Behind the Lines: by David Heiller

David Heiller We stood at the back of the church, hand in hand. A sca tt ering of people spread through the back pews on the le ft hand side, our side. The very back pew sat vacant, but nobody sits in the very back pew of a church. It’s bad manners. So hand in hand, we stepped forward one pew, two pews, three pews, breaking new ground as we progressed six pews up, the fa rt hest ever for us. No more hiding in the back of the church. The sixth pew challenged us, and we took it up like soldiers of the cross, marching as to war. Α solitary figure satin the sixth pew, as we slid in beside her. I recognized Mardy Youngberg. She smiled at us. I nodded back and gulped. Here was the test, the sixth pew, all those people behind us taking notes, and Mardy Youngberg at our side. Ι could just read her column of Bremen News in this week’s American: Α mild uproar occurred last Sunday at Faith Lutheran Church as David Heiller and his… A tiny voice interrupted my thoughts. “I want t...

David Heiller The temperature had hit 30 degrees when I pulled into Jim Sales yard south of Askov. It was a beautiful February Sunday morning by our standards, but a little warm for Jim’s family. His family of dogs, that is. Jim Sales owns a bunch of them, stout- hearted, young-hearted, good-hearted dogs. You get the impression Jim is from that mold too. They’re sled dogs, real sled dogs, Malamutes and Samoyeds, and when I pulled up with two kids, they opened up like a pack of kids, jumping and yelling. My daughter Mollie wouldn’t get out of the car at first. She seemed to realize she may have met her match. Even the day care doesn’t sound that loud on a Friday afternoon. It was a musical sound, not ear-splitting like some dog barks; more like the sound of a pack of coyotes on a winter night close up. Jim and his son, Jon, hooked up four of the Malamutes to Jim’s sled while Noah, Mollie (now in my arms) and I stood to the side. It takes a lot of muscle to bring the dogs...