Behind the Lines: by David Heiller

David Heiller Dear Grandma: Α funny thing happened last week. Cindy was driving to work, with me next to her. She had on her gloves, jacket, stocking cap and mukluks. I was two layers lighter, as usual, just wearing a shirt and pants, and feeling hot at that. We came to the stop sign by Banning Junction. My window was frosted over. Cindy couldn’t see the on-coming traffic. I pushed the button and down came the window, all the way down. Cindy has asked me not to lower it all the way down, but I forgot. The window hasn’t been working all the time lately. It sometimes gets stuck in the open position. I have to open and close the door. Then it works again. Guess what happened last week? When I pushed the button to make the window go up, it wouldn’t budge. I opened and closed the door, and it still wouldn’t go up. It was 16 degrees below zero outside. The window was all the way open. So we drove the last four miles into Askov going 55 miles an hour, which created a win...

David Heiller Mike was working on his 1970 Polaris snowmobile when we drove up Saturday morning. He was using a hair dryer to thaw the frozen fuel pumps. Our 11-year-old son looked at it in disbelief. He’d never seen anything so old and beat up. Mike didn’t see it that way. “It’s the best one I’ve owned,” Mike claimed. He bought it five years ago for $50, and it runs if you take a hair dryer to the fuel pump every winter. Mike and Donna at our house, petting MacKenzie. Mike and Donna live seven miles southwest of Willow River. Donna had told us we could cut a Christmas tree on her land. She was working Saturday, so Mike led us out to the woods. Actually, their two big Labradors did the leading. We found a beautiful tree right away, a nine-foot white spruce. It wasn’t perfect, but it was close. Towards the top it tapered in a bit, then spread out again, like a crown on the three Wise men. It was too nice a morning to just cut the tree  ...

David Heiller I ’ve been sitting on an outhouse column, so to speak, for several months. That’s because I had seen a want ad in a local paper back then that read: FOR SALE: Outhouse $150.00. I figured that anyone who is selling his outhouse must have a story to tell the Askov American. First some background: We have an outhouse at our place. I guess it’s MY outhouse, since I’m the only one who uses it. Cindy hasn’t used it much since last summer, when a garter snake dropped on her. Occasionally Mollie will hitch a ride on my back and join me there. It’s a two-holer. But she does this less out of physical need than curiosity or if she has something urgent that she needs to talk about. Things like how her best friend doesn’t like her anymore, or whether she can watch TGIF on Friday. It was never a pretty outhouse, but the door  faced our field and the view was glorious. (It was extremely rare that anyone ever shut the outhouse door.) Mostly the outhouse is my domain...

David Heiller I’ve been asking that question a lot lately. We’ve got a bumper crop of BHN665 toma­toes. That’s the very ordinary name for the vari­ety I bought from Johnny’s Seeds. It’s not a typi­cal tomato name. Some people will only plant a tomato with “beef” in its name. Beefy Boy, Beefy Girl, Big Beefy Momma. David and a small portion of our bumper crop. But good old BHN665 came through big time. I planted the seeds in March, then transplanted them about three times. They fought through some blossom end rot during the dry spell, and now they are pretty much thick and perfect. We’ve frozen a lot, and we’ve made two dif­ferent kinds of salsa too, with more, much more, waiting to be made. I’ve given a lot away too. It’s a lot of fun to do that. Some people really appreciate it. Jane Palen, who also works at The Argus, is one of them. She gets excited, and even describes what she will do them. “Why, I think I’ll slice them up, and layer them with fresh mozzarella. T...

David Heiller A friend of ours asked my wife if he could bring his three kids over for two days and two nights of babysitting this week. Cindy asked me if I would mind. I told her no, that should be fine. I would be at work during the day and most of the night too, since this is Askov Fair Week. “Oh by the way, honey,” she added nonchalantly, “I’ve got a meeting in Minneapolis on Monday. But I’ll get Glenda to babysit.” “That shouldn’t be any problem, I replied, thinking of Glenda, poor Glenda, who has five kids of her own. If anyone could handle five more kids, Glenda could. Two of the usual suspects So our friend’s three kids arrived Sunday night, and our friend drove off to his job in St. Paul with a smile on his face, a smile only a single parent can have who is returning to work without three of his kids. Inside the house, the volume on the kids went up 150 percent, which is the increase in lung power we suddenly had inherited. But I didn’t mind. Noah woke up, and ...

David Heiller   The heat is on to buy a new car, or at least a newer one than the 1979 Bobcat which we currently own. The 1979 Mercury Bobcat. Ours was red. Ours should have been dead. The Bobcat had no heat, so the year I worked part time in McGregor,  David wrapped baby Noah in a sleeping bag, and then  we  would tuck me in. He closed the gigantic door  by lifting  and pushing, and off I would go through the  wilds of  the Arthyde swamp.  The return home was more  complicated, since you  did need a second adult to close the door. It was a long and cold winter. The heat is coming from my wife, from my family, from my wife’s family, from every direction but the car itself. You see, the car, Lucy, doesn’t have any heat. That’s one of her drawbacks. The heater hasn’t worked for two winters. But that doesn’t bother me, at least not now. “Face it David, this car is i...

David Heiller “Where are all the water bottles?” Cindy hollered from the kitchen on Monday morning. “I just bought two new ones a couple weeks ago.” “I threw one away. It had a leaky top,” I shouted back. I won’t tolerate a leaky water bottle. “Where are all the others?” Cindy persisted. “Water bottles are like jackknives. They have a life of their own,” I answered. I felt very wise with that analogy. The wisdom part didn’t last long. It never does. But it did get me thinking about things — supposedly inanimate things — that come and go seemingly of their own free will. David loved his water bottles and he used them. (This was a Christmas of Gustavus Adolphus College gifts from our daughter.  Of course a Gustie water bottle for Dad was a must...  They probably had Gustie jackknives too, but  I imagine that they did not fit a students budget!) Water bottles are like that. Cindy and I both carry water bottles with us. One day they are sitt...

David Heiller The list has been started, in my head at least. Jack-knife, binoculars, good book. Essential things for a five-day fishing trip. The Socks Matches, candle, plenty of socks. About four years ago, it rained so much that all my socks got wet. Cold feet. I was miserable. It was even worse when I had to watch the other three guys wearing warm socks and smug smiles. That was the trip I snuck a rock into Paul’s pack, which more than made up for my physical discomfort. He still promises to get me back. I wonder if he will this year? I wonder at things like that these days. My thoughts are drifting like a canoe toward our fishing trip, drifting like that canoe Dave forgot to pull onto a portage last year. It floated across the bay like a silver phantom, and Dave had to retrieve it using MY canoe. I’ve got pictures to prove it. I guess I had a smile that time. Maps, compass, flashlight. I’ll be working in the garden, and I’ll feel the wind coming from the northwes...

David Heiller One of the nice things about gardening is giving plants away and receiving plants in return. A friend, “Cynthia,” came over for supper a couple weeks ago. Before she came, she asked if we would like some physostegia. I think that’s how you spell it. Like most flowers, it also has a common name, “sensitive plant.” I thought it was mighty sensitive of Cynthia to ask, so I said yes. Never turn down a free plant, unless it’s creeping Charlie. More about that later. “Do you have any catnip?” I asked. Yes, this sensitive person replied, and she brought some of that along too. Both of them are growing in our garden now. After she left, I was mad at myself because I didn’t send any plants home with her. I meant to. But I will. Guys can be sensitive too. Another friend, whom I will call “Liz,” dropped off her daughter to stay with our daughter on Sunday. We sent Liz packing with some foxglove and hollyhocks. And the next day, when she came to pick up her daughter, Liz ...