Behind the Lines: by David Heiller

by David Heiller (Cynthia' note: to hear the song, click the link... it is worth your time) link to John McCutcheon's song Water from Another Time There’s a song I’m thinking about tonight by John McCutcheon, called Water from Another Time. It’s about grandparents, and how they pass on their knowledge and wisdom. Part of it goes: Tattered quilt on the goose down bed Every stitch tells a story, my grandma said Her momma’s nightgown, Grandpa’s pants And the dress she wore to her high school dance Now wrapped at night in those patchwork seams, I waltz with Grandma in my dreams My arms, my heart, my life entwined With water from another time Grandma Schnick, 1984 My old bedroom is now a sickroom for Grandma. She lies in my bed, her eyes closed, mouth ajar. I have to look close to see her chest rise and fall slightly, yes, she’s breathing. I take her hand, so thin now, all knuckles and skin. “Hi Grandma, it’s me, David.” Her hand tightens in mine,...

David Heiller Tom and I lay in the tent and listened to rain fall on it. Rain falling on a tent is usually a comforting sound. But in the middle of February, it seemed out of place and a little worrisome. That’s what we wondered when we woke up last Monday morning on Tom’s Bay on Basswood Lake. After all, we had six miles to ski back to the landing, pulling heavy sleds. Neither of us wanted to do that in the rain. We had cross-country skis, not water skis. I’m sure Noah didn’t either, although he wasn’t talking to us at the moment. He was snoring in his two sleeping bags. Noah and Tom Noah, my s o n, had worried before the trip that one of us would snore and keep him awake And now this. But he wasn’t keeping us awake. Tom and I had woken up all by ourselves at five a.m. That isn’t early if you consider that we were asleep by 8:30 the previous night. When you go winter camping, there isn’t a lot to do after dark except lay in your sleeping bag and talk. It was fun t...

David Heiller There’s something about ice fishing with two kids that can put a little humility in you, and some pretty good food, too. First of all, they’ll probably out -fish you. That’s what happened on Sunday afte rn oon on Fox Lake, west of Willow River. Noah had pulled a crappie onto the ice be fo re I had even put a minnow on Mollie’s p o le. It wasn’t anything to rave about, only th e size of my hand. But Noah was excited, and I couldn’t blame him. Is there anything mo re exciting than watching a bobber disappear down a hole in the ice? Sure, it’s probably a dinky panfish. But may be , just may be , it’s that five pound largemouth th at you’ve dreamed about, th e kind Bob Dutcher likes to tote around town every fall. Or a 20 -pound nor th ern that would look g re at at Stanton Lum be r, next to Nick Woro be l’s lunker. Catching a fish through the ice is like opening day of baseball, where hope sp ri ngs eternal in the human b re ast. May be the Twins will win it ...

David Heiller Red. You don’t need any more than that to know who I mean. No first name, no last name, no Arol, no Hansen, just Red. David and Red at the Askov American. Our friendship formed over the last 20 years of Red’s life, which ended on February 21. I had known about him from a distance, admired his involvement in the community and his love for all things Danish. Then music slowly brought us into a closeness that doesn’t happen often. Red had music in his blood. He was a happy Dane and it came pouring out in his piano accordion. He knew hun­dreds of songs, and he played them with grace and power and creativity, sometimes changing keys, throwing in little tricks that marked the songs as his own and nobody else’s. I’m not good at hiding my enthusiasm, and he saw that, and allowed me into his musical world with my banjo. We took our show to Pine County’s finest venues: the commercial club banquet, the Danish Sisterhood dinner, the nursing homes in Sandstone and...

David Heiller We headed up the lake and into the Boundary Waters on Saturday morning, three people on skis, pulling sleds, heading for a weekend of winter camping and who knows what else. The temperatu re was about 10 above. The sun t ri ed to shine through a thin layer o f clouds. Yet bit of snow was falling. Odd weather. Tom called it a small Alberta Clipper. He knows things like that. Tom pulling his sled. We stopped and took our coats off. You get a workout on cross country skis, especially with a sled tugging from be hind. Tom set the pace. He was our leader. Ben was next. He had just turned 11, and he prided himself on being able to keep up with Tom, who happened to be his dad. Staying close to D a d also allowed Ben to ask important questions. “How long till we get to the next lake, Dad?” “How many minutes will it take to ski down this creek?” Tom answered the questions with patience. Ηe is used to them. He heaps them at home, and probably at work from his s...

David Heiller Last Friday Mollie and I sorted through her doll clothes as preparation for an exciting time of “Playing Dolls.” Don’t ask how my daughter conned me into playing dolls with her. Suffice it to say I made a promise and she held me to it, as seven-year-old girls are wont to do. Mollie brought out a five gallon bucket full of doll clothes. I allowed as we couldn’t play dolls without sorting through the clothes. So we found another five gallon bucket, and separated the doll clothes into Barbie and non-Barbie piles. The non-Barbie clothes had a lot of character. Blouses, dresses, caps. Some of them could have fit an infant. Many were home-made by a thoughtful grandma. I liked them. But they were cast aside by Mollie without a glance. Five Barbies and poor head-less Ken. We’re into Barbies at our house. The newer Barbie clothes were just the opposite. They seemed like little more than tiny pieces of cloth with a button here and a fastener there. And I mean ti...

David Heiller That’s when Nora and Malika suggested that we walk out to The Island . We had looked at The Island all weekend from the cabin our two families had rented. It was half a mile away, in the middle of Long Lake, near Spooner, Wisconsin. The Island was no more than 40 yards long, and it had a big house on it. It drew the two eight-year-olds like a magnet, and I guess it drew me too, because when they asked if they could walk to the island that night, I didn’t hesitate in answering yes. They each grabbed my hands, and we headed out. A day earlier, the top several inches of ice had m elted in a 45-deg re e thaw. But now it was slick. Malika and Nora with Carolyn in that weekends cabin. Nora said it was like glass. She wished she had brought her skates. I said you’d have to watch those rough spots. My brother, Danny, hit one when he was a kid and broke a tooth off. It was the first time I saw him cry, it hurt so bad. I told the kids that. The ice would crac...