Another Viewpoint

The following is an article written by a respected journalist. It was too, too right on to not include in my blog this week.

Posting “News” Stories Doesn’t Make A Journalist

By Jim Kent

“Once upon a time”… I put aside writing to pursue careers in acting and music. To that end I studied at New York City’s Lee Strasberg Theatre Institute. I also had the opportunity to sit in with one of Rolling Stone’s “Top 100 Guitarists” for a few lessons.

During our initial conversation, the rocker asked which field I thought was more difficult to break into: music or acting. He felt it was music, since “everyone and his brother” seemed to have a garage band (and things are only tougher now in a world where “anyone” can produce their own CD, You Tube video, etc.).

I agreed, even though acting in this country – then and now – was primarily a “who you know” not “how much talent you have” scenario.

It wasn’t until I returned to pursuing my current career that I learned writing is actually the most difficult of the 3 arts mentioned to succeed in.

To begin with “everyone” learns to write. Even today it’s among the first educational tasks for any child along with learning to read. You need to know how to write in order to get through school. But being able to string words into sentences, sentences into paragraphs, and paragraphs into term papers or even a college thesis does not a “writer” make.

Notwithstanding, everyone learns to write as opposed to learns a musical Instrument or studies acting. So many who aren’t actually writers consider themselves such and increase – and sometimes flood - the competition for those who are.

I know. It’s a rough world and in the end talent usually wills out…but only usually.

As an aspiring commentator, I quickly realized that this meant I would be competing, literally, with anyone with the slightest degree of name-recognition who had anything to say on any subject. Everyone’s a writer and everyone has an opinion. From politician to businessman to personality to jokester, the key to success was acknowledgement of specialization and expertise in any one area of interest.

And though I was able to get off to a relatively good start with a half-page commentary in U.S. News & World Report offering my “expert” opinion on the U.S. Marine Corps, it was a long and winding road from then to now.

Transitioning from commentator to journalist in the late ‘90s, I was confronted with a situation I hadn’t encountered before: a general attitude that “reporters never get it right” so there’s no need to trust them and, whenever possible, avoid them.

Although I’d been criticized for the opinions expressed in my commentaries prior to this, I’d never been judged due to another’s ineptitude. I quickly made it a point to carry a tape deck with me at all times – even before seguing from newspapers to radio, with the aim of getting names, dates and facts correct.

And though I may not have made a major contribution to journalists – or journalism – as a whole, I’ve prided myself in getting it right most of the time for straight news stories and offering common sense opinions in my commentaries that can generally be understood – even if not agreed with by all.

Enter social media. Where “everyone” was once a writer, now “everyone” is a journalist. Except, they’re not. And “they” might mean “you”.

Reposting information on Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn or your preferred social media site doesn’t make you a journalist. It makes you a “poster”. Sharing the misinformation that became the frightening norm during the recent presidential campaign – from both sides of the aisle and outside sources – made you a direct contributor to one of the most chaotic political experiences in U.S. history.

Being a journalist isn’t about making your team look like saints and the other team look like demons. It’s about presenting both sides to the best of your ability even if you detest the views of one.

Even commentators have to allow for a certain sense of civility in their writing as well as…oh, yes…verified facts.

So, if you want to play “social media journalist” you need to verify that your “story” is being presented by a real news source, not somebody’s blog or an “on-line news magazine” with a work force of…one.

Check on who’s posting, where they're located, who their staff is and then Google the headline. If you don’t come up with at least 2 mainstream news sources with the same story, don’t repost.

Sharing misinformation with the masses doesn’t make you a journalist; it makes you a dope.

Published on 12/8/16 in the Lakota Country Times

Overheard on the Telephone

"Hello", says the voice over the telephone. "Is this Bob from the Fixit Shop?"

"Yes it is."

"Well, I was wondering if you make house calls. My four wheeler won't start and it needs some assistance."

So now I know that Bob will make house calls to service motorcycles and similar vehicles.

At this point in his new venture I have heard him only hesitate one one item, and that is sewing machines. "They are tricky and I would have to judge each one separately before I make an attempt at repair."

I learn something new each day about my Mr. Fixit. He can repair most anything. He was asked if he works on cars and he refused, saying that there are many car repair businesses in town. He wants to work on items not serviced locally. On the other hand he will do oil changes if someone uses Amsoil since he offers the product exclusively and knows first hand that it is the best synthetic available. On the bitterest of days (which we are having at this time) my car which is parked outside, starts right up. After all, we spent many years enduring the bitter cold days in Minnesota. We came to this Banana Belt of South Dakota well prepared, from the warmest of clothes, well layered, to the cold-resistant oil for all of our vehicles.

Do I have a partner that keeps me going, season through season? No doubt about it!

Cruising for Cookies

Each year during December our Chamber of Commerce sponsors a Cookie Cruise. People sample cookies and hot drinks at each participating store and vote for their favorite cookie. The idea is not only holiday fun for the family, but also to have the cookie travellers see what each store has to offer.

This event coincides with our annual Parade of Lights and other seasonal activities. Bob has not opened up the Wild West Wheels shop yet, but he has opened the back of the store to do repairs on bikes and other small engines. We thought that he would open for the Cookie Cruise last night to let others know what services he offered at this time.

"I'm not in this to make money. I will be happy to break even, but what I want is to provide a service to our locals so that they don't have to travel to Rapid City."

Bob was tired of seeing the empty storefronts in town and decided to invest in a building and do what he does best: service for motorcycles, bicycles and other small engines. His interest has always been in making things better and in the process to help the environment which lately has become a "throw-away society. He believes in using and reusing. Not much has ever landed in the land fill from our home. 

We had many folks stop by with a high interest into what Bob is doing, with requests such as "Do you fix rotor tillers? What about vacumn cleaners?" Today's world is filled with consume, buy and dump. It was heartening to meet folks who want to repair and keep what they have invested in over the years.

Maybe it is our small, rural town with a different mind set than in the urban areas, but whatever the reason, Bob has the opportunity to offer his skills in restoration to our locals, saving them both time and money to travel 60 miles to the nearst large community.

Thanks to the local Chamber of Commerce, many residents had the opportunity to talk with Bob and to discover what his shop has to offer. He is truly the Fix-it-Man for Hot Springs.

Am I proud of my husband? You bet. He is not fighting the battles that surround us. Instead he works quietly to provide a sense of pride to those who choose to repair. He will be teaching the children from the Boys and Girls Club to repair their bicycles that he is storing in his buiiding. He was asked to repair them. "No, bring the kids down here and I will teach them to repair their own bikes."

What is the old saying that goes something like this? "Give a man a fish and he will eat once.. Teach him to fish and that will last him a lifetime."

Standing Proud

And so Secretary McDonald has come and gone. He gave our community an hour of his time. He listened intently and responded to comments from residents, veterans, the head ranger from Wind Cave National Park, the National Historic Preservation Trust, former employees of our VA and veterans presently using our domiciliary.

Once again, on a blustery, raw day in the southern Black Hills, a community gathered to support our veterans and our local VA. They came from nearby Nebraska, protesting the possible closure of the best of the best of the VA facilities. One veteran told how he had gone to VA after VA seeking help for his cocaine addiction. He continued his use, often being supplied by dealers standing outside of the VA hospital. He came to this VA 8 months ago and stated with conviction, "This VA saved my life. I will always be an addict, but I am not using."

Voices told similar stories of hope and recovery in this accepting, quiet small town atmosphere of Hot Springs, SD. Several repeated that this VA should be a centerpiece for all of the VA hospitals. It should be restored to its former self and enhanced for all of the veterans, past and present coming from Iraq, Afghanistan and the continual war with ISIS.

Not all who stood patiently wating for a turn to comment had the opportunity to speak. Secretary McDonald was on a schedule and he kept to it strictly. The time was all too short for the auditorium filled to overflowing with hopeful veterans and citizens supporting them. But I, for one, was proud of our small, but passionate and dedicated community. They spoke with conviction and hope. I was filled with tears and gratitude for being a member of this small town in the Black Hills of South Dakota. We stand together against the powers that be in Washington....for our town and for our veterans, past, present and future.

Secretary McDonald has 30 days to make his decision. We can only wait and hope and be united in our gratitude.

Melody on Gratitude

Tomorrow Secretary Robert McDonald, the head of the VA in Washington, DC, will be visiting our VA and conducting a meeting with all of the citizens of Hot Springs. Many have lost hope for keeping our VA in our town, others are still working and have hope. Either way I have taken comfort in a poem I recently received from one of our veterans who will be more directly impacted by the decision than I.

GRATITUDE

Gratitude unlocks the fullness of life.
It turns what we have into enough, and more.
It turns denial into acceptance, chaos to order, confusion to clarity.
It can turn a meal into a feast, a house into a home, a stranger into a friend.
Gratitude makes sense of our past, brings peace for today,
And creates a vision for tomorrow.

Melody Beattie

We may lose a wonderful VA, but we must keep our gratitude. It is our hope.

The Morning After

It appears to be true. The more educated and deeper thinkers went one way, while the rest took the other road.

This all reminds me of the history lesson: all great civilizations fell, some faster than others. Eventually they rise again in a different form. Our country, too, has been sliding down the slippery slope and now, we, too, angry and fed up with the status quo and the arrogant, have rejected the slower slide to opt for the sudden crash to the bottom of the heap.

It is no wonder. We are now number 26 in education in the world.

Get ready for a bumpy ride. It will be interesting to see how it all turns out.

Painting With Words

There was a poetry reading last night at our Hot Springs Library. The poets read with enthusiasm, be it a poem filled with sadness, regret or humor. It was inspiring to hear those filled with the love of poetry share their feelings with an audience.

One that touched me the most was the poet who, before she read her poem, shared the background to its inspiration. She attends a weekly meeting of artisans at our local co-op. She was in awe of what each of these artists brought to the group. There were shawls and quilts and other various artistic endeavors. She knew that she had no talent with the paint brush so she shared that her artistry was with words. "I paint with words", she said.

My mind soared to other venues, equally artistic. It is not only in the crafts or arts created through the hands, but she reinforced that other avenues are open to creating beauty. I thought of those who draw blueprints, and those who work with their hands constructing the vision of the blueprints. There are those who meld ingredients together to make the perfect loaf of bread, cookies, pies or even an entire meal. Others assist in healing others, teaching developing minds, performing dance or music, working in groups to form consensus, producing the crops to feed the people, squelching the destruction of flames, designing floral arrangements, building cars, computers or repairing products that make lives easier, and on and on. Every one can create to make our world a better place.

There are those who destroy, but there are more who enrich, much as the poet who paints with words.

After all, it is those who create, in whatever form, who are themselves enhanced and who continue to grow and feel the beauty of love and a part of universal creation.

Time Outs

Weather is cyclical and if we take time to notice, so is life. Oh there are a few who ride the waves on a regular basis, but that continual stress, in the long run, take its toll.

Today the weather is gray and drizzly after days of beautiful fall sunshine and mild temperatures. When I went out to take care of the chicken chores the neighborhood was unusually quiet, dampened by the weather I suspect. The chickens were less fussy. It is peak molting time for them and their egg laying has ceased. They are anticipating the onset of the cold of winter.

It took some effort to leave the warmth of the bed this morning. The gray on the outside seeped into the house. It helped to sit by the glow of the fire, listen to our favorite music and wait for the whistle of the teakettle announcing the imminent arrival of our hot tea.

This day strongly suggests that I slow down, enjoy the pleasures of the moment and get ready for the colder, blustier days ahead. I follow the hint from the chickens. There will always be the return of the noise and chaos, but for now. at this time, I will take time for reflection and rejuvenation.

Thank you, chickens, for reminding me there is a time to work and a time to sit back and ignore the blather from the outside world.

Documentary about the White Helmets of Syria

A few blogs back I wrote of the White Helmets, a group of brave people from Syria who do not fight others, but who save others. Since 2013 there have been over 130 White Helmets who have lost their lives, but during this time they have saved 58,000 lives.

If you get Netflix you can download the 40 minute documentary. If you need hope, take the time to view this video. I know for me, I can always use more stories of hope.

Why No Comments?

Recently I have been asked why I don't write about the political situation in our country at the present time. Here is my response:

First of all the media is already inundated with the political stuff. Why should I add to the noise?

Secondly, most folks have their minds made up and they only want to hear what reinforces their point of view. I feel no need to reinforce already established beliefs.

For those still in doubt about issues, hopefully they will research reputable sites.

On local elections and amendments voters have a more powerful say in any outcomes. That is where I put more effort into research in order to make the decisions I feel are best for our county or state.

Enough said about our current unusual political election. It may be time to read an entertaining book or to watch a bone-tickling comedy on Netflix. There is already too much hostility floating around our country. We all need to restore our sense of humor.

P.S. The search for power is seductive and, in the end, power can corrupt even the un-corruptible.

The White Helmets of Syria

"Whoever saves one life, saves all of humanity," is a verse from the Koran that is the center of the mission of Syria's first responders. During this destructive war in Syria many have fled, joined one of the armies or joined ISIS.

In the midst of this chaos there is one group of Syrians - teachers, doctors, engineers, construction workers, sons, daughters, parents - who did not flee the country or did not take up arms. Instead this group of dedicated volunteers goes into the worst of the destruction after every attack to save lives.

Among the worst of humanity, there has risen the best of humanity - The White Helmets. But how often do we hear about these brave men and women? The media covers ISIS and the worst aspects of the war, but leaves little room for this group of "non-fighters" who dare to rush into the direct aftermath of a bombing to rescue, to save, to comfort, with scant regard for their own safety.

I have seen some of them in some media shots (recognized by their white helmets) but they are simply identified as rescue workers. In fact the only coverage I have seen so far of these Syrians who do not hide behind a weapon is in a Time magazine and The Economist magazine.

In my last blog I wrote of the givers and the takers. Reading about these givers, the White Helmets, has given me hope. There is love among the ruins even in one of the most war torn countries in today's world.

We who live in the relative comfort and safety of our country can complain and demand and criticize, but, in the long run, even the volunteering that we do can in no way compare to the love and selflessness shown by these White Helmets who, in every case, face the ultimate sacrifice of giving their lives for others.

For all of you who are terrified of letting in those Syrian refugees, remember those who follow the true meaning of their faith in the words of the Koran. Are the words similar to the meaning in the Scriptures, as well as all of the different faiths followed by others in our world?

Maybe we aren't so different. Maybe in all beliefs there are the extremists and the takers, but I want to believe that the majority in all faiths are those who follow the words of love.

Giving vs Taking

Wealth? No
Fame? No
Indulgence? No

None of the above are a path to happiness. In time all of them turn sour unless they are used to help or encourage others on their journey through life. If you search through religious or philosophical beliefs through time, they all conclude with the same message of hope: "love others as yourself."

In a strange way it seems if one loves oneself, that love flows out to those who share time and space in this world. Today even the health gurus are spreading the word that not only exercise and a healthy diet are crucial to a long and vigorous life, but social connections are as important.

Living solitary loses its luster. Connecting with others and giving of time to the needs of others brings a happiness in return to the giver that cannot be reached through wealth, fame or self-indulgence. Ask a volunteer. They know about giving and its rewards.

Giving brings so much more in return than self medicating through drugs or self absorption. Yet in today's world we have become addicted to instant gratification through our smart phones or the internet.

So when the police stop a driver who is on the cell phone he/she responds with "I know this is dangerous while driving, but I just had to find out who was texting me."

Or, "I couldn't wait until I saw the doctor. I had to take the drug for instant pain relief or a flight from the real world."

Or, "I just have to answer my phone even though we are together in a restaurant. After all, the world will fall apart without my instant response."

Or, "I know you called me first, but I have call waiting and the one who called me after you is more important than you, so I will call you back."

And on and on it goes. Life gets faster, colder and less connected. It is all about me, me, me! There is no room for you. Yes, the internet is a great way to connect with others in a casual sense and if face-to-face is impossible, but real, heartfelt connections come through a direct eye-ball, hand shake, hug, look at my expression relationship.

Giving of me to you through my time and caring, be it over food, in the steam room, on the steps of the post office, over the back yard fence, it does not matter. What matters is me to you directly, with patience and love.

Hey world, I must remind myself, "love me and love you. Enough of I, I, I and more of you, you, you! In this sped up world in which I often get stuck, please nudge me toward taking time for both me and for you."

Never Lose Hope

This quote came via an email from a friend:

"The charm of fishing is that is is the pursuit of what is elusive but attainable,
a perpetual series of occasions for hope,"

He goes on to write, "Without hope there is nothing."

In this case hope is so very precious that we must not, can not, lose it.

Not in any stage of life....

Must be why I have always loved fishing!

Topsy-Turvy

She was an excellent waitress....courteous, thoughtful and prompt. She was friendly and spent some time with us as it was a quiet time at the restaurant.

"I am a registered nurse", she told us. "I used to work in home health throughout the Black Hills and I did Hospice care. Now I am working as a waitress. The work is more pleasant, the pay is good and the hours are 30 a week, unlike the long hours I put in as a nurse."

"Ouch", was my immediate response. "That is so sad when the need for nurses is so critical, especially in home health and hospice."

"I know. But the work was difficult and the hours were long. I make as much money as a waitress with fewer hours."

Bob and I ate our meal for a while in silence. It was depressing to hear what this woman had to say. She had the type of personality that would be attractive to the elderly and/or the terminally ill and yet she was waiting tables in Rapid City.

It's a strange world in so many ways. Today was another example brought home, to our table by a pleasant ex-nurse, mother of 3 (2 in college), and presently a waitress.

Is there something wrong with this picture?

From My Brother, Roy, in Response to "Farewell to Dottie" Blog.

Wedding photo, July, 1949
She was a cute red head.

A Farewell to Dottie

An email arrived from my brother. "Dottie passed away this morning."

It was the 40's, after WWII, years before the women's movement of the 60's and 70's. Dottie took care of her parents as they became ill, first one, then another. Her life was consumed by her duty as the dutiful daughter and college was out of the question. Into her life came a handsome young engineer who, when she was free from her care taking, rescued her to a married life of safety and comfort, enveloped by her family, her home and her love of the many animals who came to her back yard from the forested gully that wound past her home.

She fed the squirrels, the birds, the fox, raccoons and other woodland creatures who came to the feeders for nourishment. She loved the wild things and ignored the comments from her husband who fretted about the exorbitant cost of feed. Some wives spend a fortune on jewelry, clothes, cars or entertainment. Her life was simple. She preferred taking care of her family and the animals that crept out of the forest to partake of the bounty in her yard.

There were the occasions when she and her husband travelled back to Minnesota to visit with her in-laws and their relatives. During those times she asked her son, Bruce, to tend to her creatures who were fed daily through her generosity. Her son came to check on the house. He had no intention of feeding the critters. While walking through the living room he got the strangest, eerie feeling. He went over to the large patio windows and opened the drapes. Outside the window was a group of raccoons sitting silently, staring and waiting for the food they had been accustomed to receive from his mother. Bruce felt his skin crawl as he looked at this voiceless assembly and, needless to say, he went straight away to the food supply and threw out the food. During the rest of his time checking on the house he did not neglect the critters outside the window. After all, it was what his mother wished.

Dottie kept contact with her husband's family, writing lengthy letters each Christmas, informing us in detail of the her family's activities. She graciously took in her father-in-law for weeks at a time after his wife died. She also took me into her home for a time of healing while I was going through a crisis and had need of a sanctuary far from the problems facing me. I will not forget her kindness to me.

And now we say goodbye to this woman who followed her duty....to her parents, her family, her husband's family and the creatures who came her way. In her new life may she be surrounded by those who made her happy in this life. We can only hope.

Goodbye, Dottie....daughter, wife, mother, my sister-in-law and friend to all.....

Yet Another Step

"When will you open?" This question keeps getting asked.

Before Wild West Wheels opens Bob has stuff to do to get the building ready. There is water to hook up, locks to change, doors to fix, windows and pipes to replace and on and on it goes.

So, in answer to some of you, he doesn't know when the shop will officially open, but he is selling his Amsoil to old and new customers and he has been repairing bikes and motorcycles. Those who have come in advance are delighted they don't have to trek up to Rapid City. That is his plan: service locally and be reasonably priced. It may not be speedy, but it will be done with skill and care.

Roof repair is another step in getting his building in shape before opening. The list goes on and on.
                                                                         Let's hear it for the patient man!

Cheers for FedEx

We are often inundated with the "ugly truths" about the greedy corporations avoiding taxes, polluting our environment, etc. But there are the extraordinary exceptions and they deserve equal billing.

Oh, yes, there are a few out there. In time there may be more if their shareholders speak up. Thanks to the shareholders who have influenced some big businesses to help save our planet for future generations.

Here's to FedEx. Their strategy is Reduce, Replace, Revolutionize. And, they are five years ahead of their plan! FedEx Express surpassed its goal to boost vehicle fuel efficiency by 30% by 2020 starting from 2005, in spite of the fact that most of the technology needed then didn't exist at the time.

Here was their strategy adopted in 2005:

REDUCE overall mileage by travelling the minimum miles by optimizing routes.

REPLACE with more fuel efficient models and reprogramming the models to run at the optimal levels for fuel efficiency.

REVOLUTIONIZE the fleet by adopting electric vehicles, fuel cells, natural gas and hybrids. They are also focusing on hydrogen fuel cells.

Result of this plan: They have saved more than 137 million gallons of fuel since 2008 and avoided nearly 1.5 million  metric tons of CO2e emissions.

What a win-win by FedEx. They saved their stockholders money while helping to save our planet!

(Information from the FedEx Annual Report 2016)

A Moment of Her Time

"We were almost chased by some buffalo when we were riding through Wind Cave. We know they are dangerous."

The three bikers were from Texas, enjoying our Black Hills while consciously avoiding the high traffic and prices of the Sturgis Rally.

As we were standing outside Shopko, chatting about the beauty of our Hills and the warmth of the people in Hot Springs, a short, dark-haired lady interrupted.

"Excuse me. Are you Mary GGGG?"

She was trying to say my last name so I quickly responded that I was Mary Goulet.

"I thought I recognized you. You are the author that wrote that book."

"Which one of my books are you referring to?"

"The one about the Cascade fire. My father read that book and he wants to come here to Hot Springs to see all of the places you wrote about. He loves your book. I just wanted you to know that."

With that she walked off before I had time to even say my thanks properly. Her interruption was so sudden and unexpected that I stuttered something, not sure what.

In hindsight I regret not talking with her more. She went out of her way to tell me about her father and my book. This was one of those times, a moment of her time, to show appreciation for my work, and I blew it. So wherever this woman is, hopefully through this blog, she will know that I do appreciate her words, and because of this brief interruption, I will not be so casual in my words of thanks to those who have touched my life in some way.

Life is too short. Words are too special to waste.

A Story from the Sauna

He greeted me cheerily when I entered the sauna after my workout. He was small and of a wiry build. His wife, an attractive blond, sat quietly next to him. He was immediately talkative, telling me that he and his wife came to Evans Plunge every year on their vacation to the Black Hills. After a bit of chit chat, without any prompting on my part, he eagerly shared his story.

I was born in Poland. In 1974, when I was twenty, the Russians were in control of Poland and I wanted to escape the oppression. All that was on TV were stories of Russia and the bad things about America. There was one exception. We watched Bonanza. We loved that show and I wanted to go to America to see the cowboys. My friend, who was nineteen, and I went to a festival in France with a group. We jumped from the train in West Berlin looking for asylum. Since I had a trade as a tool and die maker I could get work with the English army until I could get papers to go to another country. the Poles had worked with the British and there were many of them that had stayed on in West Berlin after the war. That was good for me since I could communicate with them. I only wanted to go to America, but in order to be accepted then I needed three things: 1. to be healthy 2. to have a trade so I could support myself and 3. I had to serve in the American army and go to Vietnam.

I was so eager to go to American that I accepted those conditions, including military service in Vietnam. The war ended in 1975 so I did not have to go in the service, but I had been willing to do my part in order to get to America. At that time we immigrants got no health insurance or welfare. I met my wife in Chicago and when she went to the hospital to have our baby, I paid all the bills from my work. I never asked for any help. Today my son is a successful businessman.

In time I traveled throughout the States, and after working and living in New York and Chicago we settled in Wisconsin. I could not go back to see my family in Poland until 1990, but then I brought my mother and siblings to America.

"I want to write your story", I said to him as I got up to leave the sauna, sweating profusely. I had stayed too long, fascinated by his story and his enthusiasm. "I won't use your name."

"My name is Stanley", he said as I left.

Food for thought: it is because of a TV western that our country has been enriched by a Polish immigrant and his family.

Chicken Snatching

"Stop the car!" I yelled to Bob. "I see a chicken loose by the street. I bet she belongs to the neighbor across the alley. She looks like the photo the teen-agers showed me last week when they rang our door asking if we had lost a chicken,"

Bob hesitated but kept on driving. "If the chicken is still there we will stop on our way back from the store."

On our way back the lone chicken was no where in sight and we continued on our way home.

A week later my daughter and granddaughter were in my car driving down the same street. There was the chicken in the same spot near the curb! This time I was determined to rescue that loose hen that was picking industriously along the sidewalk near a garbage can, dangerously close to frequent traffic!

I stopped the car. My daughter and granddaughter declined to accompany me and cringed in the car, certain that that chicken belonged to that house. As I pursued the chicken, who managed to stay just inches out of reach, I looked up at the house and thought, "Maybe this chicken belongs to this house. It seems like a chicken house somehow."

I stopped the chase and went back to the car. I saw a gentleman in his yard a short distance away. I drove up to him, rolled down the window and asked him about the chicken.

"You don't want to tamper with Miss Chicky", he said solemnly. "She belongs to the lady in that house. We all like her 'cause she eats all the bugs around our houses."

Who would have thought? A chicken who roams the yard, avoiding the street with all the passing traffic, eats the pesky bugs and is quite contented with her lot! Somehow she has managed to avoid all the predators that roam the nearby woods, while a few blocks away other chicken owners have lost their entire penned flocks to a wily, hungry, mother fox.

Meanwhile, back in the car my family were in hysterics. I was called a "chicken snatcher", a "chicken thief" and other unpleasant names. My daughter delighted in sharing the story with all my friends in town.

"What if my mother had caught that chicken and brought her to the man she thought it belonged to? The man would have said, "It's not my chicken." "Then what? My mother would be a chicken snatcher!"

Summer is a time for visits from old friends and family. We share memories and stories, and during the visit new stories are created to share again and again with friends and family new and old. One that will remain into future generations, if my daughter has her way, will undoubtedly be My Mother, the Chicken Rustler.

A Gift Revived

It must have been over 10 years ago when I bought Bob a birthday gift that I knew he would treasure. Over the years it gathered dust in our pole barn, the one structure that did not burn in the Alabaugh Fire. Times and circumstances change. The saying is that the only thing you can count on in this life (besides taxes and death) is change.

Our former home has turned to ashes, but a new venture has opened up in town. This almost forgotten gift now has a new home in Bob's store in town. It is on display at his Wild West Wheels store. As the store nears completion it will be lit for all to see.

It may advertise a motorcycle/bike business, but to me it will always shine as a memento of my love for this thoughtful, careful man of detail, who simply wants to provide a service locally, doing what he does best.....fixing, supplying, restoring and helping others to enjoy life.

                                                 RESTORING                                                                              TA DA!



                                                                          THANK YOU, TOM!

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!