Wednesday, July 16, 2008
The angels in Iowa (trip to Cedar Rapids)
“We are, each of us angels with only one wing; and we can only fly by embracing one another.” ~ Luciano de Crescenzo
We meet some of the nicest people even in their darkest hours. When all they have known is gone, there is nothing left but what is inside the heart. Their true spirit shines.
In mid-June, days of heavy rain soaked Iowa filling 9 rivers across the state which overflowed their banks.
On June 12, the Cedar River didn’t just spill over the banks, it poured over resulting in the historic 500-year flood.
Nearly 4,000 homes were evacuated and over 400 city blocks were completely under water. The historic Czech Village was under 8-feet or more of water. Hormel foods corporate offices and the Spam museum were flooded out as well as many other major businesses. A railroad bridge collapsed. And many main trunk roads to, from and within the city were closed.
And the water rose.
The Cedar River crested at nearly 32 feet — 12 feet higher than the record set in 1929.
Only one out of a dozen or more water wells supplying clean drinking water was working as floodwaters knocked out electricity that supplied the wells. Clean drinking water was nearly non-existent.
The preliminary damage was estimated at nearly $737 million.
Now one month after the flooding, recovery efforts continue.
I, and five others from Anoka, Zimmerman, Elk River, Onamia and Harmony Minnesota went to Iowa to help our neighbors.
The six of us left on Friday, July 11 driving over 6 hours to Cedar Rapids, Iowa.
We were almost to the city limits when Jenny Orsborn, our group leader, said, “Here it comes. Can you smell it?”
It is a smell that once you experience it, you never forget it and you know the instant you smell it what it is.
It is the smell of stagnant water. It is the smell of mold. It is the smell of a flood.
It is the smell of every personal photograph, kindergarten artwork, high school diploma ... gone.
It is the smell of grandmothers wedding dress ... gone.
It is the smell of everything held dear to the hearts of the people ... gone.
We, the six of us, have all smelled it before. The air smelled just like New Orleans.
It was interesting to compare and contrast the two devastating floods. But too much to do in one blog.
For now, I will say from what I observed, Cedar Rapids is already at only one month past the flood, they are already ahead of some areas in New Orleans. It appeared to me and our group that at least every house in the flooded area had already had at least some work done.
But the recovery takes time. They are estimating full recovery will take years. We know this to be true after New Orleans.
Those homeowners who can complete the work themselves are by all appearances doing so. But the elderly and others unable to do anything are having a hard time.
On Saturday we worked on one house on A street — 10 blocks from the river. Leonore had lived in her home for many years and raised her family there.
We gutted her house on the first floor taking everything out from the floorboards to the sheetrock and insulation stripping the walls to the 2 X 4's up to 4-foot on each wall.
I pounded a hammer into the sheetrock and ripped it from the wall. Next came the insulation. Fiberglass insulation works like a wick in an oil lamp for floodwater. It was all moldy and had to be pulled.
That is where the long sleeved shirts donated to us by Adidas came in handy. I itched from head to toe.
It was not easy work. And it was dirty. We did it for Leonore.
Piles grew on the front curb. A pile for wood scraps, a pile for appliances and a pile for trash.
And it smelled.
A shower has never felt so good as after working on Saturday.
Michele Schwable in our group has family members who live in Cedar Rapids. They were very kind and feed us a delicious picnic with homemade southern fried chicken, potato salad and all the fixin’s. We ate in a beautiful park, and then were given a guided tour of the areas affected by the flood. I will try to post some photos later.
Sunday, we went to the home of Becky and Fred. They were a lovely older couple and I fell in love with Becky immediately. She just shines.
Fred and Becky were not nearly as far ahead in the game as Leonore was. Leonore had family who helped her out a lot. Fred and Becky were trying to do for themselves.
They were in a completely different neighborhood that was flooded by a creek that spills off from the Cedar River near the Cargil plant. The area was never expected to flood and the couple had no flood insurance.
Water filled their basement. And a lot of it was still there.
As Dave, Gary and Jenny tore up the carpet in the living room, Anne and Michele were packing up pieces of Becky and Fred’s life from the kitchen. All of their pots and pans, dishes, utensils etc. were still occupying the cupboards and needed to be moved out.
I was trying my hardest to pack up Becky’s family China from an antique cabinet in the dining room.
Becky sat nearby me and told me tiny pieces of her family history through memories as I wrapped each item in old pieces of clothing to protect them.
When I finished with the China cabinet, I moved on to help Fred pack up the den.
Fred was a collector in his eyes — a pack rat in Becky’s eyes. He saved everything. His important papers he kept in a safe. The safe was presumably ok and protected from the floodwaters. Everything else in the room was basically destroyed.
But it was very difficult for Fred to decide what could be saved and what could be tossed.
He was also an artist. He painted mostly and a lot of his paintings were in that room. All were destroyed.
Over 30 years ago he had painted a portrait of his first wife. She passed away several years ago. The painting was destroyed. He tossed it into the trash bin.
“I guess I can paint another,” he said with a tear forming in the corner of his eye.
I picked up a small antique sewing table which stood only about thigh high. It was covered in thick green mold.
I tossed it onto the growing pile outside.
I picked up a toss pillow off the couch and water poured from the pillow onto the floor. I dropped it into the trash bin.
I picked up a throw blanket and water again poured from the blanket as if I had turned on a faucet.
Under the blanket was mold growing. Tall white fuzz like something I grew in a petri dish in microbiology class in college.
The smell was too much.
As I wheeled the over-flowing bin to the curb to add to the pile, I cried. The heat and the smell and the emotion of the day had gotten to me.
It was a difficult and dirty job but very rewarding when we finished.
We stripped down to our under garments right there in the street changing into our clean traveling clothes. Most of our work clothes were tossed into the pile on the curb in front of Fred and Becky’s house and left behind.
We gave hugs and shared tears and laughs with Fred and Becky before we left for home.
The 6-hour drive home was more subdued than the drive down there. We were all tired. We were achy. And we smelled.
When I got home late Sunday night, I stood in the shower for nearly 30 minutes just letting the water cleanse my skin and refresh my soul.
That was the best shower I have ever had. Somehow even better than the day before.
Our bodies were tired, achy, scratched and bruised. A couple of us in the group came home with sore throats and coughing. Two days after my return I could still taste mold in the back of my throat.
But our coughs and aches and pains will go away. The emotional pain felt by Leonore, Fred, Becky and the thousands of people in Iowa who lost everything will last a lifetime.
We did what we could to help ease their pain.
Jenny calls us her Traveling Angels. Her motto is “we are saving the world, one house at a time.” The group has participated in disaster relief from New Orleans, Rushford, Hugo and Iowa. And that is just the beginning.
If you would like to volunteer for clean up in Iowa there is much to do and many ways to help. Not all jobs are as dirty. Individuals or groups who want to volunteer can sign up online with Corridor Recovery at: www.corridorrecovery.org/CedarRapidsArea.asp or call volunteer hotline at (319) 540.4810.
The people of Iowa will thank you and you meet some of the nicest people. Tell them the Angels sent you.
Peace.
“Be an angel to someone else whenever you can, as a way of thanking God for the help your angel has given you.” ~ Quoted in The Angels' Little Instruction Book by Eileen Elias Freeman, 1994
We meet some of the nicest people even in their darkest hours. When all they have known is gone, there is nothing left but what is inside the heart. Their true spirit shines.
In mid-June, days of heavy rain soaked Iowa filling 9 rivers across the state which overflowed their banks.
On June 12, the Cedar River didn’t just spill over the banks, it poured over resulting in the historic 500-year flood.
Nearly 4,000 homes were evacuated and over 400 city blocks were completely under water. The historic Czech Village was under 8-feet or more of water. Hormel foods corporate offices and the Spam museum were flooded out as well as many other major businesses. A railroad bridge collapsed. And many main trunk roads to, from and within the city were closed.
And the water rose.
The Cedar River crested at nearly 32 feet — 12 feet higher than the record set in 1929.
Only one out of a dozen or more water wells supplying clean drinking water was working as floodwaters knocked out electricity that supplied the wells. Clean drinking water was nearly non-existent.
The preliminary damage was estimated at nearly $737 million.
Now one month after the flooding, recovery efforts continue.
I, and five others from Anoka, Zimmerman, Elk River, Onamia and Harmony Minnesota went to Iowa to help our neighbors.
The six of us left on Friday, July 11 driving over 6 hours to Cedar Rapids, Iowa.
We were almost to the city limits when Jenny Orsborn, our group leader, said, “Here it comes. Can you smell it?”
It is a smell that once you experience it, you never forget it and you know the instant you smell it what it is.
It is the smell of stagnant water. It is the smell of mold. It is the smell of a flood.
It is the smell of every personal photograph, kindergarten artwork, high school diploma ... gone.
It is the smell of grandmothers wedding dress ... gone.
It is the smell of everything held dear to the hearts of the people ... gone.
We, the six of us, have all smelled it before. The air smelled just like New Orleans.
It was interesting to compare and contrast the two devastating floods. But too much to do in one blog.
For now, I will say from what I observed, Cedar Rapids is already at only one month past the flood, they are already ahead of some areas in New Orleans. It appeared to me and our group that at least every house in the flooded area had already had at least some work done.
But the recovery takes time. They are estimating full recovery will take years. We know this to be true after New Orleans.
Those homeowners who can complete the work themselves are by all appearances doing so. But the elderly and others unable to do anything are having a hard time.
On Saturday we worked on one house on A street — 10 blocks from the river. Leonore had lived in her home for many years and raised her family there.
We gutted her house on the first floor taking everything out from the floorboards to the sheetrock and insulation stripping the walls to the 2 X 4's up to 4-foot on each wall.
I pounded a hammer into the sheetrock and ripped it from the wall. Next came the insulation. Fiberglass insulation works like a wick in an oil lamp for floodwater. It was all moldy and had to be pulled.
That is where the long sleeved shirts donated to us by Adidas came in handy. I itched from head to toe.
It was not easy work. And it was dirty. We did it for Leonore.
Piles grew on the front curb. A pile for wood scraps, a pile for appliances and a pile for trash.
And it smelled.
A shower has never felt so good as after working on Saturday.
Michele Schwable in our group has family members who live in Cedar Rapids. They were very kind and feed us a delicious picnic with homemade southern fried chicken, potato salad and all the fixin’s. We ate in a beautiful park, and then were given a guided tour of the areas affected by the flood. I will try to post some photos later.
Sunday, we went to the home of Becky and Fred. They were a lovely older couple and I fell in love with Becky immediately. She just shines.
Fred and Becky were not nearly as far ahead in the game as Leonore was. Leonore had family who helped her out a lot. Fred and Becky were trying to do for themselves.
They were in a completely different neighborhood that was flooded by a creek that spills off from the Cedar River near the Cargil plant. The area was never expected to flood and the couple had no flood insurance.
Water filled their basement. And a lot of it was still there.
As Dave, Gary and Jenny tore up the carpet in the living room, Anne and Michele were packing up pieces of Becky and Fred’s life from the kitchen. All of their pots and pans, dishes, utensils etc. were still occupying the cupboards and needed to be moved out.
I was trying my hardest to pack up Becky’s family China from an antique cabinet in the dining room.
Becky sat nearby me and told me tiny pieces of her family history through memories as I wrapped each item in old pieces of clothing to protect them.
When I finished with the China cabinet, I moved on to help Fred pack up the den.
Fred was a collector in his eyes — a pack rat in Becky’s eyes. He saved everything. His important papers he kept in a safe. The safe was presumably ok and protected from the floodwaters. Everything else in the room was basically destroyed.
But it was very difficult for Fred to decide what could be saved and what could be tossed.
He was also an artist. He painted mostly and a lot of his paintings were in that room. All were destroyed.
Over 30 years ago he had painted a portrait of his first wife. She passed away several years ago. The painting was destroyed. He tossed it into the trash bin.
“I guess I can paint another,” he said with a tear forming in the corner of his eye.
I picked up a small antique sewing table which stood only about thigh high. It was covered in thick green mold.
I tossed it onto the growing pile outside.
I picked up a toss pillow off the couch and water poured from the pillow onto the floor. I dropped it into the trash bin.
I picked up a throw blanket and water again poured from the blanket as if I had turned on a faucet.
Under the blanket was mold growing. Tall white fuzz like something I grew in a petri dish in microbiology class in college.
The smell was too much.
As I wheeled the over-flowing bin to the curb to add to the pile, I cried. The heat and the smell and the emotion of the day had gotten to me.
It was a difficult and dirty job but very rewarding when we finished.
We stripped down to our under garments right there in the street changing into our clean traveling clothes. Most of our work clothes were tossed into the pile on the curb in front of Fred and Becky’s house and left behind.
We gave hugs and shared tears and laughs with Fred and Becky before we left for home.
The 6-hour drive home was more subdued than the drive down there. We were all tired. We were achy. And we smelled.
When I got home late Sunday night, I stood in the shower for nearly 30 minutes just letting the water cleanse my skin and refresh my soul.
That was the best shower I have ever had. Somehow even better than the day before.
Our bodies were tired, achy, scratched and bruised. A couple of us in the group came home with sore throats and coughing. Two days after my return I could still taste mold in the back of my throat.
But our coughs and aches and pains will go away. The emotional pain felt by Leonore, Fred, Becky and the thousands of people in Iowa who lost everything will last a lifetime.
We did what we could to help ease their pain.
Jenny calls us her Traveling Angels. Her motto is “we are saving the world, one house at a time.” The group has participated in disaster relief from New Orleans, Rushford, Hugo and Iowa. And that is just the beginning.
If you would like to volunteer for clean up in Iowa there is much to do and many ways to help. Not all jobs are as dirty. Individuals or groups who want to volunteer can sign up online with Corridor Recovery at: www.corridorrecovery.org/CedarRapidsArea.asp or call volunteer hotline at (319) 540.4810.
The people of Iowa will thank you and you meet some of the nicest people. Tell them the Angels sent you.
Peace.
“Be an angel to someone else whenever you can, as a way of thanking God for the help your angel has given you.” ~ Quoted in The Angels' Little Instruction Book by Eileen Elias Freeman, 1994
Thursday, July 10, 2008
The fine art of fireworks
“You are born an artist or you are not. And you stay an artist, dear, even if your voice is less of a fireworks. The artist is always there.” - Maria Callas
Next to Christmas and my birthday, I think the 4th of July is my favorite holiday. It is just so much fun.
I have always loved fireworks. Growing up in Bloomington, my parents brought us kids to see the 4th of July fireworks every year. Whether we were at our cabin on Round Lake (near Park Rapids), or went on a picnic somewhere in the cities , or had a backyard BBQ with friends, no matter where we were, we always went to see the fireworks.
I remember one year we went to the old Met stadium in Bloomington. My dad parked the gold Ford Galaxy 500 and he pulled an old green and weathered Army blanket out of the trunk and spread it on the hood of the car and let us sit there eating popcorn brought from home. We were dressed in our jammies in case we fell asleep on the way home. I never did. I was just too excited.
I sat there on the edge of the hood with my neck cranked all the way back and my eyes on the sky waiting for 20 minutes before it was even dark. "You are going to get a sore neck" my mom said to me. I didn't care. I just didn't want to miss a thing. And I never ever did.
Fireworks have always been a wonderment for me. So when I got the idea to go behind the scenes to find out how the shows are put together, I didn't know what I would find. Exactly. Did I want to know the secrets? or keep the mystery in the fire?
Knowing the secrets and finding the truth behind the scenes is in my blood. I had to know.
It was an amazing experience for me. Being that close to the process of setting them up and then shooting them off was one to add to my “coolest experiences ever” list.
Lon Schmidt, the go-to PIC (person in charge) was very tolerant of my never ending questions. He often chuckled and I wasn’t quite sure if he was laughing at me or laughing with me. Either way is OK with me. And when he asked me if I wanted to pull the trigger to start the show I was stunned. I believe I stared with that doe-in-the-headlights look ... “Um, are you serious? Yeah! That would be awesome!”
And it was. Simply amazing.
It was an unbelievable feeling to pull that trigger and fire those explosives while standing less than 200 feet away. Lon warned me of the dangers of being so close, but I didn’t think twice. I wanted to be there. And I stayed up close when I was done.
I could not only see the fireworks I have always marveled at, but that day I could feel them. The explosions shook the ground sending vibrations through my feet that traveled through every inch of my body. It was an unbelievable fantastical sensation. Every one of my senses was alive. Smoke filled the air on the ground and above the tree-line sometimes so thick I could not see 200-feet in front of me. It was a slightly electrified sulphuric/medicinal/gun powder type of smell almost like when you blow out a Eucalyptus candle. Or 10,000 of them.
I watched more of what was happening on the ground than what was happening in the sky. A much different view of fireworks than I had ever witnessed before. And at times the pitch-black night became as bright as daylight when several went off simultaneously. Pieces of shells that resemble coconuts dropped to the ground all around me.
I could not believe Lon when he said the show lasted 24 minutes and 45 seconds. It was one of those feels-like-20-seconds-and-I-don’t-want-it-to-end moments. My heart was still pounding and I could feel my legs shaking. It was almost like landing on the ground after a parachute jump.
I did not once ever feel the danger. My brain knew it was there lingering on the edge, but I didn’t feel it. Perhaps it was because I felt comfortable after watching the way the crew worked to make sure everything went off the way it was suppose to. Murphy’s Law is always a possibility, but I didn’t think of it. And thank the Lord, nothing went wrong.
I thank Lon and the crew for putting up with me and showing me the ropes. I will never forget such an electrifying experience.
I have heard nothing but kudos from the towns-folk about the show. It really was one of the best shows Garrison has ever had. From my point of view it was by far the best on the lake and quite possibly the best show north of the Taste of Minnesota. If it were simulcast to music on the radio, it would be the best in Minnesota.
Happy Independence everyone.
Peace.
p.s.
And then Jeff Foxworthy said, "You may be a redneck if... your lifetime goal is to own a fireworks stand." I don't want to own one, but I do like to pull the trigger.
Check out the video at http://www.millelacsmessenger.com/main.asp?SectionID=1&SubSectionID=1&ArticleID=18754&TM=64553.52
Next to Christmas and my birthday, I think the 4th of July is my favorite holiday. It is just so much fun.
I have always loved fireworks. Growing up in Bloomington, my parents brought us kids to see the 4th of July fireworks every year. Whether we were at our cabin on Round Lake (near Park Rapids), or went on a picnic somewhere in the cities , or had a backyard BBQ with friends, no matter where we were, we always went to see the fireworks.
I remember one year we went to the old Met stadium in Bloomington. My dad parked the gold Ford Galaxy 500 and he pulled an old green and weathered Army blanket out of the trunk and spread it on the hood of the car and let us sit there eating popcorn brought from home. We were dressed in our jammies in case we fell asleep on the way home. I never did. I was just too excited.
I sat there on the edge of the hood with my neck cranked all the way back and my eyes on the sky waiting for 20 minutes before it was even dark. "You are going to get a sore neck" my mom said to me. I didn't care. I just didn't want to miss a thing. And I never ever did.
Fireworks have always been a wonderment for me. So when I got the idea to go behind the scenes to find out how the shows are put together, I didn't know what I would find. Exactly. Did I want to know the secrets? or keep the mystery in the fire?
Knowing the secrets and finding the truth behind the scenes is in my blood. I had to know.
It was an amazing experience for me. Being that close to the process of setting them up and then shooting them off was one to add to my “coolest experiences ever” list.
Lon Schmidt, the go-to PIC (person in charge) was very tolerant of my never ending questions. He often chuckled and I wasn’t quite sure if he was laughing at me or laughing with me. Either way is OK with me. And when he asked me if I wanted to pull the trigger to start the show I was stunned. I believe I stared with that doe-in-the-headlights look ... “Um, are you serious? Yeah! That would be awesome!”
And it was. Simply amazing.
It was an unbelievable feeling to pull that trigger and fire those explosives while standing less than 200 feet away. Lon warned me of the dangers of being so close, but I didn’t think twice. I wanted to be there. And I stayed up close when I was done.
I could not only see the fireworks I have always marveled at, but that day I could feel them. The explosions shook the ground sending vibrations through my feet that traveled through every inch of my body. It was an unbelievable fantastical sensation. Every one of my senses was alive. Smoke filled the air on the ground and above the tree-line sometimes so thick I could not see 200-feet in front of me. It was a slightly electrified sulphuric/medicinal/gun powder type of smell almost like when you blow out a Eucalyptus candle. Or 10,000 of them.
I watched more of what was happening on the ground than what was happening in the sky. A much different view of fireworks than I had ever witnessed before. And at times the pitch-black night became as bright as daylight when several went off simultaneously. Pieces of shells that resemble coconuts dropped to the ground all around me.
I could not believe Lon when he said the show lasted 24 minutes and 45 seconds. It was one of those feels-like-20-seconds-and-I-don’t-want-it-to-end moments. My heart was still pounding and I could feel my legs shaking. It was almost like landing on the ground after a parachute jump.
I did not once ever feel the danger. My brain knew it was there lingering on the edge, but I didn’t feel it. Perhaps it was because I felt comfortable after watching the way the crew worked to make sure everything went off the way it was suppose to. Murphy’s Law is always a possibility, but I didn’t think of it. And thank the Lord, nothing went wrong.
I thank Lon and the crew for putting up with me and showing me the ropes. I will never forget such an electrifying experience.
I have heard nothing but kudos from the towns-folk about the show. It really was one of the best shows Garrison has ever had. From my point of view it was by far the best on the lake and quite possibly the best show north of the Taste of Minnesota. If it were simulcast to music on the radio, it would be the best in Minnesota.
Happy Independence everyone.
Peace.
p.s.
And then Jeff Foxworthy said, "You may be a redneck if... your lifetime goal is to own a fireworks stand." I don't want to own one, but I do like to pull the trigger.
Check out the video at http://www.millelacsmessenger.com/main.asp?SectionID=1&SubSectionID=1&ArticleID=18754&TM=64553.52
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
War and peace ... peace and war
“The earth laughs in flowers.” - E.E. Cummings
Flowers are one of the things I look forward to most about summer. I don't have exquisite gardens, just a few little beds and some pots on my deck and patio. But flowers add so much with the bright colored blooms on long stems bending in the breeze off the lake sending soft gentle scents to linger in the air. It is as though the earth is if not laughing then at least smiling when the flowers are blooming.
The vibrant colors draw hummingbirds and butterflies nearer to see sometimes staying long enough for me to photograph them.
Apparently, the lovely flowers also draw other creatures.
I woke up yesterday and looked out my window at my flowerbed. I knew I would find the naked little marigolds resting peacefully on the edge of the flowerbed.
But to my extreme horror all of the bright red flowers were gone, too! Nibbled off leaving nothing but the tall stems.
I am telling you I just about cried.
I don't know the name of those flowers, but they were cool. Bright red blooms with big petals on tall stems and the broad big green leaves with rounded edges. They were just cool.
And now they are naked.
This is war.
The more I think about it the more I believe the culprits to be deer. Living by a lake surrounded by woods, this is not hard to believe. But I thought having three big dogs might discourage the wilder animals from coming into our yard at all. I guess that alone will not do it.
I enjoy living in the woods. There is so much to offer. And I don't want to fence off my yard or even the flowers. I just don't want the deer to eat them.
But then I was thinking, I had the opportunity to enjoy them for a few days. I looked at all the beauty they offered and a sense of peace they gave me. They made my home looked more alive.
I suppose I need to look at it through different eyes. If the deer needed the flowers for nourishment, then they needed them more than I did.
I don't really need the flowers to make my home more alive. There is almost always activity buzzing either in the yard or by the water. There are neighborhood kids running to and fro leaving behind a trail of bikes, hula-hoops, baseballs, basketballs, squirt guns and a slew of other toys. One look and it is easy to tell our home is alive.
Still, the flowers offer a sense of balance to the chaos that sometimes comes with so much activity. And they were beautiful to look at. At least for a little while.
Peace.
p.s. Just another way to look at it:
“I realized that Eastern thought had somewhat more compassion for all living things. Man was a form of life that in another reincarnation might possibly be a horsefly or a bird of paradise or a deer. So a man of such faith, looking at animals, might be looking at old friends or ancestors.”
William Orville Douglas
Flowers are one of the things I look forward to most about summer. I don't have exquisite gardens, just a few little beds and some pots on my deck and patio. But flowers add so much with the bright colored blooms on long stems bending in the breeze off the lake sending soft gentle scents to linger in the air. It is as though the earth is if not laughing then at least smiling when the flowers are blooming.
The vibrant colors draw hummingbirds and butterflies nearer to see sometimes staying long enough for me to photograph them.
Apparently, the lovely flowers also draw other creatures.
I woke up yesterday and looked out my window at my flowerbed. I knew I would find the naked little marigolds resting peacefully on the edge of the flowerbed.
But to my extreme horror all of the bright red flowers were gone, too! Nibbled off leaving nothing but the tall stems.
I am telling you I just about cried.
I don't know the name of those flowers, but they were cool. Bright red blooms with big petals on tall stems and the broad big green leaves with rounded edges. They were just cool.
And now they are naked.
This is war.
The more I think about it the more I believe the culprits to be deer. Living by a lake surrounded by woods, this is not hard to believe. But I thought having three big dogs might discourage the wilder animals from coming into our yard at all. I guess that alone will not do it.
I enjoy living in the woods. There is so much to offer. And I don't want to fence off my yard or even the flowers. I just don't want the deer to eat them.
But then I was thinking, I had the opportunity to enjoy them for a few days. I looked at all the beauty they offered and a sense of peace they gave me. They made my home looked more alive.
I suppose I need to look at it through different eyes. If the deer needed the flowers for nourishment, then they needed them more than I did.
I don't really need the flowers to make my home more alive. There is almost always activity buzzing either in the yard or by the water. There are neighborhood kids running to and fro leaving behind a trail of bikes, hula-hoops, baseballs, basketballs, squirt guns and a slew of other toys. One look and it is easy to tell our home is alive.
Still, the flowers offer a sense of balance to the chaos that sometimes comes with so much activity. And they were beautiful to look at. At least for a little while.
Peace.
p.s. Just another way to look at it:
“I realized that Eastern thought had somewhat more compassion for all living things. Man was a form of life that in another reincarnation might possibly be a horsefly or a bird of paradise or a deer. So a man of such faith, looking at animals, might be looking at old friends or ancestors.”
William Orville Douglas
Friday, June 27, 2008
Life at the lake
OK, so I finally got around to planting my flowers for the year. Usually, I am done with this project by around Mother's Day. But weather did not allow that to happen this year. Then I ran short on time, and a balance in my bank account.
When all the stars aligned last Saturday, I purchased my new flowers.
For the last few years, I had been trying to go totally perennial. The plan was, I could spend a little more one time and let nature take Her course, the lovely plants and blooming flowers would just come back year after year and I would not have to spend another dime.
Well, nature certainly did take Her course. I have been battling little varmints that eat my plants. Some apparently choose to eat them from the roots up. Others wait until spring when the fresh green shoots begin to surface and then chew the vegetation down to the dirt.
This year, some of my favorite flowers didn't make it.
I had it. I decided the plan wasn't working and went back to annuals. I got a variety of really cool looking blooming flowers and plants with various textures and colors. I can't pronounce, nor spell, any single one of them. Just cool looking flowers with vibrant colors. I kind of arranged them in the bed in front of my house but tried to make it look like it was not symmetrical, but had some sort of nature flow. All in all, I thought it looked beautiful.
I had heard that rabbits did not like marigolds. I am not particularly fond of them myself. But some are not so bad. So I bought a flat of them to plant on the perimeter of my front yard flower bed. The plan was to surround the pretty flowers with the marigolds to keep the bunnies away.
The plan was working. For about three days.
On the fourth day I looked out my front window and to my horror, every bloom from the marigolds had been picked off each and every plant during the night.
I did not see any little bunny tracks in the soil, so I am left wondering who ate them? I am thinking a deer tip-toed up the the house and helped himself to a midnight snack. Some little fury critter ate them all, that is all I know for sure. Now I have naked marigolds surrounding my unique flowers. And I am afraid for their lives.
There are definite pluses to living in the woods. And there are a few minuses as well.
The frustration of the swallowed up marigolds is running second to the frustration of adequate Internet service.
I currently have dial up. I am too far away from any box to receive cable or DSL. So finally broke down and decided to take the leap to satellite Internet service.
Three weeks of waiting for the provider to tell me it would work left me ecstatic with anticipation of surfing the web, transferring files, sending emails with large photo attachments, video phone conversations and instant messaging that is really instant and down loading music at warp speeds. My son was looking forward to being able to watch a three minute You Tube video in three minutes instead of 20 minutes.
The technicians were out at my house this morning installing the dish -- bigger than the satellite TV dish by twice, but at least not the size of the dishes from the 80s.
I was thinking aliens would be able to find my house quite easily now.
Much to my disappointment, after the three hour install, or should I say install attempt, I learned that the dish thing really wont work at my house unless I cut down a tree -- or at least the top half of it.
I think it is a sacrifice I am just going to have to make.
I will miss that tree. But I will get over it as long as I can surf the web.
Now I need a chain saw....
Peace.
When all the stars aligned last Saturday, I purchased my new flowers.
For the last few years, I had been trying to go totally perennial. The plan was, I could spend a little more one time and let nature take Her course, the lovely plants and blooming flowers would just come back year after year and I would not have to spend another dime.
Well, nature certainly did take Her course. I have been battling little varmints that eat my plants. Some apparently choose to eat them from the roots up. Others wait until spring when the fresh green shoots begin to surface and then chew the vegetation down to the dirt.
This year, some of my favorite flowers didn't make it.
I had it. I decided the plan wasn't working and went back to annuals. I got a variety of really cool looking blooming flowers and plants with various textures and colors. I can't pronounce, nor spell, any single one of them. Just cool looking flowers with vibrant colors. I kind of arranged them in the bed in front of my house but tried to make it look like it was not symmetrical, but had some sort of nature flow. All in all, I thought it looked beautiful.
I had heard that rabbits did not like marigolds. I am not particularly fond of them myself. But some are not so bad. So I bought a flat of them to plant on the perimeter of my front yard flower bed. The plan was to surround the pretty flowers with the marigolds to keep the bunnies away.
The plan was working. For about three days.
On the fourth day I looked out my front window and to my horror, every bloom from the marigolds had been picked off each and every plant during the night.
I did not see any little bunny tracks in the soil, so I am left wondering who ate them? I am thinking a deer tip-toed up the the house and helped himself to a midnight snack. Some little fury critter ate them all, that is all I know for sure. Now I have naked marigolds surrounding my unique flowers. And I am afraid for their lives.
There are definite pluses to living in the woods. And there are a few minuses as well.
The frustration of the swallowed up marigolds is running second to the frustration of adequate Internet service.
I currently have dial up. I am too far away from any box to receive cable or DSL. So finally broke down and decided to take the leap to satellite Internet service.
Three weeks of waiting for the provider to tell me it would work left me ecstatic with anticipation of surfing the web, transferring files, sending emails with large photo attachments, video phone conversations and instant messaging that is really instant and down loading music at warp speeds. My son was looking forward to being able to watch a three minute You Tube video in three minutes instead of 20 minutes.
The technicians were out at my house this morning installing the dish -- bigger than the satellite TV dish by twice, but at least not the size of the dishes from the 80s.
I was thinking aliens would be able to find my house quite easily now.
Much to my disappointment, after the three hour install, or should I say install attempt, I learned that the dish thing really wont work at my house unless I cut down a tree -- or at least the top half of it.
I think it is a sacrifice I am just going to have to make.
I will miss that tree. But I will get over it as long as I can surf the web.
Now I need a chain saw....
Peace.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Music is what feelings sound like
“Music and rhythm find their way into the secret places of the soul.” -- Plato
I have been to a few outdoor music festivals in my life. There really is something special about listening to music on a perfect summer night when the mosquitoes are gone, the sky is clear and a slight breeze is blowing. Top it off with a full moon and the stage is set. Ready to kick back and enjoy some fabulous music.
That is how it was on Friday, June 20 at the Log Jam held at Jacks on Mille Lacs.
The crowd was slight compared to what the venue could host. I suppose the word hasn’t gotten out about the quality of music. Or perhaps, it is that troubled economic insecurity and high gas prices that kept people away. All in all there were about 1,000 people in attendance, according to festival coordinators.
For those who did not go, you missed some fabulous people watching and some simply amazing music.
Ah, About the music:
I listened to Charlie Parr on the small stage at dusk. He is at least a one-time Minnesota Music Awards recipient and his talent is incredible. “I am pretty shy, really,” he said after his show. “I just like to sing.”
Very humble, too, I might add. It was great.
The headliner band that night was Trampled by Turtles. I had heard of them before as they are also Minnesota Music Awards recipients. But really didn’t know what to expect. As the time drew every nearer for the band to perform, the crowd gathered as close as they could to the stage. With hundreds of people vying for a pirme spot up cloe to the stage, the ceremonial “Log” was placed on the stage (later removed by security) and the band each drew pulls off a Jameson Irish whiskey bottle and passed it through the crowd to their delight.
When the music started, the fans went wild. Well, in their own “blissful” way. No one was out of control. Mostly people listening, singing along, cheering but all “happy” and smiling and dancing.
The music was amazing. The band, made up of Dave Simonett, Erik Berry, Tim Saxhaug, Dave Carroll and Ryan Young all sit in chairs in a straight line across the stage. Apparently, the leader will not let them stand. (A little trivia — unconfirmed — I heard.)
But whatever the reason, I have not seen so much heart poured into an instrument since I left the House of Blues in New Orleans. Each member of the Turtles gave so much it is amazing they didn’t leave with bleeding fingers from all of the intense guitar picking. And perhaps they did.
They are a Band native to Duluth and are pretty big regionally. They are building a solid national following as well. Time will tell.
Reviews from the fans were:
“They have heart,” Beth Goshey from Crosby and Duluth said.
“They are the best thing to happen to blue grass in a long time,” Mike Hilbrand of Grand Forks said.
“They are in my top ten. Right there with the Grateful Dead,” Berdine Swanson of Lake Bronson said.
Hillbrand added, “When people think blue grass and banjo they get a little freaked. Like they think of some weired dude sitting on a porch. But these guys are not like that. They are so together and talented. Their lyrics are something everyone can relate to.”
The people watching:
I suppose you could call it a “hippie” scene. Women in long layered skirts sewn from cotton or hemp, tank tops and bare feet. Body piercings, tattoos and dreadlocks were prevalent for many of the male gender (and a few of the females). The accessories were mostly delightful natural, handcrafted items with beads, stones, and recycled bottle caps and such. A very earthy feel.
The attitudes of the festivalgoers were one of happiness and bliss. Smiles on most faces. A very few blank stares. But all seemingly very laid back. Comfortable in their own skin. Sort of the happy-hippie-peace-and-love feeling. I felt the need to find a daisy and a big yellow smiley face sticker to put on my Jeep. But there were none for me to find.
Vendors:
I first visited with Zoey. She is a 7-year-old girl who makes and sells hula-hoops. I think her parents actually do most of the work, but this little girl has a sales pitch that was very hard to turn down.
Not only does she sell the circular toys for kids of all ages, she gives lessons. She and her friends crowded around and tried to teach me a trick or two. Now I can hula-hoop with some of the best of them. We have contests at my house all the time. But Zoey has some tricks I hadn’t thought of before. Like I said, she tried to teach me, but I am not sure my knees can handle it. Maybe I just need practice.
“Always start to the right,” Zoey’s friend Tyrone said. He is 9 years old. “The key is to keep your body moving — just the bottom part — not the top. And don’t let the hoop go crazy.”
I think I will try that.
Then I had my aura read at Aura Borealis by Christy Steinbach. It didn’t hurt. I don’t know exactly how it was done, but it was a pretty cool experience. I guess I have a rather large aura. And my charkas (all 7 of them) were pretty much OK. I tend to be pretty balanced, she said. At least I was at that moment.
Then I had a lesson on the Djembe — a drum native to West Africa. It is the healing drum for the planet and unification of all people, Matthew Mueller of Cannon Falls said. He runs Pachyderm Recording Studio as his "real" job. Artists like Nirvana, Live, P.J. Harvey, Soul Asylum, The Jayhawks, and many more have produced hit records there. While he has met some pretty big names, this dude is not too big for his shoes — when he wears them. He also takes his drums — about 20 to 30 at a time — into schools to give lessons to kids.
“The kids love it,” he said.
Guess that about sums it up.
Oh, wait - Save the earth - reduce - reuse - recycle, or at least pick up your own trash.
There is one more thing I would like to point out. Honestly, this was one of the cleanest outdoor music festivals I have attended. I did not see trash strewed around the ground, or empty cans or bottles tossed haphazardly.
Perhaps it is the peace-love-save-the-earth attitude of the majority of the festivalgoers. But whatever it was, I wish it were contagious. I have seen more garbage left on the streets after local parades during the “Days” celebrations at all of the towns scattered around the lake. Even empty water bottles left on the bleachers at little league baseball games. It saddens me to think people cannot, or will not, pick up after themselves and find a trashcan and recycling bin.
Maybe I should get myself one of those Djembe drums.
Bluegrass and outlaw country music are a very welcome festival in my book.
Peace.
"Without music, life would be an error." - Friedrich Nietzsche
I have been to a few outdoor music festivals in my life. There really is something special about listening to music on a perfect summer night when the mosquitoes are gone, the sky is clear and a slight breeze is blowing. Top it off with a full moon and the stage is set. Ready to kick back and enjoy some fabulous music.
That is how it was on Friday, June 20 at the Log Jam held at Jacks on Mille Lacs.
The crowd was slight compared to what the venue could host. I suppose the word hasn’t gotten out about the quality of music. Or perhaps, it is that troubled economic insecurity and high gas prices that kept people away. All in all there were about 1,000 people in attendance, according to festival coordinators.
For those who did not go, you missed some fabulous people watching and some simply amazing music.
Ah, About the music:
I listened to Charlie Parr on the small stage at dusk. He is at least a one-time Minnesota Music Awards recipient and his talent is incredible. “I am pretty shy, really,” he said after his show. “I just like to sing.”
Very humble, too, I might add. It was great.
The headliner band that night was Trampled by Turtles. I had heard of them before as they are also Minnesota Music Awards recipients. But really didn’t know what to expect. As the time drew every nearer for the band to perform, the crowd gathered as close as they could to the stage. With hundreds of people vying for a pirme spot up cloe to the stage, the ceremonial “Log” was placed on the stage (later removed by security) and the band each drew pulls off a Jameson Irish whiskey bottle and passed it through the crowd to their delight.
When the music started, the fans went wild. Well, in their own “blissful” way. No one was out of control. Mostly people listening, singing along, cheering but all “happy” and smiling and dancing.
The music was amazing. The band, made up of Dave Simonett, Erik Berry, Tim Saxhaug, Dave Carroll and Ryan Young all sit in chairs in a straight line across the stage. Apparently, the leader will not let them stand. (A little trivia — unconfirmed — I heard.)
But whatever the reason, I have not seen so much heart poured into an instrument since I left the House of Blues in New Orleans. Each member of the Turtles gave so much it is amazing they didn’t leave with bleeding fingers from all of the intense guitar picking. And perhaps they did.
They are a Band native to Duluth and are pretty big regionally. They are building a solid national following as well. Time will tell.
Reviews from the fans were:
“They have heart,” Beth Goshey from Crosby and Duluth said.
“They are the best thing to happen to blue grass in a long time,” Mike Hilbrand of Grand Forks said.
“They are in my top ten. Right there with the Grateful Dead,” Berdine Swanson of Lake Bronson said.
Hillbrand added, “When people think blue grass and banjo they get a little freaked. Like they think of some weired dude sitting on a porch. But these guys are not like that. They are so together and talented. Their lyrics are something everyone can relate to.”
The people watching:
I suppose you could call it a “hippie” scene. Women in long layered skirts sewn from cotton or hemp, tank tops and bare feet. Body piercings, tattoos and dreadlocks were prevalent for many of the male gender (and a few of the females). The accessories were mostly delightful natural, handcrafted items with beads, stones, and recycled bottle caps and such. A very earthy feel.
The attitudes of the festivalgoers were one of happiness and bliss. Smiles on most faces. A very few blank stares. But all seemingly very laid back. Comfortable in their own skin. Sort of the happy-hippie-peace-and-love feeling. I felt the need to find a daisy and a big yellow smiley face sticker to put on my Jeep. But there were none for me to find.
Vendors:
I first visited with Zoey. She is a 7-year-old girl who makes and sells hula-hoops. I think her parents actually do most of the work, but this little girl has a sales pitch that was very hard to turn down.
Not only does she sell the circular toys for kids of all ages, she gives lessons. She and her friends crowded around and tried to teach me a trick or two. Now I can hula-hoop with some of the best of them. We have contests at my house all the time. But Zoey has some tricks I hadn’t thought of before. Like I said, she tried to teach me, but I am not sure my knees can handle it. Maybe I just need practice.
“Always start to the right,” Zoey’s friend Tyrone said. He is 9 years old. “The key is to keep your body moving — just the bottom part — not the top. And don’t let the hoop go crazy.”
I think I will try that.
Then I had my aura read at Aura Borealis by Christy Steinbach. It didn’t hurt. I don’t know exactly how it was done, but it was a pretty cool experience. I guess I have a rather large aura. And my charkas (all 7 of them) were pretty much OK. I tend to be pretty balanced, she said. At least I was at that moment.
Then I had a lesson on the Djembe — a drum native to West Africa. It is the healing drum for the planet and unification of all people, Matthew Mueller of Cannon Falls said. He runs Pachyderm Recording Studio as his "real" job. Artists like Nirvana, Live, P.J. Harvey, Soul Asylum, The Jayhawks, and many more have produced hit records there. While he has met some pretty big names, this dude is not too big for his shoes — when he wears them. He also takes his drums — about 20 to 30 at a time — into schools to give lessons to kids.
“The kids love it,” he said.
Guess that about sums it up.
Oh, wait - Save the earth - reduce - reuse - recycle, or at least pick up your own trash.
There is one more thing I would like to point out. Honestly, this was one of the cleanest outdoor music festivals I have attended. I did not see trash strewed around the ground, or empty cans or bottles tossed haphazardly.
Perhaps it is the peace-love-save-the-earth attitude of the majority of the festivalgoers. But whatever it was, I wish it were contagious. I have seen more garbage left on the streets after local parades during the “Days” celebrations at all of the towns scattered around the lake. Even empty water bottles left on the bleachers at little league baseball games. It saddens me to think people cannot, or will not, pick up after themselves and find a trashcan and recycling bin.
Maybe I should get myself one of those Djembe drums.
Bluegrass and outlaw country music are a very welcome festival in my book.
Peace.
"Without music, life would be an error." - Friedrich Nietzsche
Friday, June 20, 2008
faith in human nature
“I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word in reality. This is why right, temporarily defeated, is stronger than evil triumphant.”
- Martin Luther King, Jr.
It has been a while since my last blog. I could tell you that I have been so dreadfully busy that I haven’t had much time. But that would not be entirely honest. While I have been busy, I have also been disenchanted.
I can’t blame it on anyone or anything in particular. There are a lot of issues that contributed to my mundane feelings. With local issues clouding out the seriousness of the bigger world I sort of just threw my hands in the air and gave up. Defeated.
Throughout my life I have, for the most part, been a positive person. Not exactly a Pollyanna but I could find the silver lining in just about anything. When life brings you lemons, make lemonade sort of thing.
People were my biggest issue. I had been tossed so much negativity that even the largest pile of the largest hematite could not deflect.
In this business a person needs some pretty tough skin. I can usually hold my own and don’t take things personally. But I just couldn’t squeeze anything else out of the lemons life had given me. I just came to work, did my job and went home. I could not understand what happened. Boring and mundane is not usually my thing. What is the world coming to?
I needed some fresh air to blow the cobwebs out and start over.
And then I came across a story that restored my faith in human nature. I heard of a family that reached out to young girl and her family, and totally, unconditionally helped them. They helped for no other reason than because it felt right.
You will be able to read the story in an upcoming issue of the Messenger. I hope you will find something in the story that inspires you. Whether it lifts your spirits only a little bit or it inspires you to go out in the world and “pay it forward” I hope you will find someway to connect to it.
The family had the means to help financially. While, unless I win the lottery, I don’t see a major donation to anyone or any charity in my near future. But there are so many other things people like me can do to help.
I will continue to do all I can to keep holding on to what I believe is true. That people really are good. Sometimes you just need to feel temporarily defeated to get your feet planted back on the ground and heading in the right direction.
Peace.
- Martin Luther King, Jr.
It has been a while since my last blog. I could tell you that I have been so dreadfully busy that I haven’t had much time. But that would not be entirely honest. While I have been busy, I have also been disenchanted.
I can’t blame it on anyone or anything in particular. There are a lot of issues that contributed to my mundane feelings. With local issues clouding out the seriousness of the bigger world I sort of just threw my hands in the air and gave up. Defeated.
Throughout my life I have, for the most part, been a positive person. Not exactly a Pollyanna but I could find the silver lining in just about anything. When life brings you lemons, make lemonade sort of thing.
People were my biggest issue. I had been tossed so much negativity that even the largest pile of the largest hematite could not deflect.
In this business a person needs some pretty tough skin. I can usually hold my own and don’t take things personally. But I just couldn’t squeeze anything else out of the lemons life had given me. I just came to work, did my job and went home. I could not understand what happened. Boring and mundane is not usually my thing. What is the world coming to?
I needed some fresh air to blow the cobwebs out and start over.
And then I came across a story that restored my faith in human nature. I heard of a family that reached out to young girl and her family, and totally, unconditionally helped them. They helped for no other reason than because it felt right.
You will be able to read the story in an upcoming issue of the Messenger. I hope you will find something in the story that inspires you. Whether it lifts your spirits only a little bit or it inspires you to go out in the world and “pay it forward” I hope you will find someway to connect to it.
The family had the means to help financially. While, unless I win the lottery, I don’t see a major donation to anyone or any charity in my near future. But there are so many other things people like me can do to help.
I will continue to do all I can to keep holding on to what I believe is true. That people really are good. Sometimes you just need to feel temporarily defeated to get your feet planted back on the ground and heading in the right direction.
Peace.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
My opinion on gill nets
Opinions are like (noses), everybody’s got one.
“The foolish and the dead alone never change their opinions.” - James Russell Lowell
The story of the lost tribal gill nets on Mille Lacs Lake has generated a lot of talk. Much of the discussion has quieted down.
A lot of people have posted comments and questions on the Messenger web page and on blogs. Some of the questions have been thoughtful while others have been redundant. The questions that have warranted answers have been answered, or so it seems.
Except for a couple. One in particular asked of me by “John.” He wanted to know if I had changed my position regarding gill nets.
While I don’t believe I ever spelled out my position, or opinion, about gill netting in particular (show me word for word if I did), I have given John's question a lot of thought.
As a writer, I am first an observer. I like to interview people in person, or be on the scene of whatever it is I am covering so I can see first hand what it is all about and feel some of the emotions. I listen to people. I watch people. I watch the whole situation as best as I can. Get the big picture. I sometimes get lost in the listening and the watching. But I feel I have to, to be able to tell the story. And then as a writer I tell you what I have found.
As a writer, what I think and feel, or my position on a subject, doesn’t really matter. As the writer, I should be out in the margins, not even a sidebar to the story. Because that is where writers belong. If I become a part of the story, then I am not an observer. If I am not being an observer, then I cannot be a storyteller.
There are exceptions, of course, to every rule. An op/ed piece is completely different than a hard news story and/or a feature story. However, some feature stories can be written in first person, and then of course, that puts me in the story. Opinions and editorials are of course, what they are.
But news is news.
I watched the entire story play out before my eyes. I was actually in a boat, on the water, in Garrison Bay and St. Alban’s Bay the night the ice floe moved in covering a story on electro fishing. I am not an expert, but there was barely a wind. The water was calm and it was a beautiful sunset. I gave no thought to the floe lingering just out of my view. And I watched as Band members set their nets for the evening.
I finished gathering electro fishing information and went home. It was well after 10 p.m. when I left the bay. I remember it being quiet. Peaceful. Not much wind to speak of. Only a gentle lapping of the waves on the rocks at the landing. Apparently, a few short hours later, something changed.
The following morning, I stopped by Garrison Bay again. I had no idea there were nets trapped below the surface when I first pulled into the parking lot. One look at the bay, and knowing there were 100’s of nets set the night before, and watching Band members struggle to maneuver their boats through the ice, I knew.
So I watched.
I listened.
I watched some more.
And the rest of the story has been written.
This is what I do.
I stand behind the facts as I have presented them to you — as they have been presented to me. The only factual information I have is from biologists and law enforcement from the Minnesota DNR and GLIFWC. Anything else is heresy and cannot be construed as fact without means to back it up.
What I have watched playout before my eyes since then has done nothing to increase my view of mankind.
Peace.
“The foolish and the dead alone never change their opinions.” - James Russell Lowell
The story of the lost tribal gill nets on Mille Lacs Lake has generated a lot of talk. Much of the discussion has quieted down.
A lot of people have posted comments and questions on the Messenger web page and on blogs. Some of the questions have been thoughtful while others have been redundant. The questions that have warranted answers have been answered, or so it seems.
Except for a couple. One in particular asked of me by “John.” He wanted to know if I had changed my position regarding gill nets.
While I don’t believe I ever spelled out my position, or opinion, about gill netting in particular (show me word for word if I did), I have given John's question a lot of thought.
As a writer, I am first an observer. I like to interview people in person, or be on the scene of whatever it is I am covering so I can see first hand what it is all about and feel some of the emotions. I listen to people. I watch people. I watch the whole situation as best as I can. Get the big picture. I sometimes get lost in the listening and the watching. But I feel I have to, to be able to tell the story. And then as a writer I tell you what I have found.
As a writer, what I think and feel, or my position on a subject, doesn’t really matter. As the writer, I should be out in the margins, not even a sidebar to the story. Because that is where writers belong. If I become a part of the story, then I am not an observer. If I am not being an observer, then I cannot be a storyteller.
There are exceptions, of course, to every rule. An op/ed piece is completely different than a hard news story and/or a feature story. However, some feature stories can be written in first person, and then of course, that puts me in the story. Opinions and editorials are of course, what they are.
But news is news.
I watched the entire story play out before my eyes. I was actually in a boat, on the water, in Garrison Bay and St. Alban’s Bay the night the ice floe moved in covering a story on electro fishing. I am not an expert, but there was barely a wind. The water was calm and it was a beautiful sunset. I gave no thought to the floe lingering just out of my view. And I watched as Band members set their nets for the evening.
I finished gathering electro fishing information and went home. It was well after 10 p.m. when I left the bay. I remember it being quiet. Peaceful. Not much wind to speak of. Only a gentle lapping of the waves on the rocks at the landing. Apparently, a few short hours later, something changed.
The following morning, I stopped by Garrison Bay again. I had no idea there were nets trapped below the surface when I first pulled into the parking lot. One look at the bay, and knowing there were 100’s of nets set the night before, and watching Band members struggle to maneuver their boats through the ice, I knew.
So I watched.
I listened.
I watched some more.
And the rest of the story has been written.
This is what I do.
I stand behind the facts as I have presented them to you — as they have been presented to me. The only factual information I have is from biologists and law enforcement from the Minnesota DNR and GLIFWC. Anything else is heresy and cannot be construed as fact without means to back it up.
What I have watched playout before my eyes since then has done nothing to increase my view of mankind.
Peace.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
