December 22, 2014

There's Magic in the Air

He is mystery and magic, compassion and caring, giving and graciousness.  His legend is celebrated the world over in various fashion year after year at Christmas time and through the ages his gleam has never tarnished nor appeal diminished.   Those of us who believe in magic, whatever our age, celebrate annually the joy of the season, the birth of the Christ child, and the magic of St. Nicholas.

The man, by any other name, would be as sweet, (to borrow Shakespeare's famous line from Romeo and Juliet).  Indeed, he carries many different monikers including Father Christmas in the United Kingdom, Pere Noel in France, Christ Kind in Germany, Sinterklaas in Holland and Kris Kringle here in the United States.  

Whatever his name and however he visits the children around the world, the legend born of St. Nicholas, a  Bishop who lived in the fourth century AD, lives on in infamy.  Story has it that Nicholas, a very kind and wealthy man, was known for helping the poor and giving secret gifts to people in need.  

The custom of hanging a stocking in hopes of it being filled with a secret gift by St. Nicholas, originated from the story that, seeing that a rather poor family did not have enough money to provide a dowry for the eldest of three daughters, the benevolent man climbed upon the housetop and secretly dropped a bag of gold down the chimney where it feel into a stocking that had been hung there to dry.  Nicholas, upon being discovered by the father, begged him not to reveal his secret for he didn't wish to bring attention to himself.  The word got out as it is apt to do, and from then on it was believed that whenever someone received a secret gift, it was from Nicholas.

In 1823 the famous poem "A Visit from St. Nicholas", or "T'was the Night before Christmas", was published by Clement C. Moore, describing eight reindeer and a lively, rotund St. Nicholas.  The reindeer were given names and further immortalized in the story, "Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer", written by Robert L. May for a Montgomery Ward as a holiday give away, in 1939.  

Santa Claus has remained immortal for hundreds of years and isn't likely to disappear any time soon.  (At least in my home, that is.)  There will always be  magic in the air and a twinkle in the sky on Christmas Eve.  And isn't that what Christmas is all about?  

Merry Christmas to one and all!!

Consider Santa Claus at work...

He must clamber in and out of his precariously perched sleigh, 

To march steadily along the icy slops of rooftops.

He must tiptoe on carpets to cause sleeping dogs no distress, 

Read notes, fill stockings, and empty his pack,

Reflected in the cat's glowing eyes.

Santa will kiss sweaty curly-tops,

Gently bless a cast or bandage, and dry tears,

Fetch a hanky or a very small drink of water,

Or sprinkle sand into sleepy eyes.

He may need to tuck in a blanket,

Plug in a night-light, button a button,

Or zip up a zipper.

He may turn off a dripping faucet,

Or a burner on the stove,

Straighten a rug, draw the drapes,

Or smother an ember at the fireplace.

Then there is warm milk or col cocoa with which to deal,

And cookie crumbs to brush away.

Santa Claus must be a Grampa!

Written by JoAn Bakker

December 15, 2014

Last Minute Shopping Joys & Woes

Here we are, down to the wire as they would say.   I'm not sure what that means but it sounds pretty serious.  I won't even remind you of the dwindling number of shopping days until Christmas because you are either a) one of those souls whose shopping list is pretty much a sheet full of scratched out, checked off notations long before the eve of "Black Friday", or b) are of the group of those that just reminding you that the final 240 hours and soon to be 216 hours and then to be 192 hours is now ticking away can set you into a panic that is akin to realizing that today is your mother's birthday and you have completely forgotten that fact.

The trick to being a last minute shopper is to make it appear that you have spent days and weeks in thoughtful contemplation, pouring over gift catalogs  for new and interesting items, perusing store aisles for that one perfect item, not settling for just ho-hum in the quest to match the one true gift with every person on your gift list.

For those of you who might not be quite on their toes about Christmas gift shopping,  there are still plenty of nice gifts out there for you to pick up for all of those special people on your list (and aren't they all special if they're on your list, after all?)  

My advice? Think practical.  In this case, there's not much time to go any other direction.   And don't cut corners on the presentation - gift wrap your present in the most elegant fashion possible.  If you can't manage that yourself then hire the job out.  It will make all the difference in the world and show that you do, indeed, truly care.

Here are my top suggestions for last minute Christmas gifts.  

1)  A couple new strings of Christmas lights - because surely the ones that were put up on Thanksgiving have already lost half of their illumination, (I suspect they're set on a timer to destruct after "x" number of days.)  They'll appreciate your thoughtfulness and I'll bet by buying them this near to Christmas you'll even get them at a great price.

2)  A calendar.  You should make sure it is for the new year (one time I purchased a calendar at a mall kiosk at what I thought was a great sales price....turns out it was a current year closeout not the new year's model).  It's the gift that keeps on giving day after day after day....

3)  Sign your loved one up for a class or new activity.  The possibilities here are endless.  There's yoga, oil painting, karate, sky diving, bungee jumping, bull riding, etc.  You get the picture.  If it's something you'd love to do, why not share that passion with someone else.  

4)  Chocolate.  Because it always fits.

5)  A "get-out-of-jail-free" card.  You never know when this might come in handy.  Include contact information to reach you in case of emergency, a pre-paid phone card (because chances are a quarter won't cut it if you're incarcerated these days), and the number of your favorite bail bond person.

6)  Time.  Not much explanation needed here.  Perhaps the most precious gift you can give someone.

7)  A smile and kind word.  Again, you can just about afford to give everyone person you ever meet this gift.  And it means so much.  Hey, and returns are always welcome when you give a smile.

8)  Scotch tape because, hey, it's not pretty when you run out of tape during a late night wrapping session and they will appreciate the fact that you are thinking ahead for them in preparation for next year.

9)  A book.  Any book.  One with pictures or one without.  Doesn't matter. Better yet, get them a library card - it's free and it keeps giving.....for a lifetime.

10)  A notebook.  And a pen.  Because at some point we all just have to start making that "bucket list" and unless you write these things down, well it's not truly a list.  

December 8, 2014

No Batteries Needed

Since I'm a grandmother in training, I have of late been paying attention to little ones who I encounter and how, in particular, they are amused by we bigger ones.  I have but five months to brush up on these tactics so I of course welcome any suggestions from other grandmothers on how to best prepare for the big event.

It's been quite some, you know, since I've been in the baby tending business.  And though one might say that just like riding a bicycle, it will all come back to me, I have my doubts.....I'm that much older now than in those baby rearing days and will I know just what to do to keep the little tot in joyful stitches rather than a stream of tears?

Well, I can tell you one thing:  my sisters and brother and I had a dad who was filled with imaginative, playful tactics and wasn't afraid to get on the floor with us and make a general fool of himself.  He did that, you know, because of the joyful gladness of hearing our peels of laughter and giggles of gladness.

Well, maybe he was just giving our mother a break from full-time, stay at home motherhood.  It's a Dad's job to do that after all.

Whatever the case, Dad let us romp upon  him, after he'd get into his "wrestling" clothes, and ride him like a bucking bronc in a rodeo.  He usually managed to buck us off after the 8 second rule but we'd come back even stronger, determined to tame the beast.

Another favorite Dad game was the chair he fashioned from his outstretched hand.  Every time we'd go to sit down on the chair it would break and we would collapse in fits of glee.  Then Dad would make a deal of fixing the broken chair with nails and glue and invite us to sit upon the throne, only to shatter it once again.  His horsey leg was apt to break as well.

Dad also possessed what might be called "monkey toes".  Strangely, he could manipulate those digits to pick objects up or to deliver a brutal pinch that we all tried desperately to avoid.  To this day I don't believe I've ever met anyone with such manual dexterity and control of one's toes.

Games played with Dad also included tossing and catching the baseball, drop kicking and passing the pig skin, and whipping a Frisbee dexterously through the air.  And learning the fine arts of the game of chess.  We may have been the youngest in our neighborhood to take to that difficult game of strategy.

Whatever the case, Dad always seemed to make time to provide us with plenty of homemade entertainment.  I guess that shouldn't be too hard for me when the time comes to be a grandmother, considering the training I had once upon a time when I was but a little tot.  

But if all else fails, I will start practicing my silly faces.  For what kid can resist laughing at a grown-up who is making a complete fool of oneself?  Who cares, because it's all about having fun and making that little one smile, isn't it?

Yes, and that is something that I think I can definitely manage.

December 1, 2014

Tracks Lead to Discovery

It snowed last week in the north country and the landscape was covered with an expanse of white carpet where once was frozen ground littered with random dried leaves.

As I made my way out the door and down the driveway to check the mailbox, I came across the usual array of various tracks on the pristine walkway:  mouse, rabbit, cat, dog, deer, cougar - all recognizable and familiar to me.  

The willy-nilly scratches in the snow led me to believe that there is a good deal of activity that goes on when we think the world has gone to sleep at dark-fall.

Then my eyes lit on a set of tracks that at once startled and baffled my senses.  At least a foot and half in length, the tracks were a sight to behold.  Could it, I wondered, be the famed Yeti of legend, or perhaps the Abominable Snowman, or yet even Sasquatch in these northern climes?  In our neighborhood??  Just the mere notion gave me goose bumps.

The tracks jutted out in a full ninety degree angle and the stride was mammoth in size.  Whoever, WHAT-ever made these tracks, I supposed, was a force to be reckoned.  

I followed the tracks, like any wise, curiosity seeker would do, along the path to the street and to the mailbox.  Where they abruptly ended.  And then they circled around and retreated homeward toward the house.  

It was then that I came to realize that the owner of these foot prints had walked right up the driveway and into the garage, further into the back door of the house (I deduced this by the puddling paths of debris that were left by the gigantic pedactic paddles on the garage floor.

Should I have been alarmed?  I was at first, until I realized that the foot prints had been made by none other than my own dad on his early morning trek to the mail box.  Dad's gait is recognizable for its jutting, somewhat birdlike manner. (Albeit a gigantic, possibly emu-like creature).   It is one that I, upon being likened to at times, have striven rigidly to avoid.  

Quickly I dashed back to the driveway to examine my own foot prints to the mailbox that morning.  Have I?  Did I?  Do I walk just like my father?  With relief I noticed that, near the birdlike indentations in the snow, was a set of completely parallel prints next to them.  Mine.

I have inherited many traits from my father, but apparently the bird walk is not one of them.  Okay, that's a relief, I must admit. 

And I am happy to report than Sasquatch is not in the neighborhood.

November 17, 2014

Memories Make a Home

"Picture perfect memories scattered all around the floor....." says the country song made popular in recent years by the group Lady Antebellum.  I thought I understood those words but not until recently did I truly get their meaning.

You see, in a lifetime there are a whole lot of memories that are gathered and collected, then tucked away neatly in a safe place.  Sometimes you take them out but mostly they are kept in place and not thought much about.

Until faced with them, that is.  The reality of it is, life sometimes presents changes that we just cannot avoid and when facing those circumstances, the memories come pouring out like a hundred-year flood.

Packing up my parent's belongings recently as they plan a move soon from their home of nearly thirty years to smaller apartment living has presented its share of memorable remembrances.  

Such as, I cannot help but remember the same place, exact day and year that I was in the position of unpacking all of these same things and putting them lovingly into place in the home they had just purchased and moved into.  It was so far from any home I remembered, but putting those well-known items into shelves and onto the walls just seemed to make that new environment their own.

And it did.

As the packing days went on, things continued to surface that I hadn't seen for too many years to even contemplate.  Memories.  We found the blueprints to the first (and only) house that they had built when I was but an infant.  That was the first and dearest home that I ever knew and to this day remains indelibly in my heart.

And mom presented me with a box of cards sent to me.  Birthday, Valentine's Day and other special events.  Letters written to me by my grandmother.  Letters I had written to my parents when I was away from them at camp.  She saved all of them all of these years.  Remarkable.

The rose-colored casserole dish that Mom always used to make my favorite hot dish (hamburger and noodles).  The yardstick that we measured our growth.  Stemware that held the first taste of wine on momentous Thanksgiving occasions when we were treated as adults and allowed a small sip of wine with our meal (though we still were seated at the kids' table, I might add).  

Scrapbooks filled with clippings of every sort, all lovingly preserved by our mother.  Files and folders filled with all manner of interesting memorabilia saved and carefully preserved by Dad for one reason or another.  Family history, legacies to be cherished.

These things all surfaced as we prepared for the move that would take them from their home to a new home.   

With them will travel many of these treasures as they settle into their new surroundings. But some of them will be passed on to us, their children, and cherished for our lifetime as well.   

Soon, though, the new place will be home once again, because a home is what you make it and what you put into it.  It is not a building, or a space or a memory.  Home is a place, anywhere, that you have around you in the space in which you live, the things that you love most.

So I will try to remember that as we leave behind a shell of an empty space that used to be home.  Because looking forward there will be a new home that will be filled with warmth, laughter and the occasional tear.  

But mostly, it will be filled with love and new memories.

November 10, 2014

Pet Ownership Can Be the Cat's Meow

Owning a pet can be a life altering experience indeed.  In taking on the care of an animal, one must commit to the good and bad, the ups and downs and the yin and yang so to speak.

Make no mistake, the benefits far outweigh the downsides, I'm here to attest.  But, just as there are wide arrays of colors of the rainbow and flavors of ice cream, so too are pet animals and their behavior.

Take, for example, my sister, who several years ago adopted a jet black feline friend whom she dubbed "Lacy".  Lacy was, once upon a time in her youth the kind of cat that would tolerate all manner of attention, graciously living up to her name.  

However, unlike fine wine, Lacy's capacity for decent social interaction diminished as the years unfolded.  She gradually took to lurking under furniture and staking out spots to be on the look out for any possible social intrusions to her peaceful existence.  

Once a confused visitor to their home remarked, after walking past the living room armoire, that something was leaking!  Turns out the disturbance was none other than Lacy who was exuding one of her menacing hissing growls at the innocent, unsuspecting passerby.

The other day, Lacy and her owner paid a visit to the veterinary office because the feline seemed to be suffering some sort of ailment.  Here's what happened, in her caregiver's words:

"Lacy was a terror and the vet never even got close to examining her.  We chased her around the room alternatively trying to throw a towel over her. Really, you would think a vet would have some tricks to retrieve her!  He gave her some pills to take twice a day, telling me that I could wrap them in a meaty 'treat' which of course Lacy won't like."

She went on to relate that Lacy was perfectly calm when returning home (of course), but when confronted with the nasty new food, she tried to bury it.  Go figure!!

As our pets age, their ailments often mirror those of their aging owners.  Mental confusion sometimes sets in as the days wane.  I once had a lovely Springer Spaniel named Annie who was beloved by all who knew her.  Annie never wandered past her yard and lived a long, lovely existence.   

As she reached the end of her life she began to wander into neighboring garages and even tried to visit the day care center at the church across the street.  She became confused and unsure in her old age yet still remained a much loved and cherished pet.  But alas, Annie one day disappeared and was never found.  I contend that wonderful dog did that to spare her owners the agony of saying "good-bye".  

Such a wise dog she was and I still mourn her loss and the fact that I never got to be with her as she took her final breath.  

Another of my sisters and her husband, after losing their beloved "Dukie", a sheep herding dog, found miraculously a younger, nearly identical version of their pet and dubbed him "Little Dukie".  

Little Dukie is a charming, energetic dog, with perky ears and a friendly demeanor.  As his breed often does, Dukie naturally tends to herd anything in sight, so when he is allowed out of doors in the yard, there is a good deal of running in circles involved.

The other day, says my sister, Dukie got a bit out of hand and ram-rodded Fritzie, the couple's aged other dog who was innocently taking in the fresh out-of-door weather.  Here's what happened:

"Today Dukie was running around playing outside and he was going full tilt and ran right in to poor Fritzie who was tooling along like an Edsel when the Dukie turbo-charged 'Vette broadsided him.  I felt so sorry for Fritzie that I ran to him and put my arms around him and hung on to him after righting him back up."

 It's not easy getting older and our animals rely on us for pretty much everything in their tiny worlds.  All I can say is bless the pet owners who have only the best intentions for their beloved animals in mind when they take on the responsibility of pet ownership.  

Signing on as a pet owner means there will be those kind of good byes again and again.  Believe me, though you might think these animals are the only ones reaping the benefits, it is we the pet owners who come out on top every time.

November 3, 2014

Holiday Antics Come Naturally to Us

Well another Halloween has come and gone, and with minimal pumpkin smashing and fire starting.  Kudos to those who might be tempted to ruin one of the best nights of the year with those senseless pranks.  

I, as usual, enjoyed a little harmless revelry on that night of nights.  Let's just say that the darling, daring little kiddos trick or treating my house got a little surprise when a lady with pink, flashy hair answered their beckoning door bell.  The way I see it, I was just instilling on their little psyches the important fact that one can never be too old to cut loose and enjoy such an enchanting night as All Hallow's Eve.

October 31 antics have always been a part of my life.  This was instilled upon me and my siblings by our dad, who led the parade when it came to enjoying the holiday.  Drawing from some of the harmless little pranks that he learned as a youngster, Dad taught his willing subjects the finer points of haunting at Halloween.

Sometimes that meant dressing in an oversized men's coat pulled over our head ala the Headless Horseman, and sitting in wait for the unsuspecting candy seekers to enter our domain.  I'm sure more than one fled in terror without even gathering a treat from the door.  Dad also taught us the art of haunting our favorite neighbor's house by rigging an invisible thread to open pull open their door, or running empty wooden thread spools across their window to create  eerie noises.  All of these tricks took days to perfect, which is half the fun when planning a haunt.

Of course there were the costumes and every year we'd either dig through the dress up trunk in search of hobo duds or gypsy garb or ghostly get ups.  One year we devised clever costumes using old white pillow cases on which we drew  exaggerated faces.  These were then placed over the head and when you held up your arms, they presented a garish spectacle.  

A favorite go-to costume of course was the witch, for which we'd always don one of our grandmother's old black dresses and a stiff, plastic mask that was held on by an elastic band around ones head.  Simple, yet very effective, I guarantee that much.

I'll admit that sometimes there was toilet papering involved, but of course that was without dad's consent.  I'm sure he would never condone such antics and mom wouldn't allow for the waste of perfectly good tp.  In fact, there were times when our family was the recipient of the decoration and our mom actually saved some of the better, usable portions of the paper.  Okay, maybe this is just myth but I seem to remember this happening on more than one occasion.

So, my generation comes by the enjoyment of the holiday naturally.  Brother always delves into it wholeheartedly and this year constructed a giant spider in his garage and placed it atop the roof.  I will have to say that just seeing the photographs actually gave me shivers and recollections of the B-movie thrillers where giant arachnids take over the world one house at a time came to mind.  

This year I rigged a battery powered, motion activated ghost on my front porch.  I'm sure it harmlessly entertained the youngsters who visited my front door with it's ghostly howl and movement to and fro.  

But flash forward a few hours later when the lights had gone dark and all were safely tucked into bed.  

Outside my window I heard an otherworldly moaning on my front lawn.  I awoke with a start and despite the warmth of the covers I was under, actually felt a spine shuddering fear.  Could it be......a ghoul outside that was intent on tricking me, the trickster herself?!  

As I lay there I wondered if I'd ever be able to return to my sound slumber.  But just as I was slipping back to sleep another ghastly moan started up......and it was then that I remembered that I hadn't turned off the little ghostly apparition that I had hung on the porch to entertain my trick or treaters earlier that night.

Yes, that's right.  I guess you can say I tricked myself into a good, healthy scare.   And after all these years, I suppose it was high time.

October 27, 2014

Water, Water Everywhere…

Being a true county in the state of Minnesota, the “Land of 10,000 Lakes”, Murray is the home to a number of waterways scattered throughout its borders. Granted, one might consider some of these mere watering holes, but nevertheless, they are legitimate lakes in the eyes of cartographers everywhere.  And best of all, at least we haven’t got the distinction of being the one and only county in the state without a lake (right, southeastern Minnesota?)  We’ve even got rivers crisscrossing our county lines as well.

Now I’m probably pushing the county line limits on a couple of these (and I’ll take corrections graciously) but I count at least a dozen lakes in our fair county today.  I also know there are countless other little water spots and I’d love to know about those as well.  But the most known lakes around here include the following:  Big Slough, Lake Shetek, Lake Mariah, Blood Lake, Summit Lake, Lake Sarah, Lake Wilson, Current Lake, Iron Lake, Corabelle Lake and Badger Lake.

Once, there was an erstwhile lake in Slayton named Elsie, and she graced the southeast section of town.  Well Elsie was drained in favor of farming land, which never really paid off as for some reason, the land always tended to revert to wet lands. So, rather than fight the force of nature, Elsie was encouraged a few years ago to arise from the dead and become yet another county lake (or wetland, as the case might be on drier, rainless years). 

So let’s see, that would make 13 official lakes in the county.  And that’s not even taking into consideration the countless other water ways that go unnamed on the official maps.

But what of plans back in 1974 to develop an artificial lake in the Chanarambie valley, three miles west of Chandler.  Perhaps this phantom lake does exist and if so I need to go on a hunt for it one of these days.

The lake was to be created on land donated by the Post brothers, Sankey brothers and Arlo Gilbertson and developed jointly by these folks in cooperation with the ASCS, the Soil Conservation Service, and Moulton Township.

When completed, the lake was to be about nine acres in size and average between 20 and 30 feet deep at the dam.  It was also to be stocked and have a parking area for fisherman.  Eventually, planners schemed, a park could be developed there as well.  Cost estimates for the project was set at $35,000.  Now that’s no little watering hole in my estimates.

So, was the lake ever developed?   How about the park and the adjacent parking lot?  I’d love to know more. Because this unnamed lake would have become number 14 in Murray County.   

And that’s not too bad for this southwest Minnesota prairie land county. 

October 20, 2014

Housekeeping Through the Years

Once upon a time a loving father crafted a dollhouse that would be treasured for a lifetime - or even longer.  His name was Charles P. Nicholas, and he took great care in building the house, lavishing it with his woodworking skills to the best of his abilities.

Each window was fitted with glass, the red chimney was carved to simulate the best brick mason craftsmanship, and the front steps were carved from a single block of wood.  It was truly a work of art and labor of love.  

Nicholas presented it to his two daughters on Christmas morning in 1896, and they delighted instantly in the miniature replica of their own home.  

The dollhouse was equipped with all manner of tiny furnishings that each of the girls fashioned and contributed.  Walls were papered with left over scraps from the farmhouse.  Curtains crafted from tiny pieces of material gathered from their mother’s sewing basket.  Rugs and other items were added by re-purposing things such as ladies hankies and crocheted doilies.  “Artwork” was hung on the tiny walls.  The fireplace mantle and other surfaces were decorated with minutiae care. And of course a family was moved in to inhabit the home. 

Countless hours were spent in make believe as the children imagined themselves living in the miniature rooms.

Through the years, the house aged much the same as the old farmhouse where Nicholas and his family lived. Floors grew scuffed with use and wallpaper sagged somewhat in the corners, but the simple, sturdy dollhouse that he constructed out of wood nevertheless provided hours of joy for the girls. 

The dollhouse has since been owned by no fewer than 15 girls representing four generations.

When we were youngsters, my two sisters and I when we were fortunate to inherit the dollhouse and so came to be the next generation of girls to love and treasure Nicholas’s gift as keepers of the house.  Much like his daughters, we three sisters spent hours renovating the somewhat bedraggled, sagging house, crafting furnishings and decorating the walls and interior of the little home.  

Our little brother, though not officially a keeper of the house, often would take part in dollhouse antics and he delighted in rearranging it on the sly.  Hiding the baby, placing the pets in the oven, putting the cook in the parlor where she most definitely did not belong were only a few of the antics that he pulled.

We all enjoyed the special treasure for years.  But little girls grow up and their interests change as they do so, sadly, the dollhouse eventually was relegated to a lonely corner of the basement where it gathered dust and sat unused for years. 

There’s a touch of little girl in every woman’s heart, though.  One day my oldest sister reclaimed Nicholas’s dollhouse and elevated it to a place of honor in her own home. It would there share space with the other houses that she herself had collected and constructed through the years.

The story doesn't end there though.  Recently my sister and I became great-aunts to a darling little niece.  But long before the child was born, my sister began crafting a brand new, colossal three story dollhouse for the little one.  Built from the ground up, the structure was lovingly pieced together in what would amount to countless hours of labor.  For interior decoration, she strayed from the traditional, opting instead for lively, colorful walls and furnishings.

It is indeed a work of art and one that will be treasured for years to come.

The day finally arrived recently to present the dollhouse to its new owner, our four month old grand-niece.  She stared intensely at the bright walls and her approval was evident as she kicked and squirmed in delight.  It was a gift of love, much like Nicholas’s all those many years before was to his daughters.

With our niece being a little young for dollhouse playing presently, her older brother has happily taken on the role of house keeper. He has commandeered the dollhouse and is making plans to move Luke Skywalker and some of his friends into the house soon. 

Like they say, the more things change, the more they stay the same.

A One-way ticket......

October 13,2014

"The last train departs without ceremony", local headlines lamented in August of 1980.  It was just over a hundred year run but train tracks in town carried the last of their burden on August 7,1980.  

Little remains to indicate that the rails once ran through town.  But there are subtle remnants left of the town's railroad days.  If you look closely you might detect the track right of way that crossed Slayton's main street spanning from the southeast corner to northwest section of town. And the southwest Minnesota Housing Partnership building, fashioned much the same  sits in the spot where the depot once stood.

It was in 1879 that the railroads came to Murray County.  In the spring of 1879 arrangements were completed for the Southern Minnesota Railroad Company to extend their line west through this county.  About the same time the St. Paul and Sioux City Railroad planned a branch line northwest from Heron Lake.  Stations were started at Fulda and Iona on the Southern Minnesota railroad and at Avoca and Hadley on the St. Paul and Sioux City railroad branch from Heron Lake.

Both these lines were competing for a land grant, the first line having a train reach Pipestone was to receive the grant.

It was told by one man who worked on the Southern Minnesota line that both lines ran out of rails before reading Pipestone, but the Southern Minnesota line ran their train as far as the rails were laid and then tore up the rails behind the train and re-laid them  in front, thus proceeding until they reached Pipestone and receiving the land grant.  But it took some time to lay the other rails so they could make a return trip.

It was in April of 1880 that the papers recorded that "a full passenger train consisting of coach, baggage car, etc. now runs west of this section (Fulda)."  

The St. Paul and Sioux City railroad branch from Heron Lake through Avoca and Hadley stopped at W oodstock and was called the "Black Hills Branch".  The St. Paul and Sioux City Railroad Company later changed their name to Chicago, St. Paul, Milwaukee and Omaha Railroad.

The right-of-way for the extension of the Woodstock branch to Pipestone was secured by private subscription for $1500 in the spring of 1884 and the track completed on July 19,1884.

Slayton's rail service started in 1881 in Center Township.  It was noted in the Southwest Minnesotian, published in Currie on September 7, 1881, that the railroad company had surveyed 100 acres into town lots. For a few weeks the town was called Winterton, but the residents thought that name was rather "suggestive to strangers", so soon it was changed to Slayton.  

Until about 1930 there were two passenger trains and two freight trains daily. Until Slayton grew and churches were built, the waiting room of the depot was used to hold church services. Some of the former section crew were Albert Erickson, Steve Thruinger, Joe Thuringer, William Beers, Lyle Larson, Henry Larson, Jonie Thompson and Albert Millis.

Some of the former station agents included A.W. Beek, Jack Johnson, Lloyd Slaybaugh and Harvey Butterfield.  Butterfield was the last agent when the dept closed June 12, 1972. The last train left Slayton on August 7, 1980, witih crew members onboard including conductor R.J. Sizer, Engineer E.L. Goor, Head Brakeman T.J. Schmillen, Rear Brakeman D.L. Schlomann.

October 6, 2014

Strike Up the Band

You may recall, back in the day if you were involved in marching band, that a parade was the epitome of performance.  Hours of early morning drilling and practice, learning how to put that left foot down on the first and third beat, and concentrating on somehow playing the memorized notes of the marching tune really paid off when put to the test in front of a street lined with eager parade watchers.

It might be a frigid 30 degrees and no manner of hand blowing will keep them from freezing.  Or a sweltering summer day when you question the wisdom of wool band uniforms  Who's idea was that anyway?  Whatever the case, you adapt and you do your very best.  Because you're a member of the team and you're representing your school with pride.  

It can still bring chills to my spine when I hear "National Emblem", my Alma mater's signature song.   And I can still recall the feeling it brought to me as the drum line signaled the beginnings of the tune with a flourish of the drum riff.  It was pride I suppose: in my hometown, in the band, in the hours or practice and levels of excellence that we exuded.  And of our performance.

I felt much the same Saturday as I watched the hometown Rebel marching band march at the Festival of Bands in Sioux Falls.  Just the anticipation of catching a glimpse of the purple banner so many blocks down the street, leading the marching band, was enough to bring on the chills as the band members brought their best performance to the game field. 

They came, they performed and they conquered, bringing home third place in a slate of eleven bands in their division.  Kudos to director Mike Hegelson, who at the helm of the band these last scant few years, has lifted it to great levels.  I applaud  you all.  For being a part of a marching band takes dedication, practice and commitment.  I saw that and more as I proudly watched the members of the MCC band perform on the streets of downtown Sioux Falls.

Back in the "old" days, my time that is, most bands marched in a military style which meant the feet shuffled in a brisk, controlled gait.  I was reminded of just that on Saturday while seeing the United States Marine band, which led the parade in fine fashion.  That elite group was spot on and never faltered in their precision.  Hats were all level, legs were in tandem and the music lilted to perfection.  It was a joy to behold and I only hope that the high school marchers got to see the Marines perform.

Today, marching has taken on a whole new level of excitement.  Bands not only file down the street in orderly manner, but they stop now and then to delight the watchers with routines that include fancy moves, twirls, and intricate patterns of movement.  And the flag squad enhances it all with their costuming, colorful flags and deft movements. It's all very exciting to watch.

You see, I take music and its performance rather seriously and revel in the notion that there still is an attitude that supports that.  A marching  band at its acme, during a performance and competition such as the Festival of Bands, which attracted 31 bands in all from the tri-state area, is merely the tip of the iceberg.  

You have to take into consideration the preparation that comes long before the big day of competition. There is of course the sticky late summer rehearsals and learning to stay in step and keep the ranks straight, the somewhat craziness of fitting of band uniforms and shoes, the memorization of new music, and the early morning marching drills that occur long before a competition ever does.  

It's true dedication and I raise my hat to all who participate.  You will never, I promise, forget the experience.  For one day you will catch a drift of the song that your band played while it marched and performed. And I wish for you to experience those chills down your spine such as I have when you do.