The windows on the bus

The windows on the bus go down, down, down . . .
In the winter it's no trouble keeping the windows of the bus closed
since arctic air is swirling around us.
The minute it starts to get the least bit warm students are begging
to open the windows.


"It's still cold!" I protest.


"But it's spring!" they wail.  "And we've been in a stuffy school all day!"


We had one week of 70* so the windows were down.


I reminded the students of two rules.
Please don't yell out the windows when we pass friends or foes out there on the side walk.
and . . .  Student will keep head and hands inside bus.


Otherwise we will lose the privilege of open windows on the bus.


I caught one guy happily sticking his face out the window and yelling to friends.


"Don't you remember the rule about the windows?"
Puzzled look on his freckled face . . . "No, not really."


"The one about keeping your head and hands inside?"


"No, I don't thinks so," as he rubs his head thoughtfully.


Oh come on!  I know this has been a long winter but does he expect me to believe that?


 

One afternoon I mentioned to some middle school students

that we had a couple of harrowing bus runs.

. . .  and they had missed out on it because they were gone a couple days.

Now they were riding again and it seemed like they were getting ready

to cause a ruckus all over again.

 

One student stared at me with wide eyes. 


I asked what was wrong.

 

It turns out this student misunderstood me and thought I was talking about
a very dangerous habit forming drug.  

 

"Look it up in the dictionary," I said, when they asked what harrowing
 meant.  They thought looking it up on-line would be much easier.  

 

A harrow is a frame with spikes or sharp-edged disks,
drawn by horse or tractor 

- used for breaking up and leveling plowed ground,
covering seeds, rooting up weeds

 

Harrowing - adj. very painful or distressing 
World Book Dictionary 

- to cause mental distress to; torment; vex

Webster's New World  College Dictionary

 

Maybe I was exaggerating to say we had two harrowing days. 

They weren't that painful or distressing.    

 

This episode reminded me of Anne Hobbs in the book, Tisha.

Anne was teaching school in Chicken, Alaska back in 1927.
One of her students asked why they have to all come to school at
the same time and all eat lunch at the same time. 


quote:
"How come you can't do things when you feel like it?"
"If everyone did it would be like a three-ring circus," I said.
"What's a three-ring circus?" Elvira asked.
"Well," I said,  "it's like a chautauqua, only it's bigger. 
It has elephants and clowns and ---"
"What's a shuh-tawk-wa?"Jimmy asked hesitantly.
I explained that a chautauqua was like a fair, only to have
Elvira ask what a fair was.  By the time I was finished nobody
really had any idea of what a three-ring circus was like.
They had never seen clowns, or jungle animals, or acrobats.
If I was going to cite examples I'd have to pick things they were familiar
with--gold mining and trapping, dog teams and hunting.
- end of quote

One day not long after this I was explaining to my students that
a bus is not a gym or a play ground.  They can't do acrobatic stunts
on the backs of the seats.
One girl slid across the aisle and sat on the seat beside her friend. 
"Debbie!* You can't turn the bus into a three-ring circus, you know!"


    hmmm!   did she just read my mind or what? 

* names have been changed

 

Sweet Sixteen!

Our youngest daughter turned 16 on the 30th of March. 
She is being very sweet and patient with us since we cancelled
"driving with the instructor" in the month of March. 
The roads were awful.
Driving in town was an adventure --
   especially residential areas
   high snow banks
   cars parked on both sides of the street
Many streets looked like one ways
when in fact they were supposed to be two way.
You had to drive slowly and wait your turn to get through some spots.


And, last but not least, our family was in the middle of planning a trip to Washington towards the end of March.  So I called the instructor and asked if there is a deadline we have to meet between class time and driving.  She was very understanding and, thankfully, there is not a deadline.


Sigh of relief from me.
Sigh of anxiety from Krysta.


She knows how many things get pushed to the back burner
never to appear again.
"Well," I told the instructor, "I will get in touch with you
when the weather straightens out."
"Ok,"  she said.  "I'll talk to you in June."


Krysta was not amused.


On the 30th of March my thoughts drifted back to another 16 year old.


February 1977
I was a mother's helper for a whole week.  Our friends had a little girl and a little boy when a new baby girl was added to their family.  I stayed at their house to make things easier.  My job was to make meals, wash dishes, take care of laundry, read stories to the little ones, help them with baths and getting dressed and taking naps. 


One day I baked bread all by myself from start to finish.  Looking back, I don't know how that was possible because my girls don't know how to bake bread.  (Dea knows how to make cinnamon rolls that are to die for.)


At our house Mom made bread once a week -- at least.  We bought flour by the fifty pound bags and stored the flour in a big tin "garbage" can.  Mom never had a recipe written down.  She knew it by heart. She measured the water and the yeast exactly.  Otherwise it was a handful of salt, a spoonful of lard,  a spoonful of honey, stir until melted in the hot water - then start dumping in the flour.  She measured the flour with a sifter instead of by the cup.  When she had the flour measured she let us girls stir until it was too stiff to stir then she added one more sifter full of flour and it was time to knead the dough. 


And that's how I learned to make bread - by watching Mom every week and eventually doing it by myself.


My girls are learning to make quilts from start to finish instead.
In home ec .. .. .. 
  taught by my mom.  =)


Back to the week away from home . . . I had my 16th birthday somewhere in the middle of that adventure.  My family and friends brought a surprise party to me.  They knocked on the door, yelled "Happy Birthday!" and served cake and ice cream all around.


Last night we had a birthday supper over at Evan and Chelsea's place.  Krysta, Chelsea, and Jorgan have birthdays close together so we've started having one big party for all.


Here is the menu:
Chicken
Fried rice
Green beans
Lettuce salad
home made bread  (fresh from my mom's kitchen)
Cake and Ice Cream


And a Happy Anniversary to Dad and Mom
          who have been married 54 years!

1966 Blizzard

Every now and then I try and figure out if this is the hard winter
as in The Long Winter  written by Laura Ingalls Wilder.  My head
gets too tired with all of that math so I soon give it up.  This is what
happened back in March 1966 in northern MN. 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

There's a smell of fresh coffee in the air as we sit at my parents round, oak table. Dad has brought the crackling brown newspaper from the file cabinet and we pore over it, coffee cups in hand. My finger traces the name, The Baudette Region, and the date, Wednesday, March 9, 1966. There are questions galore about that long ago day.

How could an airplane get stuck in a field?

How did you shovel all that snow?

Who brought the snow mobile to our place?

And the question that forever sticks in my mind . . .

do I remember this?

or am I imagining it because I've heard the story told so often?

 

My family lived in a little house a couple miles south of Graceton, MN. There were three of us girls. I was barely five, Ladina was almost four and Trenda would turn two in May. We had a copper colored cocker spaniel named Baskin. Baskin was the delight of our lives. We were thrilled with her family of puppies.

 

This storm blew in from the west, successfully shutting down the whole area. For two days snow fell and winds up to 45 mph whipped around the corners of our house. With 18" of fresh snow fall we weren't going anywhere.

 

To add to the excitement, the little people of our household were coughing and sneezing. Trenda, especially, had a deep hacking cough.

 

Dad stayed home from work Thursday and Friday. Saturday morning was bright and clear. Dad started the enormous task of shoveling us out of a snow bank. Our green Volkswagen was buried under a mound of snow. 

 

Between sneezes, Ladina and I scraped the frost off the windows and pressed our noses to the glass. We watched the path grow longer and longer as Dad's shovel bit into the snow. Baskin frisked around, barking, long ears flopping; tail wagging, and generally making a nuisance of herself.

 

We ran to the door and opened it when Dad came in to eat breakfast. The wood in our cook stove crackled cheerfully, warming the kitchen where we gathered to eat. Dad hung his coat on the hook by the door and unbuckled his boots. He warmed his hands by the stove. He noticed Trenda pacing the floor instead of scrambling into her chair. Her face was gray instead of the normal rosy color.

 

After comparing notes with Mom, Dad made a hurried call to Dr. Brink in Baudette.  Thankfully the phone lines were still intact.  He described Trenda's symptoms.  The doctor's instructions were, "Bring her to the hospital today."  Today?!

 

That conversation set a lot of wheels in motion. Actually, I should say wheels and skis. Bob Griffen flew an airplane to the Skrivseth place. As he attempted to taxi from the field to the road the plane got stuck. Then Vern James came by snowmobile and took Mom and Trenda to Graceton. From there a snowplow cleared a lane on HWY 11. Douglas Grund took them to the hospital in Baudette in his pick up. 

 

Both Mom and Trenda had pneumonia. They ended up staying in Baudette for several days . . . Mom with Aunt Hellen and Trenda in the hospital. Dr. Brink told my parents Trenda wouldn't have made it through the night.

 

When I think about that day long ago I picture my dad bundled up in winter clothes, shoveling snow. I can see Baskin, the dog with floppy ears and a litter of pups.  Mom thought of bringing the puppies into the house. They were a distraction to us so we wouldn't run out and follow while Dad, carrying Trenda and breaking a path for Mom, waded through snow to the end of our lane to meet the snowmobile.  Before they started out they called Grandma and Aunt Leah . . . Ladina and I took turns talking to them on the phone. We described the wonders of our puppies to them.

 

Today, we can describe the wonders of our God who plans for our safety down to the minutest detail. Praise His Name!!

 

In the days before we could dial 911 there was a system up and running that helped people in emergencies . . . family and community. Our family is forever grateful to this community.

Our Field Trip

 --by Krysta Harshbarger

It was a clear winter night.  The stars sparkled in the sky. 
Our car was bumping down a dirt road.  Mom and I were going
to a hog barn to help Dad unload equipment.  This was a barn that
Mom knew well because the boys used to do chores there.  Little did
we know that something unexpected and hilarious would happen soon.

As we bumped down the road, Mom watched for the ninety degree corner
coming up.  I had no clue that there was such a corner until we missed it. 
We both gasped as our car flew off the road into a field. 
The corner was there, but we missed it.

     

Mom and I laughed breathlessly as we crunched over the snowy field. 

We drove a little way and then turned around and went back. 

Thankfully, it was a field lane and not a ditch we drove into.

      

I am grateful for the funny moments that God gives us. 

They help keep life not so serious.  God knows the perfect

time and way to show His love to us. 

It was a good day.

-------------------------

 

 

 

This is the second time I've missed that corner. 
(The first time was due to no brakes.
I told that story September 17, 2009) 

I'm the one who kept telling Krysta to slow down at corners this past summer . . .

and gasped when it seemed to me we were going too fast for the turn.

 

-- what can I say? 

 

All's well that end's well.

 

 

 

 

 

Rainbow at the end of the tunnel

We have had a few adventures in the past three weeks or so.

(Besides tearing the room apart from stem to stern . . .)

A couple field trips and journeys to the past.

 

There will be a guest writer to tell you all about it very soon -

one of the field trips, that is.

 

One Saturday a few years ago we were doing a deep cleaning.

This poem was written by Krysta (age 9) in the middle of the jumble.

I found it again in the disorderly confusion of the current project.  With her

permission it is printed here with original spelling and punctuation. =)  

 

 

 

Rainy Saturday,

Gloomy gloom evrywher,

Cleaning, sweeping, sowing a dress.

Chewing down pankaces.

Boys go to town

Run out of gas.

The minutes fly past.

 

Out gos this

Out gos that.

Washing the sealing

and the flours.

Scrubbing up things

spick and span and clean

and we all started to feel mean.

 

A box for books

a bag for cloths. (clothes)

and a shelf being cleaned off.

As I look around the room

not much I see but gloom

Things piled on the bed

  on the desk

I hope there will be 

a rainbow soon.  

 

to:  dad

from  Krysta   age 9

 

 

Fast fwd to 2014

This school year I found some poetry books that were compiled
by Caroline Kennedy.  Poems to Memorize or something like that . . .

She shared some memories of her mom.  When her family asked her
what she wanted for birthdays, holidays, etc. Jackie asked for a poem. 
Caroline remembers many last minutes before the *big day* pouring
over poetry books trying to find just the right one, then copying

it in her best handwriting to give to  her mother. 
Jackie kept these treasures in a scrapbook.

 

Arrrgh!  why didn't I think of that years ago? 

I mentioned it in passing to my family and this is the result.

. . . . again printed with permission from Krysta.  

 

 

February 9, 2014

 

Dear Mom,

You wanted a poem,

From me to you.

But should I through books roam,

And find one that is true?

Instead I will write one,

I thought you would like that as well.

This should be fun,

But not much is ringing a bell.

There is one thing I want to say,

To you, my dear Mother.

I love you each and every day,

You are a jewel like no other.

I guess I am done now,

Though the poem, lame may be.

It finishes with a bow,

Or perhaps a curtsy.

 

~ Krysta Harshbarger

Renovating

 

A gentle reminder from my sis-in-law . . .

"Where is the little shack in the boondocks?

It's been a few days since we heard from you."

 

To bring you up to date might take awhile so

pull up a chair and get comfortable. 

 

I had a birthday February 9th.  Ellis asked me,

"What do you want to do?

    Go to the science museum? 

           see what's on at the omni theater?

What about IKEA?  We can eat some of those Swedish meatballs?"

 

It was a snowy day with flakes the size of those paper snowflakes 

we used to make in grade school.  We hung them up everywhere to

help us remember  *it is wintertime!*

 

A day at home sounded better to me than anything else. 

"And what about that project we keep talking about?"

 

Renovating our bedroom . . .

It's been on the back burner for a few months.

Krysta and I started packing boxes of books and carting them out last fall.

We found out we are easily side tracked and that's all the farther  it  went.

Besides - we couldn't move that heavy furniture all by ourselves.

 

Here is a time line of this all consuming task that took over our lives.

Saturday -- emptied the room

Sunday -- rest and relaxation

Monday -- Ellis tore the ceiling out

Tuesday -- Hauled the boards home (car siding) 

-- parked pick-up outside bedroom

-- handed the boards in through the window one. at. a. time.

-- Ellis started putting the boards up one. at. a. time.

Wednesday -- continued putting up boards using bar clamps and other tools

to persuade them to go where they were supposed to go.

I was called on to help now and then.

I scrammed out of there when a bar clamp fell on my head,

"scrambling my brains just a wee bit" (a quote from my niece.) 

Thursday -- finished the tongue and groove car siding on the ceiling

- put foam board on the north wall

heard from our niece that company was coming our way.

We arranged to use a house next door for the company to stay in since

our house is topsy - turvy at this point in time.

Friday -- one of the nicest mid-term programs Maranatha chorus has given

at the First United Methodist Church in Austin MN.

Saturday -- Ellis took some needed rest from stress. 
He went to an auction sale.  =)

Jorgan came home from Maranatha Bible School. 
He took one look down the hall toward his bedroom and said,
"No, no! Oh no!"  We showed him to his new, temporary

bedroom -- Jeremy's old bedroom in the basement. 
He didn't even unpack . . .

just rounded up his equipment and went snow boarding.  =)

Ellis put up the wainscoting and wall board on the north wall.

Sunday --  rest and relaxation

Company came for supper.  We borrowed the house next door again
and had a wonderful time.

Monday -- SNOW  no school!  We were snowed in.  The four wheel drive
got stuck in our lane.  We escaped and drove to the neighbors where we
made breakfast for our company.  Ellis got the tractor going.
Two lanes got plowed.

Our company decided to risk bad roads
and hazardous weather
and make a break for home. 
After work we picked up a new box spring
 and mattress we found on Craig's List.  With much maneuvering
and squeaks and groans we took the old box spring and mattress out
and brought the new one in. 
For now they take up the floor space in our living room until
we are done with this project.

Ellis, Krysta and I put a coat of primer on three walls of the bedroom.

Tuesday -- supper with Evan in Blooming Prairie  

knitting class

Wednesday --  dinner out in Rochester

Thursday --  would you believe it? 
We have another snow day with no school. 

We woke up to the splash of rain on the roof. 
The roads were icy.  The snow didn't start until about 1:30 P.M. 
This storm is bringing a lot of snow
and blizzard winds with gusts up to 50 mph.
We painted three walls and prayed that our
electricity would stay on so we could heat the house.

 

These days when I wake up and look around my
kitchen/dining/living room/bedroom
I think about my grandma. 
She wrote this in a writing class she took.  --

 

            Pioneering in Minnesota

 

We built a small house, sixteen feet by sixteen feet. 

We used cull rough lumber and put tar paper outside and inside.

The total cost for two windows, nails, and tar paper was $18.70.

'A tarpaper shack!' you say.  "Hey, that was a castle, that was home!"

It had a  small wood cookstove, a little wood heating stove, 
wooden orange crates for cupboards, nail kegs with a board nailed
over one end for chairs, an old small table, a crib and a bed. 
Curtains?  Yes, from the printed sacks of course. 

We were cozy, we were home!

 

I look around this airy room and know there is insulation in the walls,
wiring for electricity, pipes to bring water in and pipes to carry water out. 
There is a propane furnace in the basement to warm the house,
an electric range in the kitchen to cook our food. 
Looking all around I know it is cozy,
it is a castle - we are home! 

Buckeyes

December 2013 was full from start to finish. 
I don't know if we could have crammed one more thing in it. 
When Deanne was here she asked me if we should make *buckeyes*
which reminded us both of this story that happened a few years ago:


One cold December night I rushed out of the grocery store
and tossed sacks of food in my car.  Shivering, I started the
car and glanced over my shoulder as I began to back up.  That's
when I saw her -- Mary Lennox -- just as if she had stepped out
of The Secret Garden and was perched in the middle of the backseat
of the P T Cruiser parked next to me.  The interior light was on and I
recognized Mary by the sour expression on her thin face.  Yes, there
was strait hair falling in bangs on her forehead and eyebrows in strait
lines above her dark eyes.        

Her mom was twisted around in the front seat,
leaning back and *talking* to her. 
I thought about all the little girls across the country
with stressed out moms.  
All the moms giving "a talking-to" to their little girls . . .

And all for what?!

The mad scramble of Christmas 
-- shopping
-- baking
-- gift wrapping
-- cleaning

I started to pray for that little girl and her mom . . .
then for all the moms and all the little girls (big girls, too)
struggling in their relationships.  I had no idea I was praying for
myself at that very moment.

A couple hours later Deanne was going to finish the *buckeyes*
she had started.  She needed a bowl and asked if she could use my
green Tupperware bowl in the microwave.  It isn't microwave safe
so I gave her my double boiler.  I didn't think to tell her it can't go
in the microwave either.  I was washing the pan for the double boiler
when I heard the door of the microwave open.

  you guessed it . . . Deanne was taking the stainless steel double boiler out
of the microwave to stir the chocolate. 

And you guessed it again . . . I lost it

"You can't use that bowl in the microwave!"

Deanne was as cool as a cucumber.  "You never told me that. 
I'm sure it's okay."

In my delirium it seemed to me she was actually going to put the bowl
in the microwave again.

"Your dad ruined the microwave at Hog Slat by putting tinfoil in it!"

(Why do I always bring up past mistakes in the middle of another
totally different occasion?)

Deanne was sure I was mad at her.  I wasn't, truly I wasn't . . .
just sorry I hadn't thought to tell her that bowl wasn't microwavable. 
I said I was sorry for screeching and gave her a hug.

Then to top it off I glanced over Krysta's shoulder and saw her
homework problem.  (Ellis was helping her with Math.) 
She was writing  21x1=37 in her division problem. 

After coming unglued again I was kindly but firmly dismissed
from the room.  I'll bet my face was a perfect replica of Mary Lennox
about then.

I remembered the little girl in the car.   
The picture of someone outside looking in . . .
When I stepped back and looked at the whole picture
there was a funny side to the whole episode. 

That night when the house was asleep I wrote down the whole story
in my journal - and read it to Deanne, Jorgan and Krysta the next morning
on the way to school.

Deanne said,  "You're not going to send that to all your friends in an e-mail!"
I said,  "I'm the one who was a grinch. You didn't do anything wrong."

There's a little snapshot out of the past . . .

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to one and all!