Monthly Archives: February 2010

The family tree

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It has been a long-running joke in the Daily Globe newsroom that I’m either related to, went to school with or just plain know everyone there is to know in this town I’ve called home for most of my life.

It’s a pretty far-fetched joke, but my nieces and nephews who have joined me out and about might agree. With a wave here or some friendly chit-chat there, I’ve been told more than once by the kids that, “You know everybody!”

Between the people I’ve met through work and those I remember from the hallowed halls of Worthington High School, Worthington Area Junior High and West Elementary, it amounts to a lot of people.

That brings me to my family.

A while back, I was talking with my parents about Southwest Minnesota Honor Flight and the weekly interviews I’ve been doing with veterans. My dad was but a child during World War II, but he completed a tour of duty in the Army during peace time.

Now, my dad has a lot of relatives. Oh, he only has one brother and one sister, but both of his parents were from large families. Grandpa Henry was one of eight children, while Grandma Hattie was one of 12. Between the lot of them, my dad has 50 first cousins.

You may think that’s not very many, but there’s a good reason for it. There were three Buntjer kids that married three Aielts kids for, you guessed it, three sets of double relation! My grandparents were one of the Buntjer-Aielts combinations. Aielts, by the way, is spelled three different ways among the 12 siblings and now, their offspring.

Anyway, getting back to the 50 cousins. I was curious about our family’s role in World War II. Mostly, with our German heritage, I wanted to know if we had family that fought against the Americans.

It appears as though we didn’t, thank goodness! Our German ancestors were among those who fled the country for a better life in America.

My dad did, however, have nine of those 50 first cousins serve in the United States military during World War II.

That’s when the story grew interesting.

Of the nine, three are still living … Fritz and David Aielts, and Wilber Jacobs. I haven’t heard their stories of World War II, but I’d sure like to.

And then there are the other six … all of whom I expect had fascinating tales as well. They included Ray Buntjer; Merle Buntjer – he was shot in the arm in the war; Leo Buntjer; Marv Aielts – he lost his leg in battle; and brothers George and Ray Habben – the two that were taken as German Prisoners of War and survived the hell of a prison camp in Africa.

If there’s one thing I’ve realized during these past two months of World War II veteran interviews, it’s that we should be recording and sharing their stories before it’s too late.

It’s too late for me to interview most of my family members who battled for this great country of ours. I sure would have liked to hear their stories.

Celebrating National FFA Week

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Happy National FFA Week! It’s a week dedicated to recognizing our FFA members and advisors for the work they do to promote agriculture in their communities, their state and across the nation.

The Daily Globe honored FFA chapters from southwest Minnesota and northwest Iowa in a special publication included in last Saturday’s edition. It’s a special project that I’m responsible for each year … not only because I’m the farm reporter, but because the FFA is near and dear to my heart.

Oh, the memories I made while in the FFA … driving my pickup down the gravel roads north of Bigelow asking for donations of corn or cash during the chapter’s annual Corn Drive; competing in poultry judging, meats judging and dairy judging contests; winning trips to the State FFA Convention; going to Kansas City for the National FFA Convention and … perhaps best of all, joining the WHS FFA Chapter officers on a summer retreat on Green Lake at Spicer.

Mr. Mahlberg and Mr. Ryswyk were our advisors that summer of 1988. (There’s a respect I have for my ag teachers … I rarely call them by their first names.) Anyway, we stayed in a couple of cabins at Ye Olde Mill Inn Resort on Spicer’s North Shore Drive.

There were just two girls on the officer team that year. We shared a cabin with Mr. Ryswyk, and Mr. Mahlberg took the troublemakers … well, perhaps just a few of them were troublemakers! As I recall, all of the cooking was done in our cabin and, thus, all of the clean-up too.

I do remember one thing … we never had a fish fry!

While the retreat was a chance for the officer team to mesh … to get to know each other outside of the classroom, it was also a time to plan our FFA event calendar, practice our parliamentary procedure (I was the chapter’s Parliamentarian), and set goals. Scattered in between were fun times on the lake.

We fished by the big wheel at the Mill, we fished from the boat, we learned how to pedal a paddleboat and we learned how not to ski … courtesy of Mr. Mahlberg! Ouch, I still have pictures of that little incident!

I learned that our chapter president took his fishing very seriously, and I learned that one of the boys on our team thought washing dishes was "girl’s work." Oh, we showed him … on second thought, our advisors showed him!

Those few days we spent together turned out to be my best memory from high school. In fact, for my 20th class reunion last summer, I shared my favorite memory … the fishing contest from our FFA Officer Retreat. Everyone, with the exception of me, put money into a kitty on the drive to Spicer … the one who caught the biggest fish earned not only the bragging rights but the money.

Well, I didn’t contribute. I don’t remember why. Maybe I didn’t have any money, or maybe I was just being a stubborn teenager.

Anyway, it turned out that the only fish (other than bullheads) caught on the trip was a small-mouth bass, reeled in by me! Here our chapter president, Deron Ruesch, had all these lures in his arsenal and this bass went for my hook and crawler! It was the first bass I ever caught, and I was grinning from ear to ear! It didn’t even bother me that I couldn’t have the money in the kitty.

That summer retreat was the first time I caught anything other than a bullhead, perch or sunfish. It was one of the rare times I’ve ever been fishing in a boat. It was the first and only time I’ve stayed in a cabin on a lake, and it was the first and only time I was on a paddleboat.

Growing up in a farm family, we never went on camping trips. We never stayed in cabins, we never went boating and we never made supper over a campfire. Our version of wiener roasts and s’mores were over the burn pile, and even those were a rarity.

I joined the FFA because agriculture had always been a part of me. I loved farm life, it’s where I learned the importance of working hard and doing a job right the first time. I respected the blue and gold worn by all three of my brothers and several of my cousins, and I knew the FFA would be good for me. In the end, it opened my eyes to so many things in life I had not yet experienced.

The FFA is still opening eyes for countless teens across the country today, and for that I am truly thankful.

Flinch!

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Just minutes into the action inside the Round Lake gym Tuesday night, I leaned over and asked my mom why we had to sit in the second row of the bleachers during a boys basketball game.

Everyone knows that the closer you sit to the court, the better your chances of getting whacked by the ball.

My track record isn’t so good when it comes to getting hit with flying sports equipment.

Chalk it up to four years as a weekly newspaper editor. In order to convince someone else to write the stories, I had to take the photos … and endure the wrath.

Oh, how I don’t miss that job!

I flinched several times during Tuesday’s game between the Ellsworth Panthers and Round Lake Brewster Raiders, even though the ball bounced within a few feet of me only twice.

Once hit, twice shy, I like to say.

At every Minnesota Twins game I’ve been to in recent years, Joe Mauer, Michael Cuddyer and Justin Morneau appear on the screen to tell fans to “keep your eye on the ball.”

I think every high school sporting event should broadcast those wise words at the beginning of a game.

Yes, I apparently need to be reminded … every single time!

I never had to worry about getting whacked with something while I was growing up. One brother was a wrestler and another played baseball. When I went to the matches and the games, I was either safe in the stands or safe behind the fence.

Now, you’re probably thinking that I couldn’t possibly get hurt watching a wrestling match.

Oh, I believed that for a long time too … until the night I stood in the Wabasso gym, waiting for state champion Johnny Frank and his teammates to burst through the banner.

Camera in hand, I was poised to get a couple of shots before the real action began. I knew I was in trouble as soon as the first wrestler broke through the banner and hurled his headgear in my general direction.

Yep, I got nailed … right in the head. Ouch!

After a while, I began to think the kids at Wabasso just wanted to see me flinch.

I was busy snapping photos at a football game one night when the quarterback hurled the football right at me. Naturally, it sent a whole crew of boys in helmets and shoulder pads in my direction. My only injury was a bruised ego.

That next week, I ran into the QB, Brent Baune, in the halls of Wabasso High and teasingly accused him of throwing the ball at me on purpose. He grinned and said something about it making for a good close-up photo. Yeah right, like I’ll get a clear shot of a football being hurled at my head!

Over four years in Wabasso, I was hit with a volleyball, a basketball, wrestling headgear and even a golf ball. Fortunately, the golf ball only rolled into my foot!

I am thankful that photographers have to stand behind fences in baseball and softball, and I was really thankful that Wabasso didn’t have a hockey team.

Now, I’m just thankful I don’t have to cover sports … and I’ll remember to sit a little higher up in the bleacher section at the next Ellsworth ball game.

Slightly red-faced

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Don’t you just wish that some days you could stay in bed … all day long … and forget about the pressures, the stress and the deadlines?

I had that kind of a day today.

Oh, it wasn’t all bad, I suppose. I did make it to Windom and back this afternoon without ending up in the ditch, and my drive to Round Lake tonight on the mostly ice-covered roads was also without incident. Still, I have a back ache from the stressful drives and the memory of one of the more embarrassing moments I’ve had in recent memory.

It all started when, on the way to Windom this afternoon, I realized that I’d forgotten to put my photo card in the camera. Digital cameras, at least this one, will not operate without a card. I was nearly to Brewster when I discovered my mistake.

So, I had a co-worker meet me at the Blue Line with my card, and I was on my way once again.

By the time I’d reached Windom, I was already 10 minutes late for the picture. Ordinarily, it probably wouldn’t be too big of a deal, except this picture was supposed to be of the entire Windom FFA Chapter.

Well, I made it to the school, pulled up in the parking lot by the gym, hurried to the doors … and they were locked … all four of them.

Now, I’ve only been to the Windom school a couple of times, both of which I used that entrance.

I hurried back to my car, drove around the corner and parked in another lot. Again, I hurried to the door … and again, all four doors were locked.

By this time, my coping skills were not at their best. I was in a panic!

Luckily, two teen-age boys noticed me standing at the door and opened it for me. I thanked them profusely and headed down a hallway before finding a couple of girls that could give me directions.

"Where is the ag room?" I asked.

"Oh, all the FFA kids are in the gym to get their picture taken," they replied and pointed me in the right direction.

I walked as fast as I could down a long hall, around the corner and toward the double doors of the gym.

I swung the door open, hurried in and then I heard, "There she is!" followed by cheers and clapping … from about 40 kids! Oh, how embarrassing!

I said I was sorry and mumbled something about being locked out of their school, after which they understood … such nice FFA kids they are! (Well, I think all FFA kids are pretty nice, but the Windom group gets special kudos for waiting patiently for the ditzy photogirl.)

So, thanks a lot all you FFA kids for waiting … I don’t know what I would have done if you’d all disappeared before my arrival.

Next time, I will be sure to put the photo card in the camera before I leave the office, and I will attempt to find the front entrance to your school. It’s around there somewhere!

Good Golly Miss Molly

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I managed to visit the farm for all of about three hours on Sunday before being chased back into town by the winds and blowing snow. It was the first time in a month that I’ve braved the winter weather to make the eight mile journey.

These days, it seems like when it isn’t snowing, it’s blowing.

When I lived out on the farm, I thought nothing of driving to and from work each day on ice-covered and snow-packed roads. Now that I’m citified, I’ve become a winter driving wimp.

Still, I’m kind of tired of being home. Oh, I’ve got plenty of needlework projects and books to keep me occupied, that is when I’m not staring at the computer screen trying to best my record for most consecutive wins on Spider Solitaire … or catching up with friends on Facebook.

This whole winter has been rather trying … just as much on me as it has been on my lovable mutt, Molly.

For the past month, my mom has been filling me in on Molly’s latest antics … her leaps through the snow while chasing bunnies and squirrels, her cringes at having to go outside in -30 wind chill, and her ever-increasing requests to join the humans inside the house.

Molly’s home is in a large appliance box inside the garage. Dad filled the base with straw and Mom added a rug or two, and her blankie is now spread over the top of the box for extra warmth. Still, she’s had a chance to experience the carpet on the living room floor … and she likes it.

The other morning, Molly woke my mom up at 2 a.m. with her barking. When Mom went to the door, Molly snuck past as if she’d been a curfew-breaking teenager locked out of the house. She headed straight for the living room rug, plopped down and curled up for the night.

Well, Mom headed back to bed … shaking her head, I’m sure! They found Molly when they got up around 7 a.m., still curled up on her rug. That’s the day I got the call saying I could have my dog back!

During my visit to the farm today, I invited Molly into the house and to her favorite spot on the living room rug … it was either that or I had to sit outside with her, which didn’t sound appealing at all.

Anyway, Molly was too excited to curl up. I sprawled out alongside her, patted her head, scratched her under her chin and rubbed her belly, and she returned the favor by poking her cold nose in my face. At least her tongue didn’t come out … I hate it when that happens! Yech!

After about a half-hour, I folded my arms and tucked my hands in at the elbows just to tease her a bit. She began wagging her tail and poking around to find my fingers (aka belly scratchers), and when I wouldn’t bring them out of hiding, she sat down and stared at me with those big brown eyes of hers.

"Oh, all right!" I said, as I started to pet her once again. Those big brown eyes get me every time!