increased efforts to identify troops at risk may be taking hold after several years of escalating suicides. At the same time, the suicide rates of female military veterans have been called "staggering." According to a recent Los Angeles Times article, "Research shows that female military veterans commit suicide at nearly six times the rate of other women. Though suicide has become a major issue for the military over the last decade, most of the research has focused on men and little is known about female veteran suicides." According to VA research data collected over the past

11 years, it is the younger female veterans, aged 18 to 29, that kill themselves at nearly 12 times the rate of non-veterans.

 In sum, these are our brothers and sisters in arms, and we need to care, reach out and give assistance. If you see, or know of someone in crisis, "step-up and step-in!" Learn to recognize the signs of depression and helplessness and know where to look for the resources needed to help.

There is no reason why a service member or a veteran should ever feel that they are alone, or worse-that there is no reason to go on living.

 _You Can Make A Difference._


Bloggers note:
I am publishing this article in today's blog and wonder each time I read statistics such as these why the government is still trying to close down our VA which has one of the best programs in its Domiciliary for PTSD, substance abuse, brain trauma and other emotional issues common to veterans.

Saturday, August 29, 2015

Honeymoon in Hot Springs

Oh, yes, we have many who get married and honeymoon in Hot Springs. Those who know of the numerous beautiful spots tie the knot here. Somewhere among the special loveliness the couples take the plunge to live together, for better or worse until one of them takes their last breath.

Now our city and chamber have decided to promote all this specialness in our area for couples contemplating taking the big step or other couples who want to renew their vows. And why not? Hot Springs has the quiet charm of renewal, relaxation and restoration. From the bubbling river that winds through town to the red rock canyons of area parks, Hot Springs is the place!

We are a veterans town and a home to many who love the sport of the motorcycle. This area of mild winters encourages bikers to feel the wind in their faces most times of the year. Bikers and veterans often decide to make their solemn vows in this valley of beauty and serenity in the southern Black Hills.

VOWS AND VIEWS IN HOT SPRINGS, SOUTH DAKOTA
 With this ring......
 In front of the mural at the American Legion.
 The sandstone Episcopal church on the side of the hill with the red door.
 The waterfall on the Freedom Trail river walk in downtown Hot Springs.
 They are off to the spectacular view at the Blue Mesa retreat center.
           
              The mayor of Hot Springs preformed this ceremony this past week.

Sunday, August 23, 2015

Cheers From the Veterans Town

So, there was a trunk show at our American Legion for our town's own Miss South Dakota. We gathered, veterans and town folks, to view the dresses that will be worn by our Hot Spring's candidate. We celebrated with a meal and a silent auction, all to raise money to send Autumn Simunek to the Miss America contest in Atlantic City.

How appropriate to join together in sending off our home town candidate at the American Legion. She has always supported our veterans in a veteran's town. We watched her grow up, attending events for veterans, selling poppies on the steps of the post office, visiting veterans at our very special VA. She never refused an invitation that involved our veterans.

She has honored the veterans, and the veterans appreciate and love her. It has been 30 years since a local gal won the Miss South Dakota contest and our town is rejoicing. Whatever happens in the final Miss America pageant, we citizens of Hot Springs will be rooting for our home town candidate. Even many of us who never before watched the contest will be at the TV, cheering on one of our own who we know worked humbly and tirelessly to perfect her talent, poise and appearance, so that one day she could walk down the aisle into Miss America history.
                                         

Sunday, August 16, 2015

Who Remembers Calumet Location?

There is the familiar saying, "You can't go home again." I have returned to my childhood home many times over the years. Early on it was to visit my parents and relatives. This month a high school friend and I stopped to visit former high school chums at a class reunion. (Bob did the driving, or I would not have gone. It totals to about 16 hours of drive time.)

Each time I have returned to Ely, MN, I stopped to wander around the ideal spot for growing up during the depression. It was called Calumet Location, located a mile from town, in the north woods, next to a large freshwater lake. I wrote about this idyllic spot in my first book, A (not so) Simple Life.

During the iron ore mining boom on the Iron Range of north eastern Minnesota, the Olive Iron Mining Company built small locations of company houses for the miners to live in, close to the mines, with rents modestly priced. After the closing of the mines the houses were sold to the miners occupying the houses and moved away. We had been told that the ground was sinking under the location because the closed mines were filling with water and the land was collapsing into the empty tunnels.
A company mining house in Calumet Location


The first time I visited my old stamping grounds I recognized the sidewalks, the alley and the very spot our house had been. Over the years all of this disappeared, devoured by the forest and several new landowners who had built on the former condemned property. The land beneath the mines had become a crystal lake, filled with fish and a walking path built around it.

Calumet was so very special to all of us who once lived there that I included several chapters about this precious garden of Eden in my book. I did not want it to disappear from maps and memories. At one time I purchased a brick for a downtown street with the names of my parents, including the words, "Calumet Location". As the town would change and former residents would leave with new arrivals taking their turn, I wanted them to see that brick and ask someone, "Where was Calumet Location?"

This last trip to my hometown of Ely, Minnesota was truly "bitter-sweet". There were no family members remaining to tend to my parents grave and I spent some time attempting to renew the names on their headstones. My book about Ely and my present home of Hot Springs, SD, was no longer available at the local bookstore. I asked some locals what they knew about Calumet Location. I received only blank stares. The brick in the downtown area was blurred with age and barely visible.The former library was condemned and barred from curious visitors who wanted to view the beautiful murals on the walls just one more time.

What did I expect? I know change happens. It is part of life. But as I sank into a depression over my struggle to fight the change, a few things happened that renewed hope. I made a trip to the local bookstore and while browsing the shelves came across a publication titled, Where in the World was Calumet.....

It listed all of the former mining locations, all 9 of them. As I leafed through I found our family name on the location of our home in Calumet, and further on a page titled, "The Former Residents Speak...." The author, David Kess, from the Ely-Winton Historical Society quotes from my book "A (Not So) Simple Life." Of course it is about my childhood years in Calumet Location.

Later I visited the Ely-Winton Historical Society and Museum located in the Vermilion Community College. Once again as I walked through years of Ely history from logging, mining and tourism and the Boundary Waters, I viewed familiar places and faces. I found another book by David Kess, More Than Just Ore. The Era That Really Made Ely. As I thumbed through many recognizable faces and places I found a photo of my father in the "cage" (elevator) of the mine entrance that brought the miners to and from the depths of the mine.

All of this was comforting to me, a former resident, who still subscribes to the Ely paper, who lives in a town so very similar to the one I grew up in, and who so deeply desires to have her former childhood location remembered as it once was, filled with laughter of children playing in the woods, swimming and fishing the lake, dreaming dreams of their future in the world "out there", hard working miners who toiled underground to give their children a better life above the ground, mothers and wives who ironed, washed, cooked, canned, pickled, preserved, hung clothes on the line, made pasties for their husbands lunches and poticas for weddings, funerals and other celebrations.

I do not want this place lost in memory when I and the last of my family and friends have left this earth. Now I know that it will live on, not only in my book, but in the books of David Kess and other Ely residents and in that museum in the former Ely Junior College that I once was fortunate to have attended, and that was paid for entirely by the Oliver Iron Mining Company and the sweat of the immigrant miners, who were proud of the schools that would raise their children to a better life out of the damp and dangers of the underground iron mines.

Saturday, August 8, 2015

Stranger than Fiction

"You guys come from Sturgis?"

Of course I was referring to the annual motorcycle rally in Sturgis, SD each year. This year they were celebrating the 75th anniversary and Sturgis expected a million visitors for the event.

"Yeah, we just came from there" responded one of the two bikers sitting on a bench outside the gas station/restaurant along Highway 90 in Minnesota.

My husband and I were on our way to the Black Hills after a week in northern Minnesota and had missed most of the excitement. The bikers saw that we were driving a car and when they found out we were from the Black Hills one of them asked if we had left to get away from the commotion.

"Actually, I really enjoy seeing all the bikers. My husband and I went to many a rally in Sturgis in past years. In fact, my husband used to race motorcycles in the old days, but now we both prefer to visit with bikers at a distance from the rally itself. I hated to be gone during this week, but I had commitments in my home town at a class reunion."

I was curious about the numbers that attended this year. "Were there a million motorcycles", I asked the bikers.

"Oh, I think there were at least that many."

"What about accidents?"

"There were a bunch. In fact, my buddy here helped at one of them. He was right at the scene."

"Yeah", said the other biker. "I put on a tourniquet, but I couldn't save his leg. The strange thing is that I am a nurse and the second person on the scene was a doctor. And then, strangest of all, someone who stopped handed me some morphine. I gave it to the injured guy to help his pain. I really don't know where it came from, but there it was, just when needed."

A registered nurse, a doctor and morphine, all at the scene in the midst of hundreds of bikes in the remote forest of the Black Hills. A man's life was saved until a helicopter arrived. It was 45 minutes before it got there. The tourniquet saved a life and the morphine eased the pain.

"The funny part was I never did know where that morphine came from", puzzled the biker nurse from Wisconsin. He paused, looking at me quietly. "This is a rally I will never forget."

Somewhere in this country there is one biker, minus one leg, who is not apt to forget either.



Friday, August 7, 2015

Gus

"Dad, where did you get this cute donkey?"

I was referring to a small brown, hand carved donkey, teeth showing in his smirking grin. I held it in my hands, admiring the marksmanship.

"Oh, that's Gus."

"Dad, I know you're not a democrat. What are you doing with it?"

"Do you remember that fellow I told you about that I was helping as he got older? Well, I used to help him out and drive him around, and at the end I went to visit him daily in the nursing home. Before he died he told me that he wanted me to inherit his money. He said he had no family and I had been his only friend as he got older. I told him I didn't want his money. Too much money can only cause trouble. I had enough with my pension and social security to take care of your mother and myself. I had all I needed for a comfortable life.

"Well", he told me, "What should I do with my money? I have no one in this world who cares a fig about me except you."

"I suggested he leave his money for scholarships for students to help them pay for a college education. Education is the gateway to good jobs. I hate to see kids settle for work in the mines if they have higher ambitions."

"Gus liked the idea, but he still wanted me to have something to remember him by. I took his old car that I had been chauffeuring him around in since he could no longer drive and this little donkey standing by his bed side. That made Gus happy. Now I have this donkey that I named Gus to remember him by. His memory lingering on was what mattered to him."

Today the donkey, Gus, stands on my living room book case. Every time I look at him I remember Gus and my Dad. Each spring when I get my home town newspaper I look at the list of high school graduates that receive scholarships. Each year as I read the names of the Gus Killeen scholarship receivers I say to myself, "Thanks, Dad. You gave promise to eight young people who could not afford college without the help of the man who only wanted to be remembered long after he was gone."

Those fortunate students may not know who was responsible for their college help, but on receiving the scholarship, they hear the name of this lonely man who was fortunate in his life to have had my father for his friend.

As long as Gus, the donkey, remains stolidly on my bookshelf, both my father and his friend, Gus, will be remembered. When I pass the donkey on to a family member I want this person to know the story of the love between two old friends and the value they had in passing on an opportunity for learning to the kids of the future.

Today as I dusted Gus, the donkey, I thought I would write this story in the memory of two extraordinary men and the legacy that will be carried on for years to come.



Wednesday, July 29, 2015

Every Life is Important

The news filtered from the living room television. I could hear bits and pieces from the kitchen: "thousands of refugees fleeing into nearby countries, boat loads of starving escaping horrors I will never fully comprehend, ISIS killing and pillaging, Ebola outbreaks, Putin pontificating, Israel threatening, politicians polluting, Trump trumpeting, senseless shootings, the wealthy and movie and sport idols strutting in front of cameras."

The lead stories focused on the sensational and the negative. Those who control most of the power and the money make use of their power and money to profit themselves at the expense of the environment and the rest of humanity, referred to as the other 90%.

From kings, emperors, popes, empires and invaders to terrorists, large narcissistic corporations, and those in power through money or position, we hear the stories of greed and corruption in both the history books and the modern news media.

But there are, in the midst of the sensational exploiters, the inspiring exceptions. There are some with wealth who actually use it to help others.

Last week Bob and I listened to Charlie Rose interview Warren Buffet and Bill and Melinda Gates. They have a foundation dedicated to donating millions of dollars to causes such as health care and education. They made their millions and are now spending their time giving it away for the betterment of humanity.

Their belief is that "every life is important." They act on this belief by giving away the money they made to help others. What a gift to the world! What a gift to themselves! They are in the top 10% and they have found meaning in their lives. Better yet, they are being joined by others of wealth.

What a joy to know that there are those who care and share. They had a choice to spend it on themselves and seek every pleasure available to them, but they searched for purpose through giving.

It warms my heart and gives me hope. There is good out there, even among the top 10%.  Yes, Virginia, once again, there is a Santa Claus!



Friday, July 24, 2015

What About Barney?

Growing up I watched my father live his life with enthusiasm. He hated his job deep in the recesses of an iron ore mine, but took pride as an underground foreman in maintaining a high safety record and encouraging the spirits of those under his leadership. He loved the fresh air, the woods, the lakes and farming, but to support his family he worked for many years in the damp and darkness of the tunnels under the earth on the iron range of northeastern Minnesota. It was a job he did with excellence and to the best of his ability.

As a young girl I would often meet him after work. I would stand, peering down, by the edge of the mine shaft, face in the rising, metallic smelling steam, waiting for the elevator to rumble up to the surface with that shift of miners, unrecognizable under layers of red dust. I always picked out my father from the weary group as they walked out past me, squinting in the harsh rays of the sun. He would greet me with a huge smile and wave as he walked to the showers and washed off the red ore and changed clothes before giving me a hug as we left for home.

                                           Forty years in the bowels of the iron mines.

At the dinner table we shared news, ideas and plans. My father never dragged us down into his working day troubles. He took an interest in the news of the world and our schooling, always encouraging the four of us to pursue a college degree. He, like many fathers, wanted his children to achieve more than he had with his eighth grade education.

While above ground he fished the lakes, hunted in the woods and edged as close to farming as he could with a huge garden, rabbits, a pasture for making hay and a Jersey cow that he purchased before the banks closed during the onset of the great depression.

I remember the summer days when I would accompany him on his weekend drives into the countryside while searching for a hobby farm. I think deep down he always knew that my mother would never move to a farm far from town. But he would scan the ads in the paper, "Small farm for sale" and together we would check them out. I shared his love of the country and farm animals. He pursued his dream for many years, and never once did my mother deign to take a look. She was settled in town and that was that.

Each of us follows a path searching for that which brings meaning to our lives. We read, reflect, admire our heroes, and observe. At times we act. I am grateful to have spent many of my years living with a model who found meaning through his work, love of learning, and caring connections with those around him.

My father set an example of a strong work ethic even into retirement when he volunteered to help others, be it shoveling snow, hauling wood or fixing a broken appliance. Neighbors, nuns, friends and acquaintances were all included in his circle of care and regard. In the evenings he would read. Our home was filled with magazines and newspapers. He was always curious about the world, past and present. After my mother was killed and he moved in with us, he continued to relish work, reading and making friends with neighbors.

While we were at work he would spend his days cutting wood for our fireplace and taking his daily walk down the alley with his dog before settling into his afternoon adventures with books or the Discovery and History channels on the TV.  He moved in with us shortly before his 87th birthday. I wanted to celebrate his birthday but since his move from northern Minnesota was recent, I thought he was still a stranger in our Twin Cities suburb.

I wondered to Bob, "I want to have a party for Dad, but he has no friends here yet and I don't know who to invite."

Bob replied, "Your dad talks about the next-door neighbors (he admired the wife's nice legs). Why don't you ask them to join our family to make the day a more festive occasion?"

"What about inviting Barney?" our neighbor said when I invited her and her husband to join us. "He and Doris will be hurt if you don't invite them. They admire your Dad."

"Who is Barney?" I questioned.

That was only the beginning. Each one I invited asked about someone else. By the time of his celebration there were 15 neighbors who joined us in our festivities. During the day when we were at work or school, my father had charmed himself into the neighborhood we never had time to get to know. It was less than two months since he joined our household and every retired neighbor in our block had come to enjoy the time they spent visiting with this man, my father, with his friendly, upbeat manner.

As one of the guests reflected, "This is the first time our neighborhood has every gathered together and it is all because of your father!"

For the next six years, until a few months before his death at 92, the neighbors came over to celebrate another year of exchanging stories and laughter with my father, a man who shared his love of life, work, learning and the world around him. His positive spirit was contagious. At his funeral, miles from the town he had spent his life in, the church and visitation were filled with not only his family members who lived in the area, but also by the neighbors who had been strangers to us, but who had entered our lives through this remarkable man.

Everyone searches.....for happiness or whatever they believe brings them that elusive nirvana. Some seek for meaning by making money, through buying things, using drugs, firming relationships, seeking fame, practicing meditation, religion, pursuing causes, volunteerism or love, and the list goes on.

Through the years I observed my father find meaning in his life through pride in his work, dreaming his dreams, connecting to others and nourishing a thirst for knowledge. He never had time to be bored or depressed. His focus was always on others. He lived deeply in the present and looked forward to the future.

 
                "I want to keep on living because I wonder what will happen next."  Raoul Goulet

Friday, July 17, 2015

Strawberry Season

Our garden has flourished, what with all the rain this season. Without so much as a "how do you do", our rhubarb, asparagus and walking onions returned once again. In fact, with each rainfall the asparagus continues to supply our evening table, long after the usual season for that vegetable.

We plant tomatoes each year, along with the lettuce. But surprise, surprise, the strawberries returned, peeking out among the fresh lettuce and ever present weeds. They followed soon after the rhubarb retired for this year. For a few weeks there was one red one each day and each day Bob would pick the one and bring it in and lay it on the counter.

While we both enjoy the lettuce, onions and asparagus in our daily salad, the strawberries would continue to multiply on the counter until I would savor them. Suddenly, in the middle of July, there are numerous red berries popping up in our garden. Today I asked Bob, "Why don't you eat some of the strawberries that you picked?"

"Oh, I had one", he replied. Bob knows that I love the delicious red berries. I wonder if he saves them for me? It could be. That would be just like him. (Just one of the many reasons I married this man).


Friday, July 10, 2015

A "Tail" of Rescue

This story was told to me by my friends, Eloise and William.

William is a photographer. A few weeks ago his photography group was driving through a remote area of the Badlands of South Dakota. "Look over by the side of the road. I think I see a coyote lying in the tall grass."

The driver pulled over and Will got out to get a closer look. A head lifted up from the prairie grasses. Will was hesitant to get closer, but then he saw a tail wag. He thought that was a good sign so he walked over and discovered an emaciated dog, unable to get up but still able to wag his tail.

Fortunately the driver was an animal lover and encouraged Will to bring the dog into her van. Will lifted the dog, mostly skin and bone, into the van. The dog slept the entire trip home.

Before Will brought the dog into the house he approached Eloise and told her that they may have a guest for the night since the Humane Society was closed.

Eloise thought it best if they kept the dog for a few days until they gave him food and he looked more presentable for a possible adoption. After a few days they brought the dog to the vet to have the fleas, tick and worm removal and to get his shots. It turned out that the dog was about a year old and, other than dehydration and some infestation, was in good health.

This Hot Springs couple had been in the process of looking for a Golden Retriever to replace the one they had put down. Needless to say, this abandoned dog, almost to the point of starvation, came into their lives with a wag of his tail. They adopted him, or, perhaps it was the other way around; he adopted them. Whichever way it was, this is the tale of a wag of a tail that saved the life of one dog and brought a bundle of joy to a loving household.

They named him Inktomi. (Inky for short)
Photo by William Ing           

Saturday, July 4, 2015

Hot Springs Fourth of July

July 4, 2015. We had entered the parade with our blue electric car, vivid yellow signs on every side proclaiming "No Uranium Mining in the Black Hills. Protect our Water." Citizens clad in bright yellow shirts from all over the Black Hills walked in front carrying signs and handing out flyers about the dangers of losing our most precious resource to the temporary gain of a few jobs for the benefit of foreign countries who lusted after our uranium deposits laced throughout the edges of our Black Hills.

We followed directly behind a truck pulling a boat, also a sign of the loss of precious water and contaminated fish in our streams and lakes if in-situ uranium mining comes to our tourist-loving Black Hills. Behind us followed two elderly ladies in wheel chairs, also protesting the pending loss of our most precious resource, our pure water. Bringing up the rear were some protesters on motorcycles carrying similar yellow signs.

"Why do you need to go on a vacation?" questioned one of the anti-uranium guys. "I thought you were retired."

We were sitting together after the parade enjoying a cook-out picnic with the group who had entered the parade.

"Retired? replied my husband. "We have never been so busy since we 'retired' to this peaceful rural community in the southern Black Hills."

"There is no escape from involvement in a rural area", I chimed in. "We have a VA to protect for our veterans, crystal mineral waters to save from pollution and fund raisers and causes that we believe make a difference to our environment, our city and our future."

I will never forget when we left the Twin Cities that some of our friends warned us, "You will get bored in the boonies!" Well, I beg to differ. Life is never constant. There are always battles to be fought, if through parades, marching, crossing picket lines, talking up at meetings, or through the power of the pen in writing or editing.

Oh, yes, we can use a vacation. But what a gift during our retirement years. We can use a break from our work. It is a precious gift....no boredom. We continue to fight. We continue to live life! We are filled with gratitude.
Photos courtesy of William Ing
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