Behind the Lines: by David Heiller

David Heiller We took a trip to Brownsville to see my mother last weekend. It wasn’t the best weekend to go, what with the Askov Fair and the Festival of the Little People both going on. I don’t think the two events conflicted with each other. There aren’t many little people at the Askov Fair, at least not after they stop at the æ bleskiver stand. Æbleskiver , YUM! George Clegg used to be one of the first customers at the æ bleskiver stand. He said that eating æ bleskiver at the Askov Fair was like eating a hotdog at a ballpark. It just tasted better there. George is back to stay in Askov now. His relatives scattered his ashes on the old family farm three miles northwest of Askov during the fair. Rutabaga Days went fine without me. I felt guilty about missing it. As soon as I would start feeling better, Jay Eull would ask me if I was going to the fair, so I would feel guilty again. He asked me at least twice a day. Jay’s a good guy, really. But life is such that ...

David Heiller Sue greeted us with a box of tomatoes on Saturday night. Sue Hulsether called a dance and left her calling card: a box of tomatoes! She had come to call a dance, and she figured someone might need a few tomatoes. She had more than she could use. A few people took some over the course of the evening, but most of them are sitting on our kitchen counter right now, along with the cucumbers and zucchini that I took to work last week. We have more cukes and zukes than we can use, so I passed a few of them off to my co-workers. Then Robin at work asked if anyone could use some squash. She planted quite a few, and although they aren’t quite ripe, she can already see a surplus, and is planning for their distribution. She has more than she can use. She was following the footstep of Jill, who had given me a feed bag full of sweet corn a week earlier. She couldn’t use it all. All of this made me realize that we have another season in Minnesota going on right now...

David Heiller We had an interesting experience here three months ago. Or should I say Meg had an interesting experience. Meg was a Llasa-poo dog belonging to my sister-in-law, Nancy Olson, of Brooklyn Park, Minnesota. They were a duo for the last 16 years, almost inseparable. When they arrived for our anniversary party in late May, it was obvious that Meg did not have long to live. She had no energy, no spring in her step. In fact she could barely manage a shaky walk, and she weighed no more than six pounds. Nancy and Meg About halfway through Saturday afternoon, in the bustle of the big day, Nancy discovered that Meg was missing. We brushed it off at first. No time to worry about a dog, she’s hiding in the house, we’ll find her later. Nancy looked and looked for Meg, and soon other people did too. They searched the house, because Meg had not gone outside, at least that anyone could recall. No Meg. She wasn’t in the house. Nancy searched outside too. She ventured in...

David Heiller So far, so good with the Great Deer Experiment. It started last year, when some deer discovered our garden. We live in the country, and have always raised a big garden. For some reason the deer never bothered it. Lots of garden for the enemy. Until last summer. Then 19 years of pent-up hunger was unleashed. They ate corn, peas, beans, vine crops, and hollyhocks. They were particularly fond of the delphiniums. They would come in the middle of the night, when the dog was in the house. Many times I would step out of the house at about 6 a.m. and chase them from the garden. It was sickening to watch the garden disappear day-by-day. I figured something had to be done for this year. Then as usual I forgot about it. This spring, as I labored with love on the new garden, I wondered how to keep those pesky deer from repeating their new-found habits. (Pesky is not the word I normally use in describing the deer, but it works for this column.) Then about three weeks a...

David Heiller A friend of mine has been telling me about his kids and fishing lately. “They’re crazy about it,” he said at the Redwood (café) the other noon. “All they want to do is fish.” “So you’ve got to take them;” I said. Malika and Noah after a fishing trip in Brownsville.  Their daddy made sure they got  LOTS of opportunities to fish. (1989-ish) “Yeah;” he replied. He didn’t sound too upset about that. He had been 12 once too. Sometimes his wife will take them to a spot and leave them all day. The kids are in heaven, and their parents are too, I would wager. Most of us adults have been there. In fact, some of us have never left. Fishing Fever. It’s like a mini-season in Minnesota, and we are in the midst of it right now. Looking forward to a trip to the river, checking the sky for rain clouds, sloshing on the mosquito repellent. Those are the happy symptoms. Then getting to the water. Soaking in the quiet. Finding that favorite spot and it’s empty ...

David Heiller I didn’t have the good fortune of knowing Anny Ahlbom very well. I met her one early spring afternoon in 1982, while working as a magazine and insurance salesman. She asked me right into her home six miles west of Rutledge. We drank coffee and ate apple cake. The 90-year-old lady led me through the house, showing off the paintings and carvings done by her late husband, John. She played the piano and sang and danced with me, a total stranger. She gave me a pair of mittens which she had knit, and a set of woolen wrist bands, then took my mittens with a promise to knit the hole in one of the thumbs. I didn’t have a chance to sell her anything, and by the time I left two hours later, I didn’t want to. When you enter Anny’s old house, the work of John Ahlbom overpowers you. Practically everything is hand done, starting with the rock exterior walls. Walls inside are painted floor to ceiling with murals of forests, horses, lakes. Figurines of men and animals, carved ou...

David Heiller   We don’t get much traffic on our road. Sometimes only a car or two a day. Last weekend it was busy though, from people going to Faith Lutheran Cemetery. They drove slowly, taking their time, the way you do on a nice spring day, At the cemetery they prepared the graves of their loved ones for Memorial Day by planting flowers, or pulling a few stems of grass that the lawnmower missed, the way you brush the hair out of a child’s eyes so he looks good for company. People at the cemetery wanted their sons and husbands and mothers to look their best on Memorial Day. I watched the cars from the garden, where I was planting seeds of flowers and vegetables. And I got to thinking. Life springs from gardens in a way we can measure and enjoy. You work the soil, plant the seeds, and three months later the black soil is transformed into a place of beauty and bounty. A peaceful spot. At first I thought a cemetery must be the opposite of a garden, a plot of gr...