Generations January 2018 by West Central Tribune

Generations Reflections by people 55 and over

JANUARY 2018

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D2 Thursday, January 25, 2018 — West Central Tribune — Willmar, Minn.

West Central Tribune — Willmar, Minn. — Thursday, January 25, 2018 D3

The good old wandering days By Mary Lou Pederson Blomkest Life wasn’t very easy when my husband and I were raising three kids. To have two normal kids and then to have one that I couldn’t figure out what to do with. Chad was one bundle of energy. He wasn’t speaking when other kids were. He seemed to have autistic tendencies, although I never did get proof because he learned to speak. I couldn’t afford babysitters and had no relatives in the Willmar area, so I would take all three in tow to the grocery

store with me. I had to put baby Lea in the shopping cart but if I put Chad in it too, I would have no room for the groceries. Chad was a big kid.

scold him, but he just wandered away again and again. It was useless. I didn’t know what to do. I finally decided to let him

“Mother, mother, where are you? Would mother please stand up and identify herself.” Mark, the oldest, just nicely tagged along. I tried my best to keep track of Chad, but he would always disappear. I would go into a panic and go looking for him and eventually find him and

roam at the age of 2 and 3. You wouldn’t be able to do that these days. Sometimes I would get a glimpse of him behind me or around a corner, but basically, he was on his own in the grocery store. I just couldn’t keep track of him and he didn’t understand. There was never a time that I walked out into the parking lot, about ready to unload my groceries into the car and go home, that Chad didn’t appear. He always knew where I was apparently. Many times I would not see him at all once he wandered away until I was ready to go home. He couldn’t understand what I wanted of him. I just had to believe that he was alright and he always was. In many ways he was an amazing kid. Chad had a tremendous power of observation, at a very early age. From birth to 1 year of age, he wore shoes with a bar between to straighten out his feet. His feet were badly turned in. He just sat and watched everything, never attempting even to crawl. This is the truth. The shoes came off and he

started crawling immediately, two weeks later, he got up and started running. Boy, was I shocked! Chad managed to grow up. One time I was shopping in Wal-Mart in Willmar and neither my husband nor Chad knew I was there. They were in the store at the same time I was. I am very short, but all of a sudden, Chad appears at my side and says, “What are you doing here?” No matter where I wander in a big store, if Chad is there too, he will find me. I can’t get away from him. I know another lady with a child who is just like Chad was. In so many ways, he mirrors Chad’s early behavior. She can’t keep track of him either. He knows one mode of transportation and that is running. I look back on those years and just thank the Lord that He always watched out for Chad. He still is. He has blessed me and his father with the most amazing child who turned into the most amazing adult. I always had a little fear he would be trailing me out into the parking lot, but that never happened. He was as cute as a bug’s ear and turned out to be the most gentle giant. In a way it is so sad the world has changed so much that a child like Chad would be hurt or abducted today. I had faith in humanity back then and you could 35+ years ago.

A little boy’s precious smile turned the world into a better place. He never did get over his wandering, but he always knows where we are. We never shake him. I was in a department store one time with Chad looking for a new pair of flannel pajamas. Chad was about 12 years old. He was standing there gawking at some pretty risqué lingerie when he blared out loud, “What kind of slut would wear something like this?” I almost croaked. I was highly embarrassed and ducked down by the flannel pajamas. Maybe no one would know he was mine. In a great panic, he shouts out at the top of his lungs, “Mother, mother, where are you?” “Would mother please stand up and identify herself.” Well, if they didn’t know I was his mother, they knew it now. Mother figured she better stand up before he called the police to report a missing mother. He would only play one game growing up and that was a detective type game called “Clue.” Chad always knew long before anyone else who the criminal was and he was always right. Chad missed his call in life. He would have made a great detective. My mind wanders back to those days every now and then. We do what we have to do to survive and live goes on merrily. My love to you.

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D4 Thursday, January 25, 2018 — West Central Tribune — Willmar, Minn.

Haying in the ‘40s and beyond By Bessie Klose Atwater I was born in 1936 so my memories go back to the early ‘40s. When I was very little I remember my father farmed with horses. He would cut the hay with a horse-drawn mower, which he sat on. It had a sickle that had to be lifted when turning corners, which he did by pulling a lever on the machine. After mowing the hay it would be pulled into piles with a dump rake. After it dried he would go out with a hayrack, pulled by horses. Ropes or slings were placed on the rack and hay would be placed by a person lifting the hay from these piles with a fork on top of these slings. Then they would be driven to the farm below a large door in the hay barn which was over the cow barn. A pulley on this door would be attached to the slings. A horse would hook onto this apparatus and drive forward, which would raise the hay up to the barn door where it would follow a track into the barn. When it got to the right spot it was released and the hay would drop onto the floor or hay which had previously been hauled in the same way. This

I learned how to drive tractor when I was 9. The first tractor I drove was a John Deere, with a hand clutch, as I still could not reach the one on the floor. procedure would continue until the hay was all picked up and hauled in or the barn got full. If the barn got full first then haystacks were made in the yard to be used for cattle feed later. These stacks were made of loose hay, and a person would walk over the top of them to push them down to make a firmer stack, which would repel rains. In this haying I was just a spectator, or I might have led the horse when they pulled the hay up on the pulley. My first improvement in this process came when we got our first tractor and side delivery rake. Then the hay was raked into windrows and we were able to pull a loader behind the rack, which would pick up the hay and run it loose into the rack, but the

unloading was the same. When I was about 8-years-old my dad bought a wire tied hay baler. This machine took the whole family to operate. My sister drove the tractor, my brother stood on a rack behind the pick-up and helped push the hay into the chute where it was packed into bales. The bales were separated by wooden blocks with grooves in them where the wires were pushed through. There was a platform under the bale carrier with a seat on each side. I was in charge of threading the wire through these holes and my dad was on opposite side and tied the wires together by hand. Then when the bale came out of the baler he would get up, walk to the end of the baler and pick up the wooden block to be put back into the baler. We used about three blocks and went through this rotation with each side. Our baler was the first one in the neighborhood so we began custom baling for neighbors. It took the whole family, as I said, and we were busy pretty well all summer. It was a very hot and dusty job as the hay had to be dry to bale or the hay would rot. We didn’t have running water or an inside bathroom at that time. So we girls often carried water from the well in syrup pails and poured them into our rinse tubs out on the lawn to warm while we worked and were able to wash off all the dust and dirt in a bath out on the lawn. Some of the haying went well, but sometimes we would break one of our wooden blocks and another would have to be made. Alfalfa hay was easy, but some of the long grass wanted to wind around the block and the holes to put the wire through got covered. The worst was sweet clover, which got very tall and tough and was hard to separate. I recall how hurt I felt one time when we were baling for one of my favorite country school teachers. She brought lunch out to the field for us. She said to me: “What do you do, straighten the wires?” I was hurt to the bone as I was doing a very hard

and important job threading the wires and all she figured I could do was straighten the wires. I learned how to drive tractor when I was 9. The first tractor I drove was a John Deere, with a hand clutch, as I still could not reach the one on the floor. My first tractor job was to pull a trailer and stop by each bale in the field where my dad and brother threw them on the rack. In fact they were so quick I really didn’t even stop – they just threw them on and I went to the next bale. On the rack they stack them parallel on one row and crosswise on the next, so it tied them together so they didn’t fall off so easy. My brother was the best stacker as he could do this as the

Continued on Page D5

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West Central Tribune — Willmar, Minn. — Thursday, January 25, 2018 D5 Continued from Page D4 ing, so when I drove tractor I sang – Farmers Union camp songs at the top of my voice. Until one day someone drove up to our place with a radio on in the tractor and I realized the voice carried a lot farther than the engine noise, therefore my joyous singing on the tractor was stopped never to return. We graduated to a haybine, which cut and windrowed the hay, and self-tie twine baler that one person could run. But we still had the job of getting the bales into the hay barn. After I was married and had children, most of the youth in our neighborhood worked for us at one time or another helping with the haying. For a lot of them it was their first job. I remember one boy I paid with a check, his first ever. When I drove him home, he held that check and looked at it all the way home. When my son was in high school we even enlisted some of this teachers to help with haying in the summer. They still talk about how hot it was up in the that hay barn, stacking bales.

About this section: Generations, formerly Prime Time, sections are published periodically throughout the year as a special section within the West Central Tribune. People age 55 and older are invited to write stories and submit pictures or other artwork for publication in these sections. We recognize that senior citizens have much knowledge and experience. What better way to share that with the community than by writing an article for publication? We invite all interested senior citizens to contribute articles. They may deal with serious issues, or tell human interest stories.

Photos or other graphics may be included with the submission of your article to help illustrate the piece. If you need a photo returned, please include a self-addressed, stamped envelope. Try to keep articles to within 500 words. Articles may be sent to: Generations, West Central Tribune, Box 839, Willmar, Minn. 56201; or emailed to news@wctrib.com with Generations in the subject line. Generations sections are currently published January, April and October. For additional information, call 320235-1150.

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rack was moving over a bumpy field and he stacked them at least four layers high. When the rack got full we made bale stacks with the top bales making a peak so the water would run off. These looked like little houses standing in the yard. In later years we were able to pull a rack behind the baler with a man on it to take the bale from the baler and stack on the rack, eliminating one chore. My next tractor job was mowing hay. As I told you before, we had a horse mower, but my dad cut down the pole and put a hitch on it so he could hook it behind the tractor. But someone still had to sit on the mower to lift the sickle on the corners. So I drove the tractor and my dad ran the mower. This went on for many years before we were able to afford a tractor mower. My dad was not a good singer, but was always known for singing, especially when driving his horses. It was never a song, just a “tra-la-la” or maybe “Nicolena” in Swedish. I guess I inherited this love of sing-

D6 Thursday, January 25, 2018 — West Central Tribune — Willmar, Minn.

Her song

Music and God’s word helps couple conquer darkness Ruthie and Rick Agman live independently in a comfortable third-floor apartment in downtown Willmar. Ruthie, 56, is known for playing a lively piano/ organ, her rich tenor voice and a touch of whimsy at Noon Lions, nursing homes and churches. Together they have a music ministry with Rick, 68, speaking. Retired Tribune reporter Rand Middleton recently visited the couple and began by asking about one of Ruthie’s signature songs, “Homemade Bread.” Ruthie: The album “One Single Heart’’ by Nancy Honeytree came out in either 1985 or ‘86. At that time my husband Rick was working at radio station KCGN out in the country between Milbank, S.D., and Ortonville. We enjoyed hearing some of the cuts from the record and while vacationing in Sioux Falls we stopped at a Christian book store and bought it. “Homemade Bread” compares the Word of God to freshly baked bread. It’s very special to me. I’ve used the

song quite a bit over the last 10 or 15 years, especially in shows with a food theme. Usually, it comes toward the end and I follow it with “Fill my Cup, Lord.” I am a Presbyterian pastor’s daughter – dad passed away in early 2016. Even before I was taking piano lessons I was trying to pick out notes, composing by ear. I started taking piano lessons just before my 8th birthday from a teacher who was sighted. She would dictate the notes to me. This was in Nebraska City, Nebraska, where dad served two nearby churches. After we moved to near Sisseton, S.D., I went to the state school for the visually impaired at Aberdeen where I learned to read Braille music from a teacher who was blind. Also, I do quite a bit of playing by ear. My mom, Renella Busk, is quite a talented pianist herself. She lives in Willmar now. My uncle, Dave Busk II, who lives in Madison, S.D., is a concert pianist. Between my mom and Uncle Dave and eventually me, we were the ones tied to piano benches by my

grandmother at family gatherings. I played my organ. Rick: One thing I always find impressive is that eight or nine out of 10 times when people request a song, no matter the genre, she knows it. Ruthie: Rick and I met two times over the years. I was a first-grader and Rick was a senior at the Nebraska School for the Visually Handicapped (NSVH). One morning just before classes there was a fire drill. I became very scared and couldn’t find anyone who I knew and so Rick helped me to the north door which was near the elementary classrooms. Rick doesn’t remember that time, but I do. So that was how we met the first time. The last several years I’ve been rewriting the lyrics to “Tears on My Pillow” (a million-selling single by Little Anthony and the Imperials in 1958). You don’t remember me, but I remember you You were going to NSVH, and I was going there too You were a senior, I was a first-grader,

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unknown by you, you There was a fire drill upon a school day morn, You found me wandering the halls all forlorned. You were a senior, I was a first-grader found by you. You helped me find my teacher, I thought you’d saved my life And little did we dream that 16 years later I’d be your wife We’ve been through many things, shared laughter, joy and tears. But every day our love has grown through all the years. And now you’re a senior … citizen, And I’m still a young girl, loved by you. Rick: We were married 16 years the first time. After our divorce, I remarried in 2001 and my wife passed away in 2013. Ruthie and Cindy and I were all very, very good friends throughout those years. After Cindy died, I was living in California. Ruth and I talked on the phone quite often, and she convinced me to retire and move back here. CONTINUED ON PAGE D7

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West Central Tribune — Willmar, Minn. — Thursday, January 25, 2018 D7 CONTINUED FROM PAGE D8

Ruthie: One thing special is we were married on May 7th both times, the first in 1983. Both those dates were a Saturday, which is what I wanted. I came to Minnesota because my sister and brother-in-law Sarah and Scott Hankel have lived in the area since 1995. Rick and I had moved to Omaha from Denver and we would come up here to visit and take care of my four nieces and nephews, all grown now. I’d often end up playing two or three gigs, mostly at churches. Then, after we divorced, I had an emotional breakdown back in

He is blessed. By contrast, I’m a member of the imaginary organization PWIBSOD, that is People With Incredibly Bad Sense Of Direction. Our Christmas theme song is “I Wonder as I Wander” RUTHIE, Her Song Omaha due to the breakup and several health issues, some of which I still deal with. As they say, I just needed a change of scenery, and so I came to Willmar and life has been good ever since. Rick: We enjoy programs on both radio and TV, which is like listening to old-time radio for us. You just visualize. Our favorites are MeTV, old-time shows and westerns; Antenna TV with

older sitcoms during the day and at 9 each night they rerun the “Tonight Show” with Johnny Carson; and also Inspiration TV, which has family and westerns. Ruthie: We also enjoy “Jeopardy” on Kare 11 and other game shows. Rick: I was born visually impaired. I had about 20/800 vision. I read what they called sight-saving print through about third grade when glaucoma made my vision worse. So I learned Braille. In 1981 an accident at a bowling alley punctured my right eye. I had a cornea transplant in my left eye that lasted about a month. Since 1984, I’ve had two artificial eyes. I’m waiting and praying for a kidney. I’ve come close a half-dozen times. I’m quite fortunate. I get around quite well and without a cane in familiar surroundings. I’m blessed with great orientation skills. Even riding in a car, I can tell someone how to get around. Ruthie He is blessed. By contrast, Ruthie: I’m a member of the imaginary organization PWIBSOD, that is People With Incredibly Bad Sense Of Direction. Our Christmas theme song is “I Wonder as I Wander” My blindness is a bit different; in a way it’s unknown, pos-

We enjoy programs on both radio and TV, which is like listening to old-time radio for us. You just visualize. Our favorites are MeTV, old-time shows and westerns RICK, Her Song sibly an underdeveloped optic nerve. Like Rick, I have two artificial eyes, since 2002, when my corneas were filling with fluid. Rick: But we live here alone. I am the main cook but Ruthie is also a wonderful cook. We do everything ourselves, but we do have a senior companion come in every week to read our mail and run errands with us. We have a computer with speech software called JAWS, Job Access With Speech. It reads anything that comes up on the screen that is written; it doesn’t do well with graphics, though that’s improving. The technology is amazing. We also have a scanner that will read printed material back to us. We also rely on Braille writers that are similar to old manual typewriters to translate documents received by email. Ruthie: Our main involvement is Lions. I’m a past president of Willmar Noon Lions. Rick is immediate past president and Zone Chair overseeing six area clubs, which is a position I have also held. We stay busy and we love our Lions. Rick: We also have our ministry. Ruthie sings and I talk. We so enjoy going out and presenting, if people want to invite us. It’s a wonderful music ministry.

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I did and then my kidneys gave out on the trip back. About three weeks after I moved here, I nearly died. But I came around and they started me on dialysis. Ruthie and I continued to be excellent friends. Not long after, I asked her to marry me, again. We got married in May of ’16.

D8 Thursday, January 25, 2018 — West Central Tribune — Willmar, Minn.

Help Is Just A Push of a Button Away.

LaVerna’s story... By Bob Erickson Willmar I Laverna) grew up on a farm in Kerkhoven, a small town west of Willmar. I grew up with the motivation to be a school teacher and would line up my dolls in a make believe school, each one in their own grade. Graduating from high school in 1944, I was fortunate there was a teacher training department in Litchfield, a town 40 miles east of Kerkhoven. There was a class of about 15 and most of us roomed in Litchfield. We had a teacher that was determined to make us teachers in one year and she drove us hard. I would have liked to go home on weekends but they were usually required for studying. As I recall, the bus fare from Kerkhoven to Litchfield was 28 cents. After one year of schooling in the Litchfield teacher training department I accepted a

position to teach in District 62, a rural school north of Wilmar. It was 1945 and I was 18 years of age. My starting salary was $160 a month. I had 16 students in grades one through eight. To go the 10 miles to school, I would ride the school bus. It left Willmar about 6:15 a.m., I was at school before 7 a.m., with school starting at 8 a.m. After the last student was off the bus in the evening, the bus would pick me up for the trip home. My job included all the janitor work, which meant making a fire in a coal burning furnace. This was a bit of challenge. Arriving one morning, I found the classroom completely covered in black soot. Coal gas had built up and caused the stove pipes to burst. We had a massive cleanup job with students and parents helping, and not many studies that morning. The students were very willing help-

As I recall, the bus fare from Kerkhoven to Litchfield was 28 cents. ers, carrying water, washing blackboards and sweeping the floors. One day at recess Robert caught a little snake on the playground. He brought it to me probably to see how I would react. I really didn’t like snakes but wasn’t going to let him know that. So I took it in my hands and asked him what he was going to do with it. After thinking about it for a while he thought he better take it back outside and let it go. Much to my relief! Teaching in a one-room rural school was a challenging but rewarding experience.

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West Central Tribune — Willmar, Minn. — Thursday, January 25, 2018 D9

2017 in Memoriam Help Is Just A Push By Doug Bultman Spicer

of a Button Away.

2017 … A year loaded with villians And lots of inspired cold hearted killin’s. TV’s so violent material made for chillin’, And no place on earth, not fit for drillin’. Brazen words, a political invention, Delivered to hurt with evil intention. Assault in the workplace caught our attention, Folks in high places experienced gut wrenchin’. Politics got real down right dirty, Cause some we elected got just too flirty. Hollywood too, just not so perky, Some stars there acting just jerky. Whoville in wonder, of tax cuts so new, But this gift seems hard, for some folks to chew. Health care for all, issues not new, Now opiate fear, comes out of the blue. Fire and hurricanes invaded our shores, Along with the Russians who helped us keep score. Immigrants facing a quick closing door, Determining who’s here, a real chore. The world’s more dangerous, it’s plain to see, Wars and destruction, saw people flee. World leaders issued numerous degrees, Responses still silent, no matter the pleas. In spite of all, our country is great, We all together, determine our fate. In 2018, we need non-partisan debate, To once again, show others we rate.

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D10 Thursday, January 25, 2018 — West Central Tribune — Willmar, Minn.

True friendship is rare

Paddy encouraged me to be more than I am. Step out of my comfort zone and dare to take a chance with failure.

Since my 30s I always knew what I was going to do when I retired. I was going to take my canoe and traverse the beautiful rivers of Minnesota and Wisconsin. Have you ever paddled the Namekagon? I was going to fish, camp, hike, watch the majestic eagles soar overhead. They are such a beautiful bird, to watch them perch on their nests looking after their eaglets, puts me in a state of serene solitude. This is the awe of nature. But, something happened on the way to retirement. I starting feeling the effect of wear and tear on my body. I call it pain. Pain absolutely will stop me from doing what I want to do. All those dreams I had in retirement? Except for on a small scale – gone! I suspect that had I not had plan B, in a short time I would be so nauseously bored that going back to work would be an attractive alternative … ish! I think it is important to develop various interests to prepare for retirement when we are youngish. If we wait until we retire, we will find that the train has already left the station. I don’t have any one thing I pour my focus and energy into. I’m more like the song “Abra Cadabra, reach out and grab ya.” What ever grabs my interest is what gets my attention. Retirement is the best job I have ever had. Life is good. Thank you Paddy.

Dance with the butterfly By Corrine Bilkstad Nelson Grove City Dance with the butterfly you and I From flower to tree we will try Weightless and free waving our wings The breath of silence our spirit sings. Every day is a special day For you and me to fly away

To stretch our fancy colored wings Into the air as nature’s music rings. Drinking from the blossoms on the way We have all we need today So fly, fly and never say goodbye Dance with the butterfly you and I.

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By Dennis Torgerson Willmar After making parts for packaging machines at Bemis Co. Inc., I started working for Mid-Continent Eng. – a small job shop in Minneapolis. Located on the West River Road and few blocks south of Broadway Pizza, it was picturesque looking across the street to see the mighty Mississippi. I was 25 at the time and it was there where I met Patrick J. Campbell. Paddy is a year older than I am. We are the same size, not that that has anything to do with the price of tea in China, both married at the age of 19 and our wives had three children. Paddy and I enjoyed going to the local watering hole to enjoy a beer or so after work. We shot pool, played foosball – foosball was king back then, and talked smart. Along with sports, what I have just described to you is the realm in which all my other male relationships have stayed. I had heard sayings such as a true friend is more precious than gold and more rare than diamonds. Paddy encouraged me to be more than I am. Step out of my comfort zone and dare to take a chance with failure. I learn more from my failures than I do my successes. I should be a genius by now. He introduced me to the arts. He kindled my interest in creative writing, which for me is like an oasis in the middle of a desert. He opened my eyes to reading. Oh, I knew how to read words alright, I just didn’t know how to enjoy reading. I do now. Paddy is truly one of a kind.

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West Central Tribune — Willmar, Minn. — Thursday, January 25, 2018 D11

Past treasures Who can forget memories of games like Old Maid, Hearts, Chinese Checkers, Monopoly and Jack and The Box, tops that spin, Tiddleywinks? on to her. I wonder what the children of today would do with toys like my old treasures? Just think we didn’t have computers, cell phones or any electronic games of any kind. We had the simple ordinary toys modeled after everyday life and never dreamed of any of those toys children have today. Yet even with our simple toys we were able to dream and think about our future. They perhaps gave us an idea of what we wanted to be when we grew up: a farmer, nurse, whatever, we just had fun.