Grouse Hollow Journal for July 20, 2017 by Greg Koelker

Grouse Hollow Journal for July 20, 2017 by Greg Koelker

Happy Belated Birthday to Scout this week.  She turned 12 on July 16th.  She still loves playing fetch - a little, and going for a ride.  She loves going on walks, but is usually just trotting alongside by the end instead of following her nose into every thicket and field after rabbits and birds.  Like me, she is slowing down a bit - okay, I was never all that fast to begin with.  The heat is tough on her, so cool mornings almost always bring out her inner pup as she races down the yard to help fetch the paper and do her business.  Like most of us as we become chronologically advantaged and think a little before we do stuff, Scout will sometimes choose a rest in the shade over some strenuous exercise like trying to keep up with Ellen on a walk up the ridge.  Like many of us, she has had some doctor time with recent surgeries to remove large fatty tumors and broken teeth, but she still recovers, raring to go again.  Also like me, her hearing is not so good, or maybe her wise old age has made it selective; my hearing loss is not selective - I swear.  She still loves riding in the truck, but she has a hard time getting in and out.  Several years ago, I built a ramp for her but she doesn’t much care for it.  One thing that still fires her up is seeing someone coming out of the house with a gun.  She goes all birdie and starts her usual hunting routine of ferociously wagging her tail and searching for whatever I might need retrieved - usually, there’s nothing.  She still gets enthusiastic about hunting and digging up moles in the yard.  Her coat is sleek and full, too full for July, and like my moustache and temples, her beautiful chocolate coat is growing gray around the muzzle.  Like most dogs, she doesn’t complain much until we leave for a while and come back up the driveway while she is locked in the kennel.  She very loudly lets us know how she feels and in the morning, if it gets much past 7, she sets off the dog alarm.  Scout joins us on the porch in the evenings when El and I stop to share a cocktail and talk or read.  After a head pet and ear scratch, she will walk in a circle and then lay down, finally flopping her head on the board floor with a thud - Scout I mean.  Anyway, I know Ellen and I both still see the rambunctious puppy she once was, galloping headlong into whatever, when we look at her.  We hope she celebrates another birthday or two in good health.

The other day on Facebook - yes, I look at Facebook, mostly to keep up with Ben and Mark, but also many, many other relatives and friends - I saw that our “fourth son”, Seth Howe posted that his golden retriever, Gunner, has passed at age 12.  I remember when he got Gunner as a puppy when the Howe’s were living across the road from us.  Gunner has been Seth’s constant companion, pheasant hunting, hiking, but mostly they were just pretty tight.  Like Scout, Gunner was the perfect pal, never asking for much and always glad to see you.  We were sorry to hear about Gunner, but I also see that Seth got a new pup.  I guarantee it will be a lucky dog.

Speaking of old dogs, this last weekend we celebrated Ellen’s Uncle Jerome Hauk’s birthday at the Holiday Gardens in Potosi.  Jerome is 100 today (July 20th)!  He lives life like a much younger person; he still drives and goes fishing and only recently gave up golf.  He is a storyteller with a 100 years worth of experience and family stories, WWII stories (he served all four years), fishing stories, and more.  He sets a very high bar for the rest of us.  Happy Birthday Jerome and just kidding with the old dog shot.

Until next time, get out - Vince and I got in some boat time last week, catching a lot of fish, a lot of little sunfish, bluegills, and sheepshead, but enjoying a beautiful morning on the river.  (I did keep one catfish.)  My two best friends also had a beautiful morning on the water last week; Vince guided Ellen down the La Crosse River to the Mississippi past Riverside Park in their kayaks.  I dropped them off near Valley View Mall and picked them up at the 7th Street landing (behind Gundersen) two and a half hours later.  She loved the trip.  Enjoy.  

Grouse Hollow Journal for June 29, 2017 by Greg Koelker

Grouse Hollow Journal for June 29, 2017 by Greg Koelker

We were out of the country last week.  We got back for our most important holiday - the Fourth of July or Independence Day.  Our neighbors and friends to the north are celebrating this weekend too, July 1 is Canada Day.   Anyway, El and I and Barb and Chuck spent a week on Cedar Lake at Keystone Lodge on our annual fishing safari.  I kept a journal for myself and I share some of it here:   

Canada 2017:

On Tuesday, June 14, the week before our trip to Keystone Lodge in Ontario, I got our old pickup serviced at Tee’s in Stoddard.  James found a leak in a seal on transmission fluid tube.  Can’t leave on a trip with leaking tranny oil.  The bill for LOF and seal repair was $80.  The next day Ellen and I took the pickup on a shakedown drive to a bunch of places.  When we pulled in the driveway, Ellen looked at me in alarm.  “What’s that smell?”  It’s always a bad sign when blue smoke comes rolling out from under your vehicle.  The left front wheel was so hot, I am lucky I only tapped it.  When we got our shopping haul unloaded, I took it back down to Tee’s.  You ever take a vehicle to the mechanic with a problem only to have the vehicle act fine?  I was thinking, “wild goose chase,” but when I got there, the truck put on a performance spewing blue smoke again.  Terry knew right away - a seized up brake caliper.  They could fix it the next day.  It made sense to me to fix both sides and replace the old brake fluid lines on the thirteen-year-old truck - $402.  So $482 spent on our truck and I hadn’t even filled up.  We do really appreciate that Tee’s could get us in so fast.    

After several hours mowing lawn, we got the F150 loaded on Thursday afternoon.  Several people have teased that I finally graduated to a “big boy” truck.  I have to say, there is a lot more room than in our Ranger.  I hung fishing rod racks in the topper the week before so our fishing rods were up out of the fray that is our boots, extension cords, buckets, our big blue 5-gallon water jug - full of course, the fish fryer, oil jugs, three coolers full of food and ice, our lap top, the boxed up kitchen TV, a dvd player, “The Stolen Cooler” full of cookies and Ellen’s ground beef sandwiches, four clear storage bins full of clothes, soda, a couple jugs of adult spirits, paper plates, foil, plastic bags, first aid kits, and more.  

Scout and Gypsy knew something was up.   Scout hung out by the truck all day just in case she got to ride along.  Gypsy lounged on the picnic table in constant treat and tummy rub mode.  Sorry gals.

We got on the road Friday morning at 6:30 AM and met Ellen’s sister Barb and her husband Chuck at the Osseo McDonald’s.  After breakfast we continued north.  The first tank of gas in the F150 went by fast at 14.8 mpg!  Gas was around $2.22.  We ate some of the beef sandwiches at a gas station in Superior.  The temp wasn’t bad at 74.  El and I listened to a biography of Willie Mays on CD from the public library - pretty amazing story that made the road trip go by faster.

The border crossing at International Falls, MN was a relatively quiet and quick affair with a short line and the friendliest guard we ever talked to.  After she asked us where we're from and going to, she asked if we were traveling together with the vehicle in front of us and I replied, “Yeah, her sister and my brother-in-law,” with a tongue in cheek attitude like he was mooching brother-in-law Roman Craig and I was the victim brother-in-law, Chet Ripley from the movie, The Great Outdoors.  She laughed and replied, “Well, who says he has to come back?!”  Gotta say, I didn’t expect that from a border guard.  She added, “It’s been a long day.”  

We stayed at the Copper River Inn at Fort Francis that evening.  Earlier in the week a woman from the Copper River Inn called to confirm our reservation as my credit card number was flagged.  Oops!  We got a new one since I made the reservation.  When I asked her if she was sure she didn’t have my credit card, she replied, “If I did Sir, I would have a new pair of shoes!”  The lady at the front desk was full of fun too, joking about the area and hotel rooms at $141.14 Canadian each.  We ate Subway for supper.

On Saturday, we had a McDonald's breakfast again and got some groceries at “The Place,” a small grocery store nearby.  We stopped at the Big Bear Store to get our licenses.  My credit card was a problem again, but they got it to work.  Our two licenses came to $117 for the 8-day Sportsman’s License.  The drive north to Dryden was uneventful except for some construction here and there.  Gasoline in Canada was $1.16 - a liter.  So that’s well over $4 a gallon.  You do the math.

We passed through Dryden and Vermilion Bay heading north.  After a bouncy 8-mile ride past Camp Robinson, we rolled into Keystone Lodge on Cedar Lake.  The Saturday changeover is a sort of happy chaos, as Dave and Leanne greet guests, check them in, and people unload into cabins and get personal boats launched and such.  Leanne was excited to show us our surprise, new beds in our bedroom.  She also had a check to help with the cost of our stay.  Seems Eli’s alternative school, Coulee Connections in La Crosse, sent a generous check to Keystone to thank us for playing Santa and Mrs. Claus!  Ho! Ho! Ho!  Christmas in June!

We got out on the glass like surface of Cedar Lake around 3 and Ellen and I motored us to Peep Hole.  Okay, we had trouble with the 30 Horse Mercury.  The Smoker Craft would not get up on plane, almost like it was dragging a big anchor.  I guess the problem was me.  The back of the boat had two batteries, the engine, a gas tank, and me dragging it down.   Anyway, we got it going with some weight redistribution.  We caught a few smallmouth and some small perch.  Ellen also got an “eater” walleye.  Back at camp, Barb and Chuck had a basket full of perch, walleye, and crappie.  I helped Chuck clean their catch and the girls fried fish rolled in Andy’s fish mix.  After cleaning up, we watched rough and ready Tom Selleck as an old west gun hand in Australia, Quigley Down Under and it was time for bed.

Until next time, get out - Have a great Fourth of July weekend!  Enjoy.

Grouse Hollow Journal for July 6, 2017 by Greg Koelker

Canada journal 2017 continued:

On Father’s Day morning, after a Sunrise Orchard Apple Cider donut warmed up in the microwave and washed down by a couple cups of coffee, we all went to “the convent,” that is Convention Bay based on Barb and Chuck’s successful trip the night before.  Ellen had the hot hand this morning, catching jumbo perch and one dandy crappie.  We all caught a few too.  We went back in just in time to miss a rain shower.  El and I fried bacon and eggs for breakfast.  I cleaned 29 jumbo perch and a crappie after breakfast.  

Later, El and I tried “Button Bay” and Portage Bay.  It was pretty quiet until Ellen remembered that last year we stumbled upon eater fish in the shallows.  We set up short slip bobbers and anchored in 2 feet of water - no kidding.   She started hooking jumbo and small fry perch almost immediately.  We kept maybe 10.   Then El had a battle on her hands with our first “slimmer” of the trip, a 21-inch northern pike.  I  thought, “Well, there goes the neighborhood.”  It did too as the shallow bite shut down.  We switched to white Road Runners and tried a favorite rock wall where we have caught walleyes before.  She hooked two.  I broke off on something and tied on a new jig.  I cast out and hooked a really good walleye.  Anyway, we tried another bay where we nailed fish on the last day last year.  Nuttin’ honey there though.  We motored over to Musky Bay and eventually found another perch bite in 6 feet of water.  Later in the cleaning shack, I would put another Proksch Coulee perch dinner in the freezer before supper.  The girls fried fish with potato salad and macaroni salad and cake with whipped cream for Father’s Day supper.  El and Barb reminisced about a father’s day when the kids all signed a card, including several of the neighbor Ploessl kids that read on it, “Happy Pappy’s Day, Pa!”   We watched the movie Remember the Titans and started Grumpy Old Men before we were all falling asleep on our couches.

Monday morning brought a new alarm clock that sounded just like a woodpecker trying to come in through the attic; it was.  (I chased Woody away twice that morning for all the good that did.)  The sky was low and the horizon softened by fog and mist in the distance as we sipped our first cups of coffee.  Chuck scrambled eggs and fried some sausage links for breakfast.  We left the landing in a light rain.  Ellen and I went up The Narrows to try the “clearer” water near Times Square while Barb and Chuck headed out on the big lake to the convent to hunt perch again.  El and I tried trolling in a couple bays and cast some rocky points for smallmouth, but in the end we anchored next to Barb and Chuck.  We put a dozen jumbo perch in the life well before we headed in to warm up and get dried out.  Did I mention that is was raining almost the entire trip?  Back at camp, Chuck grilled brats for lunch.   We caught a few more perch and bass on Monday afternoon, and we had another fish fry for supper.  We finished up the Grumpy Old Men movies.  

While I slept through it, they tell me there was a dandy lightning show and thunderstorm in the night.  “Here Comes The Sun,” could have been the early morning theme on Tuesday.  There was a bit of wind, but blue sky lifted all spirits.  Barb made pancakes and sausage for breakfast.  Finding fish was tough most likely due to the storm that appeared to turn on a fish fly hatch.  We found a few smallmouth bass, and I finally got a decent walleye in Ellen Bay.   We came in for an early lunch.  I had a fish sandwich and salad.  The woodpecker came back, so I made a plan. I put some water in a quart milk jug and stealthily crept out of the cabin.  I tossed the jug over the roof where the hammering bird was.  The jug crashed and splashed onto the other side.  It worked!  Woody flew off into the bush ne’r to be heard from again.  I went around the cabin to pick up my missile.  I walked around the cabin not looking where I was going and got attacked, but a low hangin eve.  I was trying to stop the bleeding from the scrapes on my nose and cheek when El came in from her walk.  She gave me a cold compress and then put a bandage on the bridge of my nose.  As luck would have it, the weekly Keystone Camp Fry was at 4 PM and with me with a bandaid over the bridge of my schnoz.  Nice.  Anyway, we ate another big meal of potato salad, hamburgers with the works, baked beans, and two kinds of cake!  I had to explain my wounds to a number of people, not to mention our horrified host Leeanne.  No worries Leeanne; I take full responsibility for my carelessness.  After supper Ellen and I took a boat ride to “The Swimming Hole.”  We caught and released some dandy smallmouth.  El’s biggest was over 17 inches.  We cruised to a rocky shelf in Convention Bay and trolled over it several times hooking a couple walleyes and perch.  The sun was still hot near sundown.  When I cleaned the fish, they were not full of fish flies like I thought they might be.   

Anyway, Chuck made popcorn and we watched Secondhand Lions  with Michael Caine and Robert Duvall.  I slept well.

Adding insult to injury, Woody woke us up at 5:12 on Wednesday morning!   After a foray for another sneak attack, I took time to take in the clear cool air and glassy lake and nearly cloudless dawn.  The weather man says there is a 90% chance of rain this day, but not now.  It is only raining milk jugs so far.

Until next time, get out - it is July.  Depending on how you roll, July can be a time of heat and humidity, bugs, weeds, and reruns on TV or July can be a time of growing, star filled night skies, picnics, campfires, and swimming holes.  You pick.  Enjoy.

Wednesday morning brought partly cloudy skies.  The remnants of a big fish fly hatch was evident on the lake.  After a breakfast of eggs and sausage, Ellen I rode over to “The Convent,” a new pet name for Convention Bay.  We didn’t get a bite.  We moved around, lost some tackle in snags, and finally moved on to Peep Hole and the Swimming Hole before we went in to get my boat seat fixed and have another cup of coffee.  Chuck grilled thick pork chops for lunch.  The girls made salad and potatoes.  Chuck and I had the last of the Father’s Day cake for dessert.  I read a couple chapters in The Martian while the girls went for a walk and Chuck sawed some logs on the couch.  

In the afternoon, El and I trolled up The Narrows and hunted anything that would bite.  Near one windy point, El reeled in a jumbo perch so we anchored.  Fish flies started dropping out of the trees and rising out of the water.  The sky started spitting some light rain.  We started catching fish.  Jumbo perch, little perch, and walleyes!  The rain got harder and the wind ditto.  We couldn’t keep anchored here, so we moved.  We came back in half-an-hour and caught a few more perch and small walleyes.  We tossed back quite a few small fish, but the livewell had 15 nice perch and on 15” walleye battling for the fresh water intake.  We fried fish for supper and watched The Outlaw Josey Wales and started 42 The Jackie Robinson Story before bed.  

Thursday morning, the woodpecker was back with a pal at 5:12 again!  Chuck went out and the noisy nuisance left and didn’t come back.  Barb was frying bacon when I came out and she asked how I liked the storm last night.  I didn’t as I didn’t even hear it.  She said that it thundered and lightninged with long bolts cutting the sky across the lake.  It also poured, but I was oblivious.   Too bad too as I find storms entertaining.  Okay, bacon awaits!  Ellen and I made a run to Portage Bay.  We tried jigging along a rock wall we have found walleyes along and lost a wire basket full of perch one time some years ago.  I wonder if anyone ever hooked that basket.  Anyway, we caught walleyes in Ellen Bay.  El reeled in a dandy smallmouth only to have it leap into the side of the bow of the boat and thunk its head before spitting out the white Road Runner jig El was using.  We visited with our neighbors the Ross and Jim was the first person to call me “Scarface.”  Hmmm . . . After a lunch of grilled brat patties, we fished up the Narrows and caught a few perch and walleyes at the spot we caught ‘em at on Wednesday evening.  The bite stopped with the onset of a sprinkle and a cloud of silty water rolling in with the wind.   We tried maybe five different spots without catching.  The girls started the fish fryer outside, but had to bring it in because it started to rain with a purpose.  After a delicious fish dinner, we finished  42  and then watched Eddie The Eagle this evening after a supper of fried perch with taters and salads.  

Friday, June 23 - last full day in camp: on Friday morning I heard this joke on what limited radio we could pull in while we waited for a weather report:  It seems this lady was running along the shore of a lake screaming for help, “Help me, help me, a musky has eaten my poodle!”  A fisherman nearby looked up from his pole asked her as she ran by, “Uh, what color was it?”  The weather report was for partly cloudy skies with occasional showers mostly in the afternoon.  They nailed it.  Anyway, we had grilled brat patty halves on toasted English muffins with eggs and cheese for breakfast.  Chuck took Barb to “The Convent,” Convention Bay that is to hunt perch.  We went up The Narrows and found a reluctant bite at the hotspot from Wednesday.  We crossed to another bay and caught a few small mouths and took a ride back to the lodge for a break.  We then motored over to Convention Bay to check on Barb and Chuck.  They had a few perch in their livewell, so we anchored nearby and over an hour caught only four perch.  Ellen suggested we try a bay we haven’t fished for years near the Clay Banks.  Her hunch was spot on as we started nailing perch.  She also reeled in a big walleye.  We fought a fickle wind with trolling motor and finally headed out for the lodge and lunch with 18 perch and the walleye in the livewell.  Barb was making barbecue with the leftover pork chops with fried taters.  Anyway, the Wright’s went out before we were ready.  When we came outside, Richard Ross had a video of an otter that was dining on minnows in the custom made out of old tires dock bumpers right under their boat.  He said they were even talking and it just kept on eating.  Pretty interesting.  Then the rain came in huge drops and then sheets of huge drops.  We decided that the better part of valor might be to pay our bill and start packing up.  Barb and Chuck toughed out the deluge that lasted for several hours.  The girls fried fish for the last supper in camp.  We watched Secretariat and hit the sack.

It was raining Friday morning at 5ish when we started packing up the trucks in earnest.  We made a good start south though.  We had breakfast at a truck stop in Dryden.  I put $30 worth of gas in the truck as a hedge against a long wait at the border.  Anyway, we drove in rain most of the way to the border.  Interesting enough, things were moving along nicely there, so we almost drove right up the US gate.  The crossing was quick and filled up in International Falls.  After finishing up The Willie Mays Biography, we listened to the Brewers lose to the Braves.  When that ended in a Milwaukee loss, we tuned A Prairie Home Companion.  It is just barely okay.  We sure miss Garrison Keillor.  

Until next time, get out.  

Grouse Hollow Journal for June 22, 2017 by Greg Koelker

Grouse Hollow Journal for June 22, 2017 by Greg Koelker

One sunny morning last week, I was driving down the coulee when a deer walked out of a rising mist into the road a few hundred yards ahead.  I slowed down.  I could see something the size of a big pussy cat or fox tentatively walking behind it.  I rolled up quietly, rolling down windows, trying to get my camera turned on for a picture when the deer bounded off into a newly planted field.  You guessed it of course; the little creatue was a spotted fawn that tripped a bit on the road before bouncing along, almost playfully after its mother who was waiting in tall grass along a ditch.  I just enjoyed the scene and didn’t bother to try to get the shot.

I can’t help but wonder how something so tiny lives past all the critters trying to earn a living in this coulee.  Coyotes, fox, bobcats, hawks, dogs, even pussy cats on the prowl are a threat to a fawn this small.  The deer flies and ticks and gnats must be a misery too.  People, mushroom hunting, turkey hunting, flower picking, hiking, fixing fence, working farm ground, etc. disturb fawns and does too.  

When I was a kid, there were few deer in our part of Grant County.  I remember that the only time I ever saw a fawn was when we were cutting hay.  Here in Grouse Hollow, I have seen a bedded fawn, curled in under broadleaf plants while I was mushroom hunting - one time.  Fawns’ spotted coats are well-suited for hiding in forrests as sunlight filters through tree cover to create an almost perfect camoflage effect.  In the first week of life, one can probably touch a bedded fawn and it will stay put to avoid detection, they say.  After that, it will most likely bound away.  I remember Mark was up north fifteen years ago taking a summer class in creative writing.  He wrote a piece he titled, “The Little Spy,” about a fawn he spotted watching him with huge eyes from under cover.  Mark was moved by the experience.

Fawns are generally not alone much though.  Research shows that does leave fawns to feed during the day and return to nurse their fawn or fawns 4 to 6 times a day.  They say that one can use a bleat call in the spring and nearby does will come running to check on any fawn, not just their own.  Never tried it.  Anyway, at about two weeks of age a fawn will start trying vegetation but it will be four months before it can survive on just browse, according to what I have read.  

Almost all of us enjoy the whitetail in one way or another, whether it be going out for a drive to see deer in fields or watching them at one’s bird feeder or checking trail cameras and taking a deer for the freezer in the fall.  Whitetails are the subject of excellent recipes, much lore and many, many stories.  As regular readers know, we deer hunt in the fall.  The hunt and the associated activities and especially the friends and family makes it a holiday time of year for us.  As I grow more chronologically advantaged, the fire for the hunt doesn’t seem to blaze as hot as it once did, but the season still kindles and it still burns as the weather turns colder.  The deer hunt is a social event as much as anything for us.  I call it the start of the holidays.  We have friends and family who come to hunt at Grouse Hollow and to break bread together and to catch up on the year past.  We go back home to Grant County to hunt with the family on opening weekend of the gun deer season, a true family event with 18 to 20 hunters and ten or more people who help butchter the deer we harvest.  Of course, time alone spent in a tree stand or blind is quality time for me as well.  We dont’ need the meat, so I could do this without a weapon and shoot some photos I suppose - okay I actually I tried that two seasons ago.  Something was missing.  Someone said once that to kill a wild animal while hunting makes a connection to some inner self, some place deep within from a time when a man had to hunt and kill for a living.  I’ll go with this I guess.  I just know for me that the intensity, the natural sense for seeing and hearing wild things was not there, at least not imperative.  I just wasn’t as careful with the camera.  I lost interest earlier and went home.  That’s on me.  I still carry a camera when I am hunting with a weapon.  

Finally, I got a letter from Catherine Harris of Viola last week.  It made my day, maybe my week as the dishwasher died and it cost over $400 to fix my truck earlier in the week.  Anyway, she correctly said that I might not remember her and her late husband, Gene.  He passed last year.  In the envelope was the original letter I sent to them after they let me muzzle loader hunt for deer on their property back in 1996.  In her lovely and careful cursive handwriting (remember I was a Language Arts teacher for over 25 years), Catherine told me how much it meant to her husband that I wrote them a letter to thank them for letting me hunt and to tell them the story of taking my very first muzzle loader whitetail.  It is an honor for me that she wanted to share how much it meant to Gene that I wrote to thank him for letting me hunt and even more that she and Gene enjoyed my journal for years after that.  I am sorry that we never got to know each other better.  Thank you Catherine.  

 

Until next time, get out - the calendar is climbing up the backside of June and I can tell you for a fact without being there, that deer hunters are talking whitetail sightings, fawn survival, food plots, coyote numbers, hunting seasons, and (the best part) they are telling stories as their autumn burn begins to glow and become a flame.  Enjoy.   

Grouse Hollow Journal for June 15, 2017 by Greg Koelker

Grouse Hollow for June 15, 2017 by Greg Koelker

Ellen presented me with a late birthday/early Father’s Day gift of a couple of nice shirts, one a dress shirt and one a fishing shirt, and two new trail cameras on Sunday.  After I read the directions - and that is out of character for me - I programmed one new camera and put it out on a test run in the garage the first evening.  A quick check of the disk found multiple ground level videos of our feet, a couple of Gypsy the serial killer, the car going in and out, but no raccoons or coyotes or even other cats.  Anyway, Ellen knows how to shop for me for sure.

After a couple shake down cruises in her new kayak, Ellen loves it.  We put up a hanger for it in the tobacco shed by the Queen.  I had to drill into the 120 year old oak pillar before I could drive in wood screws to secure the hanger.  When we had the bright red craft hanging up, she asked me, “Well, where are we going to put yours?”  Hmmm . . . uh, I am more of a motor kinda guy, so . . . anyway, we shall see how this story ends or begins in due time.

I read an article the other day that was about how some people can’t remember their late parent’s voice or even their face.  That made me think about my dad of course.  I don’t remember Father’s Day being a real big deal when I was growing up at our house.  We, uh, that is, Dad grilled something and Mom fixed a big meal and then Grandma and Grandpa Potter, the Leesers, and an assorted group of Minks or Grandma and Grandpa Koelker, Uncle Ike and Lou and all our Koelker cousins or maybe the Bryhans and their kids would come from Lancaster.  Whomever, there was loud carrying on with lots of laughter and card playing and maybe a game of pool in the basement.  I guess Dad enjoyed it.  I can’t remember where I left my phone or keys anymore, but I still remember him.  He died in the wee hours of the morning on November 1, 2008.  He liked a good joke and pulling pranks, so passing on Halloween night would have suited him.  I remember his voice pretty well.  He could curse like a sailor; he had been one during WWII, and he would growl at us about grades or not having our chores done or driving recklessly - well, not me of course, but my sisters were hell-on-wheels.  He was not big on praise or hugging like it seems a lot of men of his generation.  Looking back with my chronologically advantaged perspective, I realize how much Dad and Mom sacrificed for us to have better than they did; we weren’t rich, but we kids thought we were.  That probably explains why Dad was so cheap, except when it came to his kids.  He loved a good deal.  Dad could fix or would try to fix just about anything related to the house or machines.  He used a hand driven septic pipe clogger snake regularly to unplug our system rather than call a plumber.  He and I worked on cars that I abused many times and we both learned a lot.  I know it irked him to have to have someone work on his cars as he got older and cars got more complicated.  Dad took great pride in his family.  He enjoyed seeing and hearing about our kids and the rest of his grandchildren.  He had been a medic in the Navy and particularly liked hearing about Ellen’s career in the lab at Gundersen.  While he would have sprayed “The Beatles” with 24D, and didn’t think much of rock music, he did go with me to buy my first electric guitar and amp, and he and Mom chaperoned many dances my bands played for.  I know he liked that I and Ben had bands.  He was proud that I was the first in his family to finish a four-year college degree and that I became a teacher.  A jack of all trades type, he was full of advice and help when it came to our old farm house or mostly old vehicles.  He helped build our pole shed and wire up our family room.  He also took pride in his time working at John Deere from where he retired the first time.  He enjoyed his John Deere lawn tractors.  After retiring for the second time in his life, his number one lesson - no make that, constant exhortation was: “Never retire!”  He liked being busy and useful and visiting with people.  He once told me that there was no reason to go uptown anymore because all of his friends were either dead or moved to Texas.  That was probably the main reason he hated retirement; he was forced to retire at 79 because he knew he couldn’t fulfill the requirements of his care takers job at the Cassville Elderly Housing apartments.  Anyway, Dad mellowed out a great deal over his life.  I remember him as a gregarious character that everyone knew everywhere we went, but his personality could be hard if he got angry.  In the 1970’s, Dad started looking at politics totally differently.  The Vietnam War and Kent State Shootings of college students by Ohio National Guardsmen on May 4, 1970 really shook him.  I was draft age and heading off to college in Madison in the fall.  Dad was really shaken up when his own dad passed away in 1978.  He called me at work in La Crosse to let me know, and that was the first time I ever heard him cry.  The last time anyone saw him smile was after he had his second stroke, the big one that put him in hospice until the end - the Packers had just beaten the Colts.  Hundreds of people came to his visitation and funeral.  He would have liked being there to visit with them I am sure.  I think of Dad often and I still think I’ll call and ask his advice or just talk, but . . .       

Until next time, get out - I should clear up one little bit of fake news above; maybe I was a bit of hell-on-wheels too.  I know it’s a bit late to do this, but If your dad likes to read and likes hunting and fishing, try to find a copy of Bill Heavy’s You’re Not Lost If You Can Still See The Truck.  It is a classic.  To all you fathers out there, I hope you get to spend time with or at least get to talk to the reason(s) you get a holiday.  Enjoy.