Summer Dreams

From the Farm:

SUMMER DREAMS

Published in the Casper Journal September 13, 2011

After three summers in Wyoming, we FINALLY made it to the downtown farmers’ market. What fun! A lovely evening, good music, friendly people and great booths - a perfect example of the American entrepreneurial spirit. Oh, did I mention? We went to the market as a vendor ...
After our successful family garden last summer, we had the bright idea to expand, and planted part of our land in corn (a long shot for former Las Vegans!). We planted, weeded and watered it all by hand. It was an experiment and, except for the seed and the deer fence, cost us nothing but time. When only 1/3 of the plants grew, we were a bit discouraged, but still watered and weeded throughout the summer.
Two weeks ago, my son came running in to tell us our corn was ready. We could hardly believe it! Like magic, the stalks were full of rich, ripe ears. After a few nights of corn on the cob (which is yummy, but redundant), we hit the farmers’ market with a van full of corn and a home-painted sign.
Within an hour, we had sold out. The kids were elated. Was the corn extra yummy? I hope so. Were the kids extra cute? I think so. But more than the profit, we were thrilled with the fact that our “corn dream” had worked!
Our corn experiment also brought out the entrepreneurial spirit in our children. One afternoon they put their heads together and made a list of jobs: lawnmowing, tree cutting, weed pulling, and even “barn painting” (not sure how that one got on there). With a hand-written flyer naming their price (between $5 and $10 per job), they bravely approached several homes in our neighborhood. It was a hot afternoon, and when they returned an hour later, they were a bit discouraged.
“We gave everyone a flyer, but no one said they wanted us to work.” I said nothing, knowing the seeds of their experiment had at least been planted.
Two days later, a neighbor called, asking for help to weed her garden. More than thrilled, the kids went out the door and returned with cash in their pockets. A week later, they were called on to watch a dog while the owners were gone. Another day, they washed windows. They were in heaven! Trying not to interfere, I let them work out the details of each job, noting that the neighbors were generally more generous than the initial price my children had listed. (No barn-painting jobs, though.)
Watching his older siblings come home with money in their pockets, my 4-year-old asked one day if he could sell eggs. Slightly embarrassed about a small child and an egg stand in our driveway, I tried to hold him off. However, his eager spirit finally convinced me to let him try. He set up a table with a hand-printed sign near the road: Eggs .25 each. I put six of our chicken eggs in a bowl and watched him go out and sit in the sun, certain he would be disappointed. However, glancing out the window a few minutes later, I was surprised to see our neighbor carefully put four eggs into his pockets and hand my son a dollar bill. My little boy pounded on the door. “I sold some eggs!” Within 10 more minutes, his other two eggs were sold as well, and I made him clean up the stand. (I needed the rest of the eggs in the house for dinner.)
Thankful that he had been successful, I was also grateful to our considerate neighbors who gave him and my other children a chance. The corn, the eggs and the odd jobs not only provided my children with a great experience, but helped them each purchase most of their school supplies.
The money is beside the point, however, and the real victory is the opportunity to set a goal and reach it. Some day they’ll be beyond homemade egg stands and handwritten flyers, but for now, thanks to the farmers’ market and some very friendly neighbors, they’ve experienced the American dream.

Kokoro Kara: From the Heart

From the Farm:

KOKORO KARA: FROM THE HEART

Published in the Casper Journal September 5, 2011

It’s been a while since I’ve been the “minority” in a crowd. But I certainly was this past weekend at the Heart Mountain Interpretive Learning Center dedication in Cody. I’ve studied World War II, I’ve been to Japan, but the weekend’s events gave me a greater appreciation for the Japanese-Americans who were interned during the war. Ten thousand people lived in one square mile of barren land between Cody and Powell below the jagged image of Heart Mountain. They were some of the 120,000 Japanese Americans who were relocated during World War II.
Dedication activities of the new ILC lasted three days. The tent at the opening banquet was crowded with people, most were Japanese-Americans — nisei (second generation), sansei (third generation) and even yonsei (fourth generation). The nisei were nearly all in their 70s and 80s. They walked into the tent, supported by their children and grandchildren. I loved their faces, so Japanese, so calm, so traditional. It made me homesick for the quiet ways of Japan. During the presentation, they watched the screen as pictures of Heart Mountain, then and now, were shown ... the old hospital boiler, the swimming hole where Boy Scouts passed their swim checks (only the diving board remains), the irrigation pipe, the water reservoir (now a dustbowl). Although some of the pictures were sobering, the mood in the tent was light, even jovial, as stories and memories were shared.
While we stood in line for dinner, I visited with Judy Murakami. Judy was an infant during the internment. Her mother never spoke of the experience during Judy’s growing up years, after the family relocated to Minnesota. However, Judy kept the wooden doll bed her father made for her in the camp. The bed is now on display in the ILC.
After we finished our peach pie, Tom Brokaw spoke, calling the center a “fitting place for renewal and reflection. A symbol of failure now becomes a symbol of triumph.”
Norm Mineta, former U.S. Secretary of Transportation under President George W. Bush, and Secretary of Commerce under President Clinton, also spoke, recalling experiences at Heart Mountain. Mineta was a 9-year-old boy when his family was relocated from southern California to Heart Mountain. He wore his Cub Scout uniform. Later, he joined one of the seven active Boy Scout troops at the camp and became fast friends with a young Boy Scout from Cody named Al Simpson.
Serving under President George W. Bush, Mineta was the official who downed all flights on 9/11. In a cabinet meeting two days later, there was some discussion about a possible roundup of Muslim-Americans. Thankfully, the president insisted that history wouldn’t repeat the same thing that “happened to Norm.”
Throughout the weekend, downtown Cody bustled with hundreds of dedication visitors. Signs on nearly every store door welcomed the Japanese-Americans.
“I remember signs during the ‘40s that read, ‘Japs not allowed,’” recalled Al Simpson. “The situation was so confusing to me, because as a Boy Scout, I would go with my Scoutmaster out to Heart Mountain and we were friends with those people.”
Well, those times are over, and a time for celebration is here. The dedication, although somewhat sobering, was a joyful event. Eighty-year-old former Boy Scouts Bill Shishima and Donald Yamamoto, proudly wearing Scout uniforms, raised the flag over the new ILC, while cameras everywhere snapped photos. Once boys, maintaining a semblance of their American heritage, they’re now heroes, returned to claim what’s rightfully theirs. The crowd was gracious and spellbound throughout the presentation. At the adjournment, souvenirs sold out and Japanese bentos (lunches) were eaten and enjoyed. The day was warm and dusty and the trails of Heart Mountain were filled with walkers, remembering another time and grateful for the understanding we have now.
I enjoyed the ceremonies. I learned as we toured the grounds. But my most priceless souvenir of the weekend is a greater appreciation of the Japanese people: simple, beautiful, and for the most part, without bitterness. The theme of the weekend reverberated everywhere: “Kokoro Kara: From the heart” ... a time to let hearts heal and stand up together again as Americans.

Plein Air on the Plains

From the Farm:

PLEIN AIR ON THE PLAINS

Published by the Casper Journal August 9, 2011

It’s been an artful summer. I started by watching a friend, Alicia Blevins, complete a pastel drawing of the plains of Wyoming in one hour. Wow! In only 60 minutes, she created a masterpiece. It accurately displayed Wyoming hills, a winding road and wildflowers. I was in awe.
A few weeks later, I coincidentally met one of my neighbors for the first time — Ginny Butcher. Discovering that she was an artist, I checked out her website and saw the term, “Plein air.” At first, I thought it was a typo. Don’t you spell plain with an “a?”
I learned the truth when I visited Ginny’s house a few weeks later. From the outside, her home resembled most of the others in our small, farming community. However, once inside, my children and I were overwhelmed with beauty. Ginny graciously showed me her painting studio, photo studio and display table. But the tour didn’t stop there. Stepping onto her back terrace was like stepping into a painting. The view was incredible. Plains as far as the eye could see. Green vines crawled up her deck, a stream twisted through the property, and wild flowers grew on the hills and in her garden. My children loved the rambling bridge and pathways through the tall grass.
Ginny explained what “plein air” means. In French, it describes being outside — painting in open air, from a real view, not just from a photograph. It wasn’t a typo, artists prefer the French term.
The day after visiting Ginny, a friend gave us a private tour of the Buffalo Bill Historical Center in Cody ... another wow. We saw interns carefully checking and preserving historical posters and artifacts. One room stored Remington pieces not currently on display. The room had a regulated temperature, and we spoke quietly while inside. The precious masterpieces portrayed the American West. The worth of the paintings was astronomical.
Did Remington paint in “en plein air?” I’m not sure. (Remington lived in New York.) Nevertheless, the art was amazing.
After leaving the museum, we drove west from Cody, through some of the most gorgeous “plein air” of the world. At Buffalo Bill State Park, the reservoir was overflowing. The Shoshone National Forest displayed its usual incredible grandeur, and we soon were nearly into Yellowstone. As we pulled over to take a photo, the vehicle behind us stopped and the family asked us to take their photo. “We’re from Chicago,” they said. “Where are you from?”
“Wyoming,” I said, almost embarrassed at the short drive we had taken to enjoy what the world comes to visit. We waved as they drove on into the park. Our conversation was a good reminder to enjoy what we have.
A few weeks later, we spent some time on a friend’s ranch in Clark, Wyo. Have you ever been to Clark? It’s a mere dot on the map. I sat on the porch, enjoying the sunny flowers and watching the overflowing stream gurgle by. In the pond, my children spent hours on the paddleboats, trying to catch fish and having water fights. Another “plein air” experience.
I’m not an artist. I’ll never own a Remington, or do a chalk pastel, or have my own in-house studio. I do love good artwork, however, and I may consider myself a bit French now whenever I’m outside enjoying the Wyoming summer. We have views to inspire every artist, even the artist in each of us. And whether or not we capture it on a canvas, beauty is something we’ll never lack in this state — especially the “plein air” on the plains of Wyoming.

Garden Night

From the Farm:

GARDEN NIGHT

Published in the Casper Journal July 26, 2011

We hold a special “Garden Family Council” each spring. Sitting around a big table and with my daughter acting as scribe, all of us shout out everything we want to plant in our family garden that year. Tomatoes, beans, corn, carrots, lettuce and radishes are regulars. Some years we’re more daring, adding watermelon, big blue morning glories and Jack-Be-Little pumpkins to our garden wish list.
After the list of “crops” is made, each child chooses two or three vegetables he wants to be exclusively in charge of caring for. Our council ends with the family gathered around a large piece of white butcher paper, drawing a sketch of the future garden and assigning vegetables and caretaker children to specific rows.
I remember my own parents holding a “Garden Family Council” when I was a young girl. It was always very exciting. During the following week, my mom would come home with a new pair of garden gloves for each of us children. We tried them on and modeled them all over the house, dreaming about our future vegetables. Then the warm weather came.
At dinner one evening my parents announced cheerily, “Tonight is garden night!” The response was less than enthusiastic.
“I’m too busy ... Too much homework ... Something on my schedule tonight ...” The list of excuses always went on and on.
“No, tonight is garden night!” my parents would insist. So we grudgingly put away our books or toys, hung up the phone, changed our clothes and went outside.
Our reluctance never lasted for long. The minute we were in the garden the fun began. Talking and laughing together, we’d work on our individual rows — digging, furrowing and planting. We prided ourselves on a straight row and marked each one carefully with a stick and a seed package.
As we worked, we sang songs and talked about the happenings of the day. Outside, with no TV or radio blaring, conversation came easily and family ties grew more quickly than the seeds in the freshly turned earth. When the stars came out, Mom would bring a bucket of ice cream outside and we would lie on the grass, licking ice cream cones and admiring the evening’s work. Satisfied, relaxed and a little bit dirty, we reluctantly went back to homework and evening chores and then to bed.
It’s been several years now since I was a child in the garden with my family. I can hardly believe the passage of time as I gather my own children for a “garden night” one evening.
“I’m tired.” “I want to finish my book.” “We just weeded yesterday!” The initial excuses echo those from my childhood, but we head out into the cool evening anyway. Green peas and corn are poking up through the damp earth.
“Look how big the tomatoes are!” yells my daughter, and everyone runs to inspect. Working together we weed and furrow each row, while the toddlers run freely down the garden paths.
“What’s in the new patch of garden?” asks a friendly neighbor.
“Corn,” smiles my son. “Three thousand seeds!” The numbers make us sound more ambitious than we are, but the anticipation is worth it.
“Six more eggs from the chickens!” shouts my four-year-old. He runs to the kitchen, his hands full of treasure.
“Another robin’s nest!” calls my daughter, pointing to a tree and everyone gathers to welcome the newcomers. As the children talk and laugh together, a smile crosses my lips and a fresh breeze fills my heart.
When the stars come out, we sit on the swing and look down at the river.
“We’re rich,” breathes my daughter.
“Yes,” my husband replies. “We have everything.”
Garden night: a tradition passed down to another generation. A tradition I don’t want to forget.

Avoiding Apathy

From the Farm:

AVOIDING APATHY

Published in the Casper Journal July 12, 2011

Life is easy right now. Most of the people I know have a car (more than one), a phone (more than one), a T.V. (more than one), they often take vacations (more than one) and even own a home (some have more than one). I don’t personally know anyone going hungry, and even friends of mine who’ve experienced a “downsizing” in their job status are still able to make ends meet and live comfortably. Some would call our current standard of living “the abundant life.” And it is very abundant. However, we must be very careful that the “abundant” life doesn’t become the “apathetic” life. July is a good time for a wake-up call.
My wake-up call came when my teenage son excitedly told me one day that he had seen a piece of the Berlin Wall. “It was behind glass,” he explained. “A real piece of the wall. Imagine that!” I waited for him to finish the story of his trip to the museum before I replied.
“Actually, I have a piece of the wall downstairs,” I told him. “You do?” He didn’t believe me. “And, you can touch it,” I added. As he eagerly followed me to the basement, I realized that I had never shared with him two important experiences of my youth.
Various circumstances took me to Germany twice as a teenager. The first time was in 1988, to visit Hans and Inge Wittke, scouting friends of my dad’s. They lived in Dusseldorf, and I stayed with them for a month while I practiced my Jr. High school German skills. As active German scouters, the Wittkes provided an opportunity for me to attend a German scout camp for two weeks. Hiking, bicycling and backpacking through the green fields and hills of West Germany is an experience I will never forget.
Just as sharp in my memory as the campfires, German scout songs and quaint German towns are, is the memory of a one day trip to the East German border. We climbed to a high castle, where we could look over barbed wire and “no man’s land” into East Germany. It was frightful to see people - actual people - on the other side. Later, we drove right up to the border and stopped at the sign that read, “Halt! Hier Grenze.” I could see the guard towers and the soldiers inside, and they could see me.
Coincidentally, I traveled to Germany exactly two summers later, as a 16-year-old, to spend a month with a German family in Nurnberg. The year was 1990. Just nine months earlier, the Iron Curtain had fallen. One week of the student exchange involved a trip to Berlin. We traveled by bus from Nurnberg, driving through the old East Germany.
After hours of grey houses, grey broken streets, and grey “Travies” (cars big enough to fit two people and a sack of potatoes) we finally reached the old West Berlin. Warm beds, orange juice (not available in the East) and colorful flower boxes were a welcome sight.
Our tour the next day took us to Checkpoint Charlie. It was now a museum, and we walked uninhibited from one side of the city to the other. The Berlin Wall had been cleared from the Brandenburger Tor, but the rest of the wall remained. The other students and I rented hammers and chisels from the street vendors, and chopped away pieces of the wall to take home as souvenirs. There was plenty of wall for everyone.
Viewing the East - and the grey poverty - first through barbed wire, and then from the other side, was another experience I will not soon forget.
But the Berlin Wall fell a long time ago. My children read about it in history books now. Visitors to Germany can no longer chip away their own souvenir wall piece, and the once grey East German houses are now filled with typical flowerboxes again. Will we forget the Iron Curtain? Will we become apathetic in our abundance? Have we perhaps even forgotten the American Revolution?
Abundance is all around us, but it could turn into apathy if we allow it to. July is a good time to remember; a good time to discuss freedom; a good time to teach children. I think I’ll bring up my piece of the Berlin Wall and use it as a centerpiece on our dining room table. We can look at it as we eat dinner and discuss our blessings and our freedoms: our two cars, our spacious house, our open lands, and our opportunities.
In fact, we’ll do more than look at the wall, I’ll let my children touch it and hold it. I hope it touches their souls like it touched mine. I want the wall and the experiences I share to stir in them a gratitude for the abundant life, a fire of freedom that will teach them to avoid apathy, so that their liberty is never placed behind glass and made a museum piece.

Wyoming For Me

From the Farm:

WYOMING FOR ME

Published in the Casper Journal June 25, 2011

I just made an executive decision ... I’m moving to San Diego. After two beautiful days of blue sky, warm weather, lovely beaches and indescribable flowers, I can’t resist. My husband and I traveled to San Diego for his business conference. While he was in meetings, I spent my time strolling paths by the bay, watching amazing ships, listening to the seagulls and drinking in the aroma of jasmine hedges lining the walks. While I’m not generally a fan of big, dirty cities, San Diego seemed clean and inviting. Friendly trolley car drivers explained points of interest as we drove through the streets. Smiling shopkeepers offered assistance as they sold everything from produce to Italian ice cream to tourist shirts. The Navy presence — everywhere in San Diego — was astounding and impressive.
Coronado Island was incredible. I visited it twice. The white, sandy beaches and the warm Pacific Ocean were tantalizing. Glittering flecks washed up with each wave (was it gold?) and the beach sparkled as far as I could see. The lovely island history — both Mexican and American — appealed to everyone. I didn’t bring home much in the way of souvenirs — just a few photos and a sunburn — but enough memories to draw me back someday. So lovely. So different from Wyoming. So impressive.
Various circumstances have taken us to many places in the past three months. Besides San Diego, we’ve also been to Denver, Chicago, Detroit, Salt Lake City and Omaha. Quite frankly, every city has impressive sites, and the people are friendly. America the Beautiful shines. On second thought, I could probably live anywhere in our great country and be happy.
But even with the beautiful places we saw, I was always glad to come home. Every city had its downfalls: gas prices, toll roads (who’s bright idea was that???), tornados, security checks and lots and lots of rain. When all is said and done, I’ll still take Wyoming. Nothing quite compares to our beautiful prairies, laid back communities and incredible wildlife, not to mention an affordable standard of living.
In just the past week, summer has come to our farm. Tiny corn, potato, onion, pea and bean shoots are poking through the ground. The irises are in full-bloom, and the aroma of lilacs wafts through the air. Hills all around are green, and our chickens are laying constantly. (We eat eggs every day!) We may not have hedges of jasmine or a deep blue bay to watch, but the overflowing North Platte River, just down the hill, is nearly as impressive! The ponds of Edness Kimball Wilkins State Park may not be the ocean, but my children still spend hours there, catching fish, swimming and playing on the sandy beaches. I also love the miles of open space and star-studded skies of Wyoming. Perhaps we aren’t moving to San Diego, after all.
It’s not quite July, but I’m already feeling patriotic. Poet Henry Van Dyke’s words (with my own, western twist) ring through my mind:
It’s home again, and home again, Wyoming for me!
My heart is turning home again, and there I long to be,
In the land of youth and freedom, beyond the ocean bars,
Where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars!

Moral Madness

From the Farm:

MORAL MADNESS

Published in the Casper Journal June 14, 2011

I’m sick of immorality. I don’t care if you’re rich, or famous, or even (especially!) if you’re a politician. Cheating on your spouse is dishonest and wrong, and it hurts others.
Recent newscasts (which I sometimes have to turn off if my children are listening) have shared stories of political leaders on each side of the aisle who act immorally and then spend money to cover it up. Incredible! How can we trust people to be true to their country if they can’t even be true to their spouse? If you’ve made a commitment, then keep it! No matter what your societal status is, if you can’t control yourself, you have no right to lead others. Did you never study Shakespeare? “This above all: to thine own self be true ...”
What is it about our society today that makes morality so old-fashioned? Why do we think we can break timeless laws without consequences? This nonchalant attitude, blatantly displayed by those in political power, is filtering down through the ranks until every part of our culture is affected. Henry David Thoreau said, “As if you could kill time without injury eternity.” I say, “As if you could kill chastity without injuring society.”
My husband and I have been married for 15 years. (I know, I know. That’s just the blink of an eye for some of you old-timers out there.) Despite the fact that our current lives allow less time alone then when we first courted (eight children constantly vie for our attention now), we’re happier today than when we were married. Somehow the passage of time deepens love, understanding and respect. I can only imagine that our next 15 years, and the 15 after that, and the 15 after that, will continue to improve our relationship.
A one-night fling can never afford the same satisfaction that long-term love brings. It’s the difference of opening packages on Christmas morning compared to the joy of giving a gift to one you love. It’s eating ice cream, compared to holding a newborn child. It’s the thrill of a Ferris wheel ride compared to an exhausting yet exhilarating mountain climb. Pleasure and joy are sisters, but one is much younger than the other.
As election rhetoric, debating and mud-slinging get underway, I care only about one thing: Are you a moral candidate? Really? Truly? Will your spouse second that? Can we trust you with your family, and with your most important relationships? Then no matter what side of the aisle you sit on, perhaps we can trust you with our country.
However, if you think immorality is in style then don’t even try to set a toenail on my ballot. You don’t deserve to be anywhere near the leadership of this nation. Despite worldly trends, we’re still “one nation under God,” and morality is at the top of His list. If you think double standards outside of marriage are “no big deal,” then go home to your private life and your dishonest ways. Stay out of the White House and off Capitol Hill. As a country that trusts in God, we need leaders we can trust. And that trust begins at home.