Time for War

It all started with one drop of honey....one tiny drop that was missed during kitchen clean up. The small ants invaded our kitchen. I used the usual natural deterrents such as vinegar and lemon juice. That would work for a day, but late into the night the ants came marching back in, searching for who know what?

Remember the old song, "The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out..." Well, now it was ants, and after several days of battling their determined army I announced to no one in particular that I was declaring war on these annoying critters.

This morning I woke to a kitchen in disarray. Things were moved from the other side of the cabinets. I knew that my husband must have gone into the war zone and entered the battle I had been fighting for about a week.

"I see you fought the ants last night. I don't understand since I was meticulous in my clean up and had sprayed generously with the vinegar."

"Yes, they were all over the place, but these were different ants. They were even smaller and they were not sugar ants. These were searching for grease which they must have discovered in some back space missed during your clean up," Bob responded with annoyance oozing from his voice.

"This is definitely war. I will put out poison that they will bring back to their nest, destroying their entire colony, including the eggs."

Now I am researching the most natural way of killing that will not destroy other innocents that happen by. Stand by for final results. It is "man versus the ant," or, in this case, "woman versus the insects that invade my territory."

Summer is not my favorite season. It brings extreme heat and pesky bugs and the invasion of the weeds! I long for fall.

Another Response to "Fish Stories"

My brother sent on my blog "Fish Stories" to his friend. This is her response:

Roy--

Thanks so much for this wonderful commentary from Mary Ellen on her childhood that was so like mine.

She writes so realistically that you can see everything she is describing vividly in your mind’s eye.

Your dad was fortunate to have had her as such an enthusiastic fishing partner.

Where you all had the Boundary Waters, we, here in Louisiana had the bayous & many lakes.

But the fishin’ & fryin’ sounds the same. Dad, the provider & mom, the preparer & preserver.

Wonderful memories of those depression days & gratitude for having had the parents that we did to teach us about resourcefulness & fortitude.

Thanks for thinking of me & sending this..........Barbara

Hello, Number Seven

Here it is, in all its vibrant colors, our seventh mural to adorn the walls of buildings in Hot Springs, SD. This mural says "I am unique in Hot Springs, I am one-of-a-kind along with our other historical murals, our dedicated pioneer museum situated in a historic sandstone former school house, our world-famous Mammoth Site, Evans Plunge, the largest indoor natural spring mineral waters pool in the world, our numerous sandstone buildings, our VA domiciliary listed as a national treasure, our proximity to Wind Cave, the renowned Wild Horse Sanctuary, the notable Wounded Knee located on the nearby Pine Ridge Indian Reservation, and not to forget that in Hot springs a river runs through it. Yes, this river, accompanied by the Freedom Trail walking path, flows through this town situated in a peaceful valley nestled among the southern Black Hills."

Now I will let you in on plans for the next mural. Mural number eight will be painted on the side of Bob's new shop, Wild West Wheels. Plans are in the works with the same artist who painted the bison. You can count on it being singular, to fit in with the total specialness of this gem of a town, a hidden treasure, with a quiet charm unmatched by any other towns of similar size.

The next time you see someone taking a photo in front of our town's bison mural, know that the picture taker is sharing the uniqueness of our town with others who may or may not visit, but who will, when they see the photo, realize that this is truly a rare, remarkable town.

Smile

Tourists who notice love the friendliness of this small town. And we remember when we first moved here how impressed we were by the kindness of strangers, who, by this time, are no longer strangers.

We stopped at the local bank to open an account. It was 4:30 and they were just closing their doors.

"Come on in" said the smiling employee. "It's okay, we can stay open for you."

And they did and we opened an account at this bank, which we still have to this day, 18 years later.

Another employee was mopping the floor. A customer who was a rancher, with all that accompanies his boots after a day with his cattle, had just left the bank before our late arrival.

"It's just one of our services" said the mopper with a pleasant smile to us. "We often do this after a rancher leaves so that we renew the pleasant odor for the next customer."

This bank did this back then and they do this to this day as needed. As they said, "It is just one of our services that we provide in this rural ranching community."

Tonight Bob and I stopped at our favorite local restaurant. As we walked in a couple was just leaving, and as they walked by I smiled at the wife and Bob smiled at the husband. Within seconds the man stopped our waiter and said, "I want to pick up the tab for this couple."

I was stunned. I did not recognize the man or his wife. He turned to my husband and said, "You just made my day with your friendly smile. I insist on paying for your meal."

And he did.

We sat for a few minutes in astonished silence and then I asked Bob "Do you know that man?"

"Never saw him before."

The waiter joined in. "I think they are tourists. I never saw them before, but I think they are from Texas."

I can only guess that they are not as friendly where he comes from in Texas. Maybe he had a bad day and our smiles renewed his faith in humanity. Whatever, we may never know for certain, but this I do know, always smile at a stranger. You have nothing to lose either way. A smile costs nothing, takes a second of your time and may just make the day turn around for that stranger who briefly touches your life.

E-mail from my brother regarding "Fish Stories".

My brothers, Roy (on the left) and Dave in 1945. 

Hi Mary Ellen,

  I remember the old photo below of Mother and Dad canoeing. I also remember the fishing we did from that old ribbed row boat. I don't know if Dad ever told you, but we(Dave and Dad) restored that 18 foot row boat from an old beaten up leaking like a sieve boat. Did a lot of caulking and gave it a couple of coats of marine paint.

 We would go out on Shagawa lake in the fall, drop a net in and catch these white fish(Tullipees) (sp?)

  We very seldom still/bait fished from that old rowboat.

 Although it was illegal to net the walleyes and northern pike, we still kept them. We kept a close eye out for the game warden! Mother would put the white fish in a salt crock, which kept the fish eatable for months.

 I don't recall hearing any wolves howling, nor did I see any bears raiding the garbage cans.

  You do write an interesting story though, and am sure your memory is a lot better then mine.  

Hi Mary Ellen,

Correction to my statement about the old row boat. It was not a ribbed construction design, but rather a lap strake design, also called a clinker built. Look it up in Google. I believe Dad got the boat from the Oliver Mining Co. They used it on Shagawa lake, and moored it in one of the old boat houses at Sandy Point.

  Roy

     Nice blog though!
Dear Roy,

You boys left home for the service when I was about 11 and  then I took over with netting the fish. The bears raiding the garbage were the years when the blueberries were scarce, long after you had left home. Dad would bang metal covers together to scare them away. They were bold when hungry. The wolves also made a comeback about that time. My memory is not better. I just came along 9 years later than you. You were the oldest and I the youngest. We have some shared memories. Others differ because of that wide time span. I appreciate your recollections that I was too young to remember. Then the stories before my arrival were passed down in the family and became vivid in my mind where they have remained to this day. We are united forever by those stories, and for that I am always grateful.

Your "baby sister",
Mary Ellen

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Hello, Goodbye, Hello

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Fish Stories Posted: 01 Jul 2016 09:00 AM PDT My parents during their honeymoon in what is now the Boundary Waters of northern Minnesota. Before the arrival of us four kids a small canoe met their needs. Later they added the huge rowboat that held all of us for fishing, swimming and all-day summer leisure activities. We fished from the dock, from the shore and from the large clumsy rowboat that accommodated our family of six, bait, rods, nets and lunches. Growing up in the north woods brought us intimacy with nature in many forms. The bears raided our garbage cans during the blueberry scarce years, the howling wolves sang us to sleep, the deer and rabbits fed us through the lean depression years and the lakes supplied us with fish, fun and ice for the winter Sunday supply of yellow rich ice cream with the milk furnished by our Jersey cows, Marie, followed by Cornet and lastly Lady who remained through  the end of the depression. Last weekend Bob and I went fishing for the first time since moving to South Dakota. What fun! I never tired of watching that bobber hit the water and bob about. The fish were biting frantically and we enjoyed three tasty meals of fresh fish. Unfortunately the deer flies were also biting in full force and the bites they left as mementos are still itching for this entire week. Lordy, how they itch! But the misery of the bites is displaced by the sweet memories of many years ago when I sat with eager anticipation in the bulky family rowboat, casting, reeling, baiting the hook with fat, squirmy night crawlers we caught the night before. The thrill of watching that bright red and white bobber float the waves and finally pop below with my line slicing the water has remained through these many years. I never forgot the quick tug on the line between my fingers, letting me know that a fish somewhere in those dark waters below had taken the bait and the hook, allowing me to reel him into the boat and later into the frying pan. (Or as often happened, had taken the bait, escaped the hook, and left me worm-less.) During those years of depression, the woods, our extensive garden and the lakes supplied us with abundant food. My father was jobless but we never wanted at our dinner table. Each fall, before the ice covered the lake, my father, the provider for his family of four children, would set out a net in a bay of the lake. Twice a week in the dark of the early evening we would head out to the net and I would help steady the rowboat as he hauled in the many wiggling fish that he would clean and my mother would fry and pickle in jars for the long, lean winter ahead. The wind was raw, the netting was difficult work and never gave me the thrill of fishing with a bobber, but in looking back these many years later, I realize that those nets brought in a rich harvest to fill our bodies with the needed protein to supplement the dwindling deer meat and waning rabbit population. Fishing, diving and swimming from that sturdy, unsinkable rowboat during the warmth of the summer days furnished the healing entertainment also sorely needed during the stark days of the 30's. Yes, we lived through the great depression, but the scars barely touched us kids. We were protected from want by the fertility of the land and the water in a home located in the heart of the north woods, guided by parents who knew their duty as providers for both our bodies and our spirits. Years later in 2016 in the Black Hills of South Dakota with a catch of 3 pound bass!

Three Vets in the Sauna

"I served two tours in Iraq. I was wounded and after I left the service I found the best VA for helping me return to health is this VA in Hot Springs."

"I fought for our country in many wars from Desert Storm to Iraq to Afghanistan. I was a Ranger, testified before Congress about the conditions at Walter Reed hospital, I was wounded, have a plate in my chest and am part of the Wounded Warrior program."

"I love this VA and this town. I am from Boston and have been to other VA hospitals and I can tell you this one is the best. I love the peace and serenity here. People greet me on the street."

Three veterans using our Plunge. One of them believes that the water is helping to alleviate his PTSD symptoms. All three were sweating in the sauna, sharing some of their battle stories. One shared a photo on his cell phone of a very poisonous spider that roams Iraq, or Afghanistan, I can't recall which country it was since he served several tours in both countries.

These young men fought for our country. One loved the years in the service but was angry and frustrated about his medical treatment on his return. The best medical care was at a VA that the government was cutting. His distrust with our government was blatant as was the frustration with Congress. He said his entire family had served in the military in all different conflicts, but he was telling his son not to enter the military after what he was experiencing at the present time.

I remained in that sauna far too long, captivated by the war stories of fears, frustrations, anger and pain. Finally I had to leave, but before I closed the door I took one final look back at these men who appeared so healthy and fit. Because of what they had shared I saw further than the robust external into the shattered internal pieces that could linger forever. Will they ever return to "normal", whatever that is? Will they find their way back to a life that they once knew? Will they gain internal strength and hope?

I wonder and I wonder some more. Most of all I cling to hope. We here in Hot Springs have fought the battle to keep our VA open for our veterans for over 4 years. Our battle has not cost us our mental health as those three who served our country. It has cost us time, effort and some anguish. It is a small price to pay.

Fish Stories

My parents during their honeymoon in what is now the Boundary Waters of northern Minnesota. Before the arrival of us four kids a small canoe met their needs. Later they added the huge rowboat that held all of us for fishing, swimming and all-day summer leisure activities.

We fished from the dock, from the shore and from the large clumsy rowboat that accommodated our family of six, bait, rods, nets and lunches. Growing up in the north woods brought us intimacy with nature in many forms. The bears raided our garbage cans during the blueberry scarce years, the howling wolves sang us to sleep, the deer and rabbits fed us through the lean depression years and the lakes supplied us with fish, fun and ice for the winter Sunday supply of yellow rich ice cream with the milk furnished by our Jersey cows, Marie, followed by Cornet and lastly Lady who remained through  the end of the depression.

Last weekend Bob and I went fishing for the first time since moving to South Dakota.

What fun! I never tired of watching that bobber hit the water and bob about. The fish were biting frantically and we enjoyed three tasty meals of fresh fish. Unfortunately the deer flies were also biting in full force and the bites they left as mementos are still itching for this entire week. Lordy, how they itch!

But the misery of the bites is displaced by the sweet memories of many years ago when I sat with eager anticipation in the bulky family rowboat, casting, reeling, baiting the hook with fat, squirmy night crawlers we caught the night before. The thrill of watching that bright red and white bobber float the waves and finally pop below with my line slicing the water has remained through these many years. I never forgot the quick tug on the line between my fingers, letting me know that a fish somewhere in those dark waters below had taken the bait and the hook, allowing me to reel him into the boat and later into the frying pan. (Or as often happened, had taken the bait, escaped the hook, and left me worm-less.)

During those years of depression, the woods, our extensive garden and the lakes supplied us with abundant food. My father was jobless but we never wanted at our dinner table. Each fall, before the ice covered the lake, my father, the provider for his family of four children, would set out a net in a bay of the lake. Twice a week in the dark of the early evening we would head out to the net and I would help steady the rowboat as he hauled in the many wiggling fish that he would clean and my mother would fry and pickle in jars for the long, lean winter ahead. The wind was raw, the netting was difficult work and never gave me the thrill of fishing with a bobber, but in looking back these many years later, I realize that those nets brought in a rich harvest to fill our bodies with the needed protein to supplement the dwindling deer meat and waning rabbit population. Fishing, diving and swimming from that sturdy, unsinkable rowboat during the warmth of the summer days furnished the healing entertainment also sorely needed during the stark days of the 30's.

Yes, we lived through the great depression, but the scars barely touched us kids. We were protected from want by the fertility of the land and the water in a home located in the heart of the north woods, guided by parents who knew their duty as providers for both our bodies and our spirits.

Years later in 2016 in the Black Hills of South Dakota with a catch of 3 pound bass!