Behind the Lines: by David Heiller

David Heiller Where does scrap wood come from? I’ve been pondering that profound question recently. I’ve got a barn full of it, and the pile just keeps growing. I know it’s not magic, but sometimes it seems that way. There’s the pile of kindling in the east wing of the barn, the one that has fallen over three times, with a little help from Rosie the dachshund, who is always rooting around for possums and mice. There’s another kindling pile in the barn proper that consists of cardboard boxes full of sawn up boards. No way will Grandma’s old trash burner consume that kindling in my life-time. Next to that second pile are scrap boards that are too long to fit in the trash burner. They are waiting to be sawed up, put in a box, and added to the other pile. There are the boards on the lumber pile in the west wing of the barn. I even built a rack for them. They are sorted by size, dimensional lumber down low, one inch lumber up above. There’s the pile next to...

David Heiller SUNDAY, OCTOBER 27, 1991, 4:30 P.M. The importance of knowing how to lose comes home every so often, especially with children. It hit in our home on Wednesday evening, October 23, in the World Series. My son, Noah, and I had been watching the game together for the first seven innings, just as we had watched all the other games together. Then I had to leave the living, room, as some friends came over to help move me move in a refrigerator  A circumspect Noah. I kept a transistor radio nearby as we struggled with the appliance. I swore as Hrbek struck out to end the eighth inning. I had to say no to Noah when he begged me to throw him the ball between innings, to bring the Twins good luck on defense. Finally, I had to hear the disappointing end   on   the radio, when Atlanta scored the winning run on a very close play at the plate in the bottom of the ninth. I dashed into the living room as soon as I could, and saw the replay at the p...

David Heiller The semi-tr a iler truck driver ahead of me fl ipped on his flashers as we approached the Kettle River Bridge on I-35 last Wednesday, October 23. I was going north, heading home from work. It was raining slightly. The wipers cleaned o ff the windshield every few seconds. Α gray fall day. I slowed down, and wondered, what was going on. Α man stood off to the left, swinging a red flashlight in his hand, waving us to keep moving. He had a grim, impatient look on his face. An accident, I thought. Α little further, a red fl are was burning on the side of the f re eway, to wa rn motorists to slow down. On the right I saw a woman with a blanket over her shoulders getting into the back seat of a car. On the left a car sat in the passing lane. It was terribly smashed. Somebody got hurt, I thought. I couldn’t see a second car, and I wonde re d how this one had been wrecked. It was bad. Then I saw the body of a woman lying on the pavement. She had a blanket over...

David Heiller Every time I go to my hometown of Brownsville, I try to look up an old friend named Howard. Sometimes he is busy and we don’t see him. He is a truck driver, and his hours are always changing. Cindy and I always feel like something is missing on our trip to Brownsville when we don’t see Howard. And when we do see him, it makes our trip that much better. Howard and David (with our dogs Riley and MacKenzie) That’s the way it was last Friday afternoon. The first thing he said to me was how he had been thinking of me lately. He had re-read an old letter, and wondered if I ever found a tractor part for my Oliver 60 tractor. It felt good to know Howard had been thinking about me. We don’t write letters much. But I’ll find myself thinking about old friends like him every so often. It’s important to keep your friends in your thoughts, and good to know that they do the same. Howard told us how he has been laid up from surgery since May. Now he’s attending...

David Heiller My son, Noah, is going deer hunting for the first time this year. I bought him a license. He is 14, and because he is under age 16, he can shoot either a doe or a buck in our woods. I will be going with Noah, but I won’t be hunting or carrying a gun. I didn’t buy a license for myself. Noah Most people don’t know that DNR game warden Curt Rossow of Willow River was the person responsible for letting youths shoot either a buck or doe (in areas where antlerless permits are given). He told me on October 28 that it took his daughter, Heidi, seven years to get an antlerless permit. Now it’s possible to get one right away. Young hunters have a better chance at success, which will more likely keep them hunting. Thanks, Curt! I went deer hunting a few times when I was Noah’s age. I used an old 12-gauge pump shot-gun that we had. It was in bad shape. The stock had electrical tape holding it together. Luckily it didn’t misfire and kill anybody. It had a tendency ...