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.
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