Baseball

 The game of baseball seems simple enough until you come across someone who is more than just a casual observer of the game, and you learn how much you don’t know. It’s not just the lingo, there’s also the “inside baseball” stuff, the details of a specific subject not commonly known to outsiders, which requires a level of knowledge to comfortably participate in the activity or discussion.

But that’s with most anything I suppose; we are constantly interacting with people who know more or less than we do about any given subject, and we try and find an understanding between us. I recently joined the board of directors for the Scott County Fair, and once again, I found out how much I had to learn.

I am fortunate to be on the board during this time, because I believe with our new manager, Norm Pint, we are beginning a new ERA. With any manager, especially a new one, it’s a good idea to watch them for direction, for signs of their managerial style. Norm is not a micro manager – instead he has created an environment where thinking outside the box is encouraged; new ideas are regularly pitched by the directors.

The fair really hit it out of the park this year with its new Miracle of Birth center. The center was so popular it attracted the attention of newspapers as well as officers and scouts from other county fairs and organizations. Many parents brought their children into the barn to see the new animal babies. I enjoyed being a spectator and watching the little children interact with the baby chickens, lambs, calves and kids.

My daughter brought her son to the fair every day; this is something that will be part of his life as much as it was, and is, part of hers. The farm team of 4H kids will someday be asked to be on the board of directors for the fair, and these kids already know how to work hard. The barns at the fair do not smell foul because those kids are on the ball keeping them clean; I am sure they learned that at home.

I had been at the fair many times over the years – but my perspective was sharpened this last weekend. There are lots of things that need to be done in the weeks and days before the fair is open and every hour of every day during the fair. Some may balk at these tasks, but I was anxious to get into the game.

For instance, a group of musicians waited patiently on deck in the gazebo while I and another director moved some benches so the audience could sit and enjoy the music.  One time I had to run to the hardware store to pick up some supplies, another time I was out in left field parking cars. Some of the tasks threw me a curve, but I was always able to turn to the other directors and office staff for help and coaching. Of course, because I was one of the rookies on the team, I expected to get a poke in the RBIs when I made a mistake.

Before the fair opened I had showed up on a Saturday to do some work clearing trees with some other directors. I noticed that my Stihl chain saw was not cutting well, which I thought odd, as I had recently replaced the chain. I asked one of the guys if it needed to be sharpened. It turns out a saw will not cut well if the chain has been put on backwards.

The things I don’t know could fill a baseball staidi…or at least a fairground.

Road Less Traveled

If you want to get somewhere fast take the freeway. That assumes, of course, your destination is within driving distance, and for me that’s the Western Hemisphere ever since the airline industry began treating its passengers like cattle.

So when my wife, Rhonda, and I went to visit my sister and her husband in Wisconsin over the Fourth of July weekend we took interstate 94 to get there as fast as we could. We had left home Saturday morning, so I was reasonably certain there wouldn’t be much holiday traffic. However, I dreaded the Sunday trip home knowing that the freeway would become a parking lot, as most everyone east of the Mississippi would be traveling west.

We stayed on the freeway for as long as we could, then we headed east while the freeway continued on south and for the next hour we were on a two-lane highway. I am always surprised at how slow 55 mph seems after I have been driving 65 plus for a couple hours.  Traveling at a lower speed does allow you to look around more however.

We had been in this part of the country before – perhaps dozens of times, so the novelty of the surrounding area was losing its charm, and yet it still inspired conversation.  There was certainly more to look at than on the interstate; that’s the trade-off – speed for scenery, and serenity.

We drove through the little towns, over swollen creeks and past horse-drawn hay racks. Soon we were at my sister’s house and ate like royalty. I played with my brother-in-law and his tractor while Rhonda went shopping with my sister at an Amish store. A good time was had by all.  

Sunday I began to ponder the traffic jam that was building like storm clouds in the west. Looking at a map, I saw we could avoid the interstate by staying on a two-lane highway and going out of the way a bit.  It certainly meant more time traveling, but perhaps less time sitting in traffic. I will never know for sure what I missed, but I do know what I gained by taking the road less traveled.

Rhonda has a rule that has served us well over the years – when we enter or come within a mile or two of a small town we do some exploring. This includes driving through the downtown to marvel at the quaint architecture and Norman Rockwell back-drops.

That day in Strum, Wisconsin we came across the used car lot of my dreams, Scott’s Auto Body and Sales. There were two station wagons, a ’58 and a ’59, plus five other cars from the 1950’s and probably several more inside the surrounding buildings. On the other side of town we saw a group of little boys, wearing only shorts, happily playing in the mud puddles.

In over one hundred miles of driving I don’t recall any stoplights, exit ramps or traffic jams. But we did see many small peaceful parks with one or two picnic tables, some old store fronts needing a tenant to make it feel useful again; feed mills in the center of town a couple blocks down from the post office, which was across the street from the bar, which shared a wall with a café; and always a church, sometimes two, to marry and bury the next generation of the towns people.

Afterward I was reminded of a song The Little River Band released in 1977 called “Help is on its Way.” The song begins with two questions and two suggestions.

“Why are you in so much hurry

Is it really worth the worry

Look around

Then slow down”

Although all little towns could stand to use a little more commerce, I don’t want to ruin a good thing by changing everyone’s travel habits. Aware of Don Henley’s warning “You call someplace paradise, kiss it goodbye.”  Yet, I see no danger in that with a society that thanks God it’s Friday without acknowledging the good of the preceding four days. We wish our lives away, forgetting that the joy is found in the journey and not the destination. If you want to enjoy the trip, take the scenic route.

Summer Fun

For a guy who professes to prefer fall, perhaps even winter, over summer, I seem to find enough to write about regarding these normally hot, humid days. I think that’s because summertime has been such a big part of my life and the memories of those days come back to me on the breeze.

This afternoon the wind pushing thick, warm air through the screens reminds me when summer was a quieter, slower time. With just a smattering of part-time, temporary jobs (lawn mowing, hay baling, fence painting and dog sitting) I had plenty of idle time spent reading, watching black & white movies on a black & white television and playing games (both inside and outside).

However, sitting around “doing nothing” did not sit well with Dad, and in the summer of 1973 he found me a job. The Scott County Fair had purchased some land outside Jordan and the fair was going to open at its new location for the first time that summer. Outfitted with two wrenches I worked along side other 14 and 15 year old boys putting together metal bleachers for the grandstand. Some assembly required indeed.

Once the fair opened I was reassigned to parking cars. Andy, my friend from town, and I stood in an open field waving cars and trucks to the front of the lot, occasionally hopping on a bumper for a ride. It wasn’t exactly valet parking, but what person in their right mind is going to allow a 14 year old boy to drive cars around a parking lot?

After a full day of work, there was the fair to explore. People shuffled and shifted up and down the midway while the lights blinked and winked at each other and the band played on. The carnival rides tilted, scrambled, and rolled merrily round and round; I walked through it all as if I were in the middle of a movie.

The next summer some of my friends had driver’s licenses (or at least farm-permits) and we traveled the seven-eight miles up highway 169 to the county fair. It became a regular summer trip. There was usually a live band, which meant the chance to dance with some girls we didn’t know. There were engines roaring beyond the grandstand, animals calling to one another in the barns, and people enjoying each other’s company.

Over forty years some things change while some stay the same. For instance, during the last few years I was once again in the parking lot during the fair. I had volunteered to drive a golf cart giving people rides from the lot to the grandstand (and points in between). It was a lot of fun; I got to meet all sorts of people, save them a few steps, see the fair and pretend I was a taxi driver. I think it may be the best job there.

 

The fair has been part of my life for many years; when my kids were younger they would bring animals there for 4H. I remember loading sheep into the back of a truck when it was obvious from their bleating and pleading they would rather have stayed home; I have also transported cages of pigeons, ducks and chickens. One year we even brought a cow to the fair that was on loan from a neighboring farmer; that was the year I got a trailer.

In July of those years our kitchen was a flurry of floury creations and a gathering of garden vegetables to bring to the fair to be entered in competition by my wife and daughter.  Out in the barn I helped my son with wood projects. Then all of this and that was loaded and brought to the fair in the hopes of bringing back some ribbons.

The kids are older now, past 4H age, but I know we will go back to the fair again this year to revisit some old memories and bring back some new ones. It takes a few more dollars to get into the fair now and a couple more to get something to eat, but it’s still worth it. The Scott County Fair runs from July 23-27^th near Jordan.

Five

My grandson, Micah, just turned five months old (or some silly number of weeks if that kind of counting appeals to you). Perhaps I am over thinking it; some would describe it as over analyzing, but I find myself trying to find ways to connect with him – some common ground, something we can share.

I see little resemblance between us; that is reserved for his mother and father. Of course, there are some things that most babies share with their grandfathers.  Both Micah and I have areas on our heads where our hair is thin. His hair will continue to fill in, whereas mine will continue to fall out. We both have a big belly, but as soon as he’s old enough we will start exercising together and see if we can do something about that.

We both like our naps and can get cranky if we are over-tired. When we are hungry it’s hard to concentrate on anything else. Sometimes he growls when he bites (gums) something without any receiving any digestive satisfaction. I will also express displeasure when I don’t like what I’m eating – we’re both immature that way.

We make each other smile. Micah smiles because he thinks I look funny (he does not yet appreciate my sense of humor). Whenever I see him I laugh, not because I think he looks funny, but rather because he makes me so happy by just being here; the joy I feel is unlike anything else I have ever experienced.

Micah likes when I whistle, although I do it poorly. We both enjoy toys and a good story, usually I do the telling, but often he will carry on about something that he needs to tell me. He seems to enjoy a little song and dance as well. In addition to Christmas songs, he favors the old standards like “I’ve been working on the railroad” (a favorite of his mother’s when she was little). He appreciates nursery rhymes with an added humorous twist at the end and the timely recital of “Rain, rain go away.”

Recently Micah discovered his feet, and he feels the need to pull them to his mouth and taste his toes – it’s very cute.  I can’t do that with my own feet, and even if I could I wouldn’t. Yuck.

Sometimes when I hold him he becomes restless, so we take a tour of the house to see if anything has changed. Like me, he seems very interested in the world around him. He will often fixate on an inanimate object, such as a banana, and look as if he had never seen anything so interesting before in his whole life; which I suppose is plausible if you have never seen a banana before.

One of our regular stops on the tour is to check on the baby and man in the mirror. There are usually some smiles between the babies with a few pleasant sounds exchanged; however, the men will often frown at each other in disgust at their unseemly appearance.

It seems Micah and I have connected at some level, we even share a similar age, at least partially. Micah’s five months old and I just turned fifty-five (which is an insane number of weeks).

Life ebbs and flows

Life ebbs and flows; sometimes we are beaten back by the tide, other times it lifts and carries us. Randy Carlson had retired from teaching at Belle Plaine at the end of the school year, but on the 19^th of June he was at the school supervising students in the gym. His wife, Terry, was home with her daughter looking at pictures.

“Into each life some rain must fall, some days must be dark and dreary,” Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

After several days of rain the hillside nearby gave way and slammed into their dream home, collapsing a wall and bringing tons of mud into their dining room. Terry and her daughter got out safely. However, their house may be damaged beyond repair. Home insurance does not cover this type of loss and flood insurance may not have either.

Randy was two years ahead of me in high school; Terry was in my class. He was a successful basketball coach and popular teacher; together they raised their four children. They had worked hard and built a beautiful home in the country, where they had planned to spend their well-deserved retirement. They had not planned on this; they certainly did not deserve this.

They lost personal property, their home and their dream, and yet both were quoted in the Belle Plaine Herald saying, “We’re very lucky.”

It’s hard to imagine being able to muster that attitude after such devastation. How many of us would have the perspective that things could be worse, that there are many people worse off, to be happy just to be alive? I would like to think I could be like that, but I’m not sure I have the strength, and I pray that my mettle is never tested to that degree.

My mother used to say “Every family has trouble, if not now, then later.”  I never liked hearing that, as it sounded like so much doom and gloom and rather fatalistic, as in trouble is headed your way and there is nothing you can do to stop it. It’s not very comforting to have that to look forward to.

We all wish for our problems to be manageable, the kind where we say, “Someday we will all laugh about this.” We avoid trouble, and we certainly don’t look for it. We manage our risks, we work, plan and save so that someday we can stop working and enjoy the fruits of our labor. But what happens if the fruit tree is suddenly uprooted by a wall of mud right before it is ready to be picked?

A relief fund for the Carlson family has been set up at the State Bank of Belle Plaine P.O. Box 87, Belle Plaine, MN 56011

Their friends, family, and their home town will be there to help them bounce back; we should all be so lucky to have that much support. But to accept the good with the bad like the Carlson’s have, that takes real depth of character; character as deep as an ocean.