Behind the Lines: by David Heiller

David Heiller The time bomb is set to explode at our house. It’s doesn’t look like a time bomb. It looks like a woodpile. But because the woodpile will fall down, I think of it as a time bomb. David and his maul: the never ending  battle to keep the wood box full. Hopefully no one will get hurt. My woodpile fell last spring while I was on a canoe trip. It covered three bicycles, a garden tractor, and a compost shredder. I had to buy a new front rim for Noah’s bike. But it didn’t crush my children or wife, thankfully. It took a year for that woodpile to fall down. That was a long stretch. I remember once when my brother-in-law and I spent the day stacking wood. He had to go back to college that afternoon, so I drove him to Moose Lake to catch a bus. I drove home thinking how great it was to have a brother-in-law like Randy, what a great job we had done stacking wood together. When I drove into the driveway, the woodpile looked like someone had shot a cannon throug...

David Heiller The evening grosbeaks fought for food at our feeders on Sunday. They jostled for a spot with the chickadees, nuthatches, and blue jays. So many gathered there that when someone walked around the corner of the house suddenly, they would take off with a roar that made you jump, like the sound of grouse that you scare in the woods. But they soon returned. They are bolder this time of year, because they know they have to fill up for winter. One grosbeak sat on the edge of the dog’s water dish. I walked to within five feet before it flew off. Maybe it got the idea from the blue jay that I saw on Sunday morning. It was perched on the edge of the dog food dish and calmly eating dog food. And perhaps the blue jay stole its idea from my least favorite animal. Two weeks ago I woke up in the middle of the night, and headed out-side to answer nature’s call. Our dog, Ida, wanted to go outside too. I flipped on the outside light and started opening the door. At the same ...

David Heiller I sold insurance for a time, in between teaching and newspapering. My district manager taught me a lot of sales tricks, though he called them “ techniques.” That ’ s kind of like calling that place at rest stops where dogs go the “ pet exercise area.” We all know what they really do there. We all ca ll ed on farmers. One of my boss’s tricks was to size up the place as he drove up. He would look at the outbuildings and judge whether the man or woman was the leader of the house. Sturdy barns with a fresh coat of paint, or a well - fenced pasture, told him the man was in charge, and he would address his sales pitch to the man. If the house looked shabby, or the buildings were leaning, but the kitchen looked like it belonged in ladies Home-Journal, he would direct his comments more to the woman. His theory didn’t always work. It was too simplistic. I have to tell myself that when I look at my woodpile and woodshed, or else admit abject slavery to Cindy, something ...