69 to 0

One of the best things about attending church is just being able to sing nice and loud for a couple hours (including choir practice) a week-- especially with other folks. Seems to me it is good for the soul to belt out a few tunes now and then. For example, I'm teaching the kids the old Fig Newton commercial jingle from the 70's "oooey gooey rich and chewy inside. golden cakey tender flakey outside..." Make 'em sing and dance for their supper.

I'm not a sophisticate when it comes to music and so I hadn't noticed that our church organ had troubles. A committee formed to look into getting a new organ. They worked for the better part of a year; getting bids, traveling to various area churches to play the different types of organs, and figuring out the finances. They brought the bids and their recommendations before the whole church congregation-- basically held us after the service-- the ushers stubbornly not leading us out of the sanctuary. Earnest was incensed-- "What!? Church is over and we don't get to leave?" It was more than a fidgety 6 year old could take.

The committee was nervous as they presented the request. They had no idea what the sentiment of the crowd was. Neither did I- I wasn't even sure what the man sitting next to me would vote in a secret ballot. Even though I am married to him.

They passed out secret ballots; we all voted and passed our votes down the aisle. A couple folks went into the lobby to count them. After a bit Joanne walked down and handed the results to the church president. Votes in favor 69. Opposed 0.

For what ever reason I wanted to burst into tears of joy. Believe me, I'm not that attached to getting an organ. It was just giddyingly refreshing to sit in a room with 100 people -- newborns to 100 years old-- republicans and democrats-- white collar and blue collar workers-- and we all agreed on something. Not a curmudgeon in the crowd. Imagine that- 69 to 0.

What's more- during these hard economic times that vote is a most hopeful statement about the future. We will invest in the future. Not just the things that HAVE to be done like repairs, but things that bring nothing more than beauty, comfort, joy for generations to come. Something as ephemeral as a few blessed bars of "For the Beauty of the Earth" on a better instrument.

If you want to hear the new organ- it was installed Tuesday-- consider yourself invited to Trinity Lutheran Church for the 10:30 service this Sunday. Hopefully, there's a great line up of songs. And just in time for the Christmas carols!

Dairying... what keeps me up at night

Postcard 1937

We live on what was a dairy farm for the better part of a century. It was one of hundreds of dairy farms in Big Stone County. Now there are three. And at least one of those three would like to throw in the towel.

I watch our own dairy infrastructure degrade before my eyes. The milk parlor now fills with water in the spring. The roof of the milk house needs repair. It's been 15 years since cows were milked here. One night over dinner as I talked about how this could be a dairy farm again, my usually calm husband raised his voice and pounded his fist on the table and said "I will not start milking again!" Days later one of the kids said to me "Dad really doesn't want to milk, does he?!" He was a dairyman into his late 20's and then worked in the U's dairy barns. Guess he thinks that's enough.

Mike was one of many thousands of Big Stone County kids raised milking cows. He learned how to look for good genetics (and built his own fine quality herd), how to raise calves, care for large animals, haul manure, feed and water cattle, to say nothing of milking. Right now I know of only one teenage boy in the county who is receiving this hands on education.

A couple weeks ago I was asked to talk to an environmental communications class at the U on how agriculture is included in environmental discussions and decision making. I asked the room of about 40 people:
How many of you were raised on farms? (answer 2)
How many of your parents were raised on farms? (answer 10)
How many of your grandparents were raised on farms? (answer 30)

Think about this societal change we've experienced in just 3 generations. What keeps me awake is that we are becoming so far removed from so many skills so fast. I just can't help thinking that we lose these widespread skills at our own peril. So we get down to having a few dozen people in the State who could run a dairy farm. Then what?

I asked that same class:
How many of you aspire to be farmers? (answer 1) One proud young woman shot her arm enthusiastically into the air. Here's hoping- eh?

Mistaken for a Sunrise

Sunrise on our farm

I walked the kids down the driveway and had to skip my morning walk to do some farm work in preparation for the coming blizzard-whiteout-over ice.

As I walked down the driveway- the sky completely gray- I saw a dot of sunrise on the horizon through my farmstead and grove. I marveled that there was one tiny break in the clouds in what looked like a completely low cloud covered sky. As I closed the 1/2 mile between the end of the driveway and the farm, I realized that wasn't a sunrise. It was my husband in his blaze orange on top of the quonset (again).

Can't say I've ever mistaken anyone but him for a sunrise.

**Note: my blog was messed up for a while. THANK YOU SHANE for fixing it.**

Fiber Revolution

The Sky Has No Borders- by Benedicte Caneill (from Fiber Revolution)

I'm subject to obsessions. I'm in the midst of a 2 year search for US grown and milled cotton sheets. 30 years ago I could have walked into JC Penney's and bought them off the shelf. Now, it takes two years to find them.

As it turns out, I just happened to begin my obsessive search during one of our nations biggest industry declines. 80% of cotton fabric was milled in the US in 1985 and now it is about 5%. According to NPR:

Between 2006 and '09, U.S. cotton acreage dropped by 40 percent...
"The old world of cotton is probably dead," says Darren Hudson, director of the Cotton Economics Research Institute at Texas Tech University.

Now, I'm not hung up on cotton. I can't grow it here in Big Stone County anyway. So give me any old US grown and made fiber sheets- there's hemp, bamboo, flax makes linen.

I'm willing to save my pennies and buy some USA grown, milled and manufactured sheets. I've found some organic cotton sheets that are US made- start to finish. And they are expensive. But I consider that every single purchase I make a donation to the kind of world I want to live in. I vote with my pocket book. I could buy cheap sheets from Target and then pay higher taxes to support unemployed Americans who once worked in textile mills. We pay for this loss of capacity in many ways, besides workers dignity. We dismantle our ability to feed and clothes ourselves (as a nation) at our peril.

We need to keep making things-- real things that people need and use. Like sheets. I do not consider creating innovative investment instruments noble work. Bundling subprime mortgages into collateralized debt obligations (CDOs) creates nothing in this world but a mess- frankly.
There is a movement towards re-localization- local foods, local energy and now I think we need to start paying attention to local fiber. Mark my word- it's the next big thing.

Here in Big Stone County we can grow flax, alpaca, sheep, fancy goats with great soft fur. I'm hooked man. This could be a great place to start the Fiber Revolution.

The Piece of Cod that passes all understanding

Harvest Fest meal- 2010- Artichoke Baptist Church

We've had a very cultural fall- with a large family lefse making (the old world style graham flour lefse- no potatoes) and a lovely Harvest Festival lutefisk dinner in the Artichoke church basement. That gelatenous lye soaked fish is the highlight of the feast. Jens wanted to make his own blog entry... so take it away Jens...

This is me. I'm standing by a box of lutefisk. Lutefisk is brought here all the way from the ocean by Norway. Lutefisk is a one and only time food- you can't have it like one day and then the next. Lutefisk is very famous. It is a very good food.








This is me with my great-uncle Mick. I helped serve lutefisk for the very first time because my dad put on this apron. I decided I was going to work because he said I could.















This is my brother. I love him. He is very kind. We can play all the time. He is very playful. We make good battle games and even pretend we are transformers. And he doesn't like lutefisk. In fact, he hates lutefisk.

Going...going...gone

Good Shepherd Church- Artichoke, MN
I have only lived here three years and the loss of farmsteads, churches, historic mainstreet anchor buildings in our little area is a heartache. I can only imagine what is like if you've lived here your whole life and even have generational memories.

Change. Loss. No rational hope for rebuilding.
Take a look at that picture of the Good Shepherd Church-- about 10 miles out my backdoor. A lovely country church--with a congregation that endured for over 125 years. This month the church was picked up and moved away to a more populated area. Many people are happy that the building will be saved and used-- and not collapse over the years from the lack of people/use that keeps buildings alive. But it leaves another gap in the landscape. A gap where a beautiful and inspiring landmark stood as a testament to what, in my opinion, is a hallmark of our culture. That we can work together to build and sustain a place to nurture the human spirit.

Likewise, we once built monuments to business and industry. Businessmen invested in the permanence of a brick building on mainstreet. You have to believe in the future to build a brick building. I'm sorry to say that we may not even have the skilled labor, the noble stonemasons, who could even build those same buildings today. And so the two buildings that burnt to the ground on mainstreet Ortonville this month represent a loss that will never be replaced. Maybe a pole barn would go up in their place-- but the resources, skill, and belief in the future that it takes to build a landmark are not there.

Once these buildings are gone, they are gone forever.
There is a building in Clinton- a tall, two-story yellow brick building- that lives in my dreams. It lives as a completely restored dry goods, gardening, book store, coffee shop. Upstairs is a sunlit, elegant, comfortable living area -- our winter home so that the kids can go to school through the blizzards that isolate us on the prairie. I buy lottery tickets because they are my only hopes to achieving that dream. This venture is not a money maker, but a labor of love. Love and hope.
But the hope that I'll win the lottery before the building is razed is running low. The front page of Thursday's Northern Star newspaper included the city council's recommendation to raze the building because the bricks are beginning to fall and are a hazard. A race against time- will Kathy get enough money for a roof and a brick repair before the building collapses or is razed?
Last Monday, my program at the U co-hosted a talk with Nicole Foss, of Automatic Earth fame. I spent time with her following the seminar's gloomy description of what faces us in the future (economic, energy, and resource collapse). She whispered to me "You're in the right place. It will come back. It will be the soul and center of what is good, right and whole in the future." Ok- she didn't say that, but she did.
If we can just keep it together until the collapse. Until the pendulum swings back. Hope clings eternal.



Historic buildings lost Oct. 2010 in Ortonville, MN

Loyalty--Thy Name is Sunny

It's been a year now since we found Sunny and her little pup Lucky starving and nearly dead at an abandoned farmstead near our place. Lucky didn't make it through the winter- even with all the love and attention of three doting children and the vet care we could give him. Poor little pup just couldn't recover from whatever journey had brought them to our home.

Sunny responded to Mike with the most fawning, obsessive love I've ever seen in any living creature. Mike was the one who found and rescued them and one cannot underestimate the gratitude of a mother towards those who offer care to their young in need. She shadows every footstep that Mike makes and when he drives the tractor she maddeningly stays as close as possible to the tractor door- looking up at Mike even as he drives up and down long fields. Makes for a worn out dog some days. Yesterday, Sunny braved flying logs as we built up the wood pile for winter. "Move ya dumb dog!" But that might mean not being as close as possible to Mike. Loyalty- thy name is Sunny.

Pheasant season opened at 9 am yesterday- the first hunting season we've had with Sunny. She's everything a good yellow lab could be- ahead flushing out birds, obedient, and eager- so I hear.

She is also a great daily lesson in remembering that really good things sometimes come to us unexpectedly. I would say that Sunny came to us unbidden- but I realize that in our hearts we wanted and were waiting for her. A happy one-year anniversary to celebrate.