Monthly Archives: October 2010

Blinded by the green machines

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Nephew Reece has loved everything about tractors and digging in the dirt since he was practically old enough to crawl.

Every birthday and every Christmas brings one simple request from him. He wants tractors – lots and lots of tractors.

This year, however, the request wasn’t just for tractors, but specifically John Deere tractors.

Now, Reece knows my aversion to the green machines – he thinks it’s funny. (No doubt his dad, my brother, has had way too much influence on the little tyke!)

After buying Reece a red tractor for birthday No. 4, and an International-red T-shirt for Christmas, I broke down and actually shelled out my hard-earned money for something with a JD logo for Reece’s fifth birthday. I can’t believe I’m admitting it.

Oh, the whole John Deere versus International discussion is a big joke in our family. I don’t want to offend any JD lovers here. Who knows, if I hadn’t flipped that John Deere pedal tractor and gone head over heels as a 5-year-old – a little trick that required a rod be put through my elbow and I be stuck in a hospital bed for two weeks – I probably wouldn’t have such a dislike for the green machines!

Anyway, we joined the Fairmont Buntjers for a little birthday party Wednesday night. I’m pretty sure I’ve not seen so much John Deere green in a room ever before. The birthday boy was wearing a John Deere sweatshirt – with a matching John Deere T-shirt underneath.

And the presents … apparently little Reece gave everyone the memo to buy green. There were green tractors (yes, plural), John Deere decorations for his room and one of those big “Parking for John Deeres only” signs that he was so thrilled to get he kept kissing it.

I bought him the John Deere truck (I went for the brown one instead of the green one – for obvious reasons) that included a 4-wheeler and a cattle trailer with three Holstein cows. I think he liked it – he was just too wound up, sugared up and excited to open the rest of his presents.

Fishing frustrations

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I sometimes wonder who came up with the phrase, “A bad day fishing is better than a good day working.” Most of the time it rings true, but then there are days when I’d like to snap my fishing pole in half and let it sink to the bottom of the lake.

Friday was one of those days.

It was a perfect day, weather-wise, to get out of the office and drive to an area fishing hole. I’d been tipped off to a lake where the walleye were biting, and I was even told what they were biting on. That’s like hitting the jackpot!

It should have been so simple, right?

Jigs, crawlers, shad raps, Mr. Twisters, Mimic Minnows – I had everything I needed for what I hoped would be a memorable, end-of-the-season fishing expedition. I was even looking forward to filleting walleyes and frying them in a beer batter.

We arrived at the fishing hole (my parents and neighbor Andy joined me for the excursion), set up in the one area that was open and cast our lines into the water.

Dad and Andy decided they’d rather fish for bullhead and catfish while I was eagerly anticipating that first tug of the line by a walleye.

I cast out, reeled in, cast out and reeled in repeatedly with not the slightest attack. Up and down the shoreline, others were doing the exact same thing with great success.

Of our fishing trio, Andy was the first to reel something in – a bullhead, of course.

Then it was Dad and, by golly, he actually caught a walleye. At 70-plus years old, I figured he was due to catch his first keeper-sized Minnesota state fish – and it was on his 50th anniversary, making it an even more memorable event!

The catch was proof the walleyes were indeed biting, and apparently they weren’t too fussy if they were going to bite on a hook and crawler.

I changed my game plan somewhat after that, taking off the shad rap and rigging up a jig head and crawler.

Guess what? That didn’t work for me either!

We spent four hours at the lake and it wasn’t until about 15 minutes before we were to leave that I finally reeled in a fish – a bullhead of all things! That was pretty much the patience-breaker for me.

It wasn’t just the apparent knack I had of repelling the walleye that was so frustrating. It was seeing three people leave with their limit of walleye, having to fix Dad and Andy’s fishing line three times each because they had snags (I was guilty of that too – but thankfully only lost two jigs and crawlers), and then watching as one of the fishermen in my company got his line tangled in a tree. Yeah, I don’t think I better say which one did that!

The fishing rods went into storage after I returned home – I don’t think I want to look at them again until next spring (unless it clears up by this weekend, in which case I may try to end the 2010 fishing season on a more positive note.)

By this, I mean if there is an experienced fisherperson out there willing to show this stupid fisherwoman how to catch a walleye, I’d welcome the tutorial! Heck, I’ll even clean the fish and promise not to blog about any sacred fishing secrets.

Don’t jest the test!

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While celebrating my parents’ 50th wedding anniversary on Sunday, my nephew’s wife asked me about the Pencil Test. Expecting their first child within the month, Kaitlin heard about this test that can be used to determine whether she’s going to have a boy or a girl.

The Pencil Test, as you may or may not know, is a sure-fire way to determine the sex of an unborn child without the massive expense of a sonogram. If you believe that, I have a section of land I’m willing to give away!

There’s already a bit of a history behind the Pencil Test in our family. It was five years ago — when two of my three sisters-in-law were both expecting babies — that we gathered around the dining table on the family farm, threaded a needle and poked it in a pencil eraser. More about those results later in this blog!

Well, too much time had passed and I’d forgotten just how the test went. That’s when Mom went to her sewing basket and pulled out a yellowed and tattered newspaper article from the Daily Globe, circa the 1960s.

It was written by former Globe writer Fredi Lowry as part of her “Keep it under your hat” column.

Writes Fredi:

“Here’s how to do the test: Double thread a needle, but tie no knot. Then press the point of your needle into the top of the eraser on a pencil. The woman to be tested and the women making the test sit at a table facing each other. The woman to be tested extends her left arm and hand on the table, palm upward. The woman making the test props her right elbow on the table and holds the double thread so the tip of the pencil comes close to the wrist of the other woman. She keeps the thread as still as she can. Then, for some reason, the pencil begins to move.

“If the pencil moves parallel to the arm, a boy is indicated. If it makes a perpendicular motion, it’s a girl. When the pencil stops, that means an end to the family. Miscarriages are also shown. Little circular swings in between have no meaning.”

Well, Kaitlin stretched out her left arm, I held the pencil over her wrist and we watched as the pencil started to move up and down her arm. Yep, according to the Pencil Test, there will be a little Buntjer boy added to the family around Thanksgiving.

Now, the test can also be used to predict how many pregnancies and the sex of each of those children. So, Kaitlin and I kept watching. Boy, boy, boy, girl, boy, girl … and then the pencil finally stopped moving. By this time, Kaitlin was rather wide-eyed at the thought of having six kids. It was a bit better than the Facebook quiz she took a while back that claimed she’d have eight little ones in her future, but half a dozen is still more than a handful — pun intended!

Next to take the test was my niece Crystal, who had a baby girl in late August. Her test revealed girl (correct), boy, boy, girl.

Just to prove to the girls the test’s accuracy, my oldest sister-in-law was also given the test. Boy, boy, girl … absolutely accurate. Then I had it done to me. The pencil did not move — proof I have no children and don’t want any!

Now, getting back to my other sisters-in-law — the two I mentioned earlier who were pregnant at the same time.

Connie was expecting little Katie when we did the test, and the pencil indeed moved perpendicular to her wrist. (We all thought she was having a girl because she had horrible morning — more like all day — sickness while pregnant with her girls). Anyway, the pencil was completely accurate all the way through.

Then came Kari. She and my brother already had one boy and were expecting baby No. 2. The Pencil Test accurately started out with a boy, and then predicted No. 2 would be a girl.

You can imagine how excited I was to learn I would have two new little nieces by the end of the year, what with being the only girl in my family and having to put up with three brothers!

I went out and bought little matching onesies, with purple lettering, that said, “Auntie’s little angels.”

I also started on birth samplers (I made one for each of the nieces and nephews) for the babes — both with an overwhelming amount of pink coloring in them because, well, little girls must have pink!

Kari was due first, and her beautiful little baby arrived on Oct. 27. If you haven’t guessed by now, it wasn’t a little girl and well, he wasn’t little at all. Reece Steven arrived at a whopping 10 pounds, 14 ounces. He did still fit in that special onesie I bought, but his parents cleverly disguised it under a plaid shirt and blue jeans the one time I saw him wearing it.

As for that birth sampler I stitched, someday I’ll have to explain to my Godson Reece just why there’s so much pink in his cross-stitched heirloom. He’ll be five years old tomorrow. I’m thinking he probably won’t want to hear at this age that I was certain he was going to be a girl.

In my defense, the Pencil Test told me so!

Molly nabs an intruder

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I received a call from the principal last night about my child. The principal, of course, is my mother, and the child is my lovable mutt, Molly.

Molly is the best dog ever, as far as I’m concerned. She barks when anyone comes up the driveway, she kills the garter snakes that scare me so, she loves to play fetch (even though she’s not the best at giving up her toy) and she will always lay down at my feet and patiently wait for a belly rub.

For my parents, who graciously adopted her when I moved to town, she’s been the best guard dog they’ve had in a long while – even if she wakes them up in the middle of the night with her incessant barking.

My Molly

About 1:30 Wednesday morning, Molly put up a rather loud fuss outside their bedroom window. She wouldn’t stop barking, and when Mom opened the window to tell her to “shush,” she heard a hissing sound coming from an unwelcome critter.

Now, my Molly isn’t one to ever give up a battle. She sticks around til the critter is either dead or has gotten the best of her. (The latter has only happened once, and it’s one of the main reasons I bought a house in town! That time, she went round and round the utility pole with a woodchuck while I stood watching from the door with my flashlight. Molly gave up on the mean little rodent only after it took a piece out of her muzzle.)

Anyway, Mom knew that until whatever critter Molly had cornered was “taken care of,” there would be no sleep on the Buntjer family farm.

As she retold the story from the beginning, I wasn’t too concerned until I heard the words: “Dad, 4-wheeler and shotgun.”

“Oh, don’t tell me he shot Molly!” I whined nervously.

Mom didn’t ease my fears at all when she laughed a bit and said, “well” followed by a long pause. (I’ll be nicer, readers, and tell you right now that my lovable pooch was completely unharmed in this incident!)

Then, she said Dad had a bit of a problem because the critter – an opossum – was cornered between the downspout, the satellite dish cables and the home’s foundation.

What did my dad do?

Well, from his vantage point on the 4-wheeler, he yelled, “Molly, sick ‘em!”

Yep, he sent my dog in to do the dirty work! Molly apparently grabbed the opossum by the tail, pulled it away from the house and flung it (I don’t know where she learned to be such a fantastic, smart dog!)

It landed, the shotgun fired and I’ll just say Molly was happily quiet for the rest of the night. She’d saved her adoptive grandparents from yet another critter intruder!

Personally, I think she deserves a new chew toy. =)

Rodeo, oh Romeo

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I don’t know why nightmares have been plaguing me lately. A while back, Holstein cows were flying at me thanks to a southwest Minnesota twister. Early this morning, it was a cowboy dangling, then falling, from a rodeo bull that shook me from my slumber.

The common theme seems to be out-of-contr0l animals and me being forced to watch them. I have absolutely no idea what this means, but I’m ready for a nice dream about fluffy kittens or pretty little pooches.

I like rodeos, or at least I like to watch cowboys compete in bull riding. There’s just something about a guy in a cowboy hat and boots, but enough about that.

Nightmares seem to draw out the strange and completely unbelievable thoughts that apparently are wasting space in my mind. The reason this rodeo clip woke me with a start is that a giant Limousin bull was hoisted high above the crowd with the cowboy – apparently celebrating his victory - waving to the people far below and acting as a daredevil as he hung from the bull’s horns.

Needless to say the cowboy, in one of his stunts in which he wrapped his legs around the bulls horns and hung upside-down, slipped and plummeted head first toward the sandy rodeo ring.

My nightmare kindly (sarcasm) included the fall in slow motion … from several different angles. Fortunately, I never saw the cowboy actually hit the ground because I awoke in a panic. There’s no going back to sleep after watching something like that.

And, well, I’m pretty sure I won’t be watching any rodeos – not even on TV – for at least a little while.