Behind the Lines: by David Heiller

David Heiller Minnesotans are a humble folk. We aren’t known for our decisiveness, our positive thinking. Ask someone how they’re doing, and they’ll likely reply, “Not too bad,” or “I can’t complain,” “Pretty good, I guess.” Even my three-year-old son realizes his humble fate. He thinks we live in Maybe-Soda, and Grandma Olson lives in Maybe-Applis. It’s a state-wide shyness flowing from Lake Wobegon to Lake City, from Worthington to Warroad. Steve Cannon of WCCO is perhaps the only person in the state with relative humility, and that’s just during the weather report.  Noah  thinks we live in Maybe-Soda,  and Grandma Olson lives in Maybe-Applis. I had some personal insight into al this on Sunday. Last week’s weather had broken all kinds of records. Duluth had 86 degrees on May 28, International Falls: 91. We were somewhere in between. The warm weather held through Friday, as we got our garden ready for spring planting. I even took a day off for the ritual. ...

David Heiller Cold enough for you? That question usually starts the coffee shop conversation at this time of year. But lately people have been asking the summer version: “Warm enough for you?” These crazy balmy days are enough to upset a Minnesotan. Monday saw 48 degrees in Minneapolis 45 in Duluth, both new records. Tuesday was a repeat, with more new records. Rumors vary about how we are coping with the heat wave. Duque tt e General Store has had a problem with some Nickerson folks sleeping in the store’s chest freezers. Nickerson bodies can’t handle warm Januaries—their genes aren ’t used to it. Then Jean VanderWerf had to chase away a teenager who was lounging in the new walk-in coolers at Askov Grocery, wearing Bermuda sho rt s and sun glasses. It really got bad at Banning State Park, when ranger Randy Gordon ordered a bush pilot in from Nebraska to seed the clouds in hopes of producing snow for the ski trails. And Petry’s Baits in Finlayson has been saving empt...

David Heiller I knew there would be trouble when I saw my breath last Friday evening, June 19. I was hauling woodchips to the garden, working up a sweat and whoosh, I saw my breath. Just once, but I saw it. And I hadn’t been eating onions. “I’m seeing things,” I thought. So at bedtime, 10:15, I checked the thermometer just to be sure I WAS seeing things. I WASN’T seeing things. It read 37 degrees. I groaned and went to the garage for the “garden linens.” Old sheets, bedspreads, blankets, tarps, tablecloths. Not fit for human use, but just fine for chilly tomatoes, peppers, and celery. After I ran out of blankets, I covered the pumpkins, squash, and melons with every bucket and pan I could find. The rest could fend for themselves. The ground was white with frost the next morning. I scraped a thin layer of frost from the car windshield with my fingernail. 30 degrees on June 20. If that wasn’t enough, the temperature dipped to 30 the next night, June 21. Sad frost-bitten t...

David Heiller Sometimes pays to procrastinate. Andrew Larson pointed that out to me or Monday morning. Andrew is our graphic design worker. I had told him on Friday that my story about the lack of snow hadn’t quite been written yet. “I’m procrastinating,” I told him, Andrew seemed to admire my honesty, and admitted that he was pretty good at doing that to He had a bit of pride in his voice. Yes, it does lurk in the male psyche, So I understood him, I think. “You were right about the story,” Andrew said after greeting me M o nday morning. I gave him my usual dull look, and responded with “Huh?” “The snow!” he said. “Oh right, right,” I replied with a slow smile. This was David's last column. I chuckle to myself, I don't think this is one  he would have wanted to go out on...  This is one of my last pictures of David,  taken on a snow-less Christmas Eve  hike in Beaver Creek State Park. Later that winter hard snows came while I was alone and cau...