Belief in someone greater than ourselves is not just a religious principle, it’s the cornerstone of good character. When you believe in a greater power, you relieve yourself of ego and arrogance plus it’s easier to submit to the rules that make us better , happier people. Unfortunately, some people have cast this belief to the side and replaced it with a belief in themselves, and only themselves. They have become their own savior and their own God. These same people obviously feel they no longer have to play by the rules, they have no respect intrinsic value of life and feel they will not have to answer for their actions. I have a horrible example of these actions to share with you.

Last week 29 dogs were rescued from a Kennel near Erskine. The dogs are now in the capable and professional hands of the Pennington County Humane Society. The dogs were underweight, malnourished and some are suffering from coccidia, which causes diarrhea. I suspect there will be many people who hope to adopt these dogs, however it will be some time before the case can work itself through court so it may be a bit before the final result is known. The dog breeds range from English Setters, German Shepherds, Irish and Gordon Setters to even a Chocolate Lab. The Polk County Sheriff’s office is on the case which gives me great confidence that justice will be served.

I don’t know the people who have this kennel and to speak about it prior to a court result would be irresponsible for me. I do know one thing, the backyard puppy mill is not a happy place where animals frolic while they await a new home. Often times, these are cramped animal factories where contentment and respect for life bow before the bottom line. I don’t know whether the folks who runs these little shops are stupid or evil; I don’t really care-the result is the same as the animals suffer

This brings me to my original premise; a lack of belief in a higher power makes humans somewhat less than human. When we no longer answer to a higher power and respect life as a whole, then we see it only as a commodity and we become somewhat monstrous. When people believe that they are the highest power, they can easily rationalize that their own needs come before others and the evil they do is right, without self-evaluation. Those who answer to no one, forget that they should be stewards of what is theirs. I wonder what God thinks about those who have to opportunity to do good for his creations and fail to do so? I suspect the only prayer at a “puppy mill” comes from the animals for their release.

That brings us to the Pennington County Humane Society, a true oasis for lost animals. I recently visited them and saw the 29 survivors from their former “home.“ Some are still covered in the feces that made up their one-time bed but volunteers have taken on the task of hygiene in which the former owners failed. These little animals have gotten their release. They are not healthy yet, but can sun themselves when they want and sit in the shade when it suits them. One little pup has even taken to chasing butterflies along the fence. One older dog sat in front of her shelter and simply allowed herself to relax. A small group of them even mauled me a little, it was wonderful.

The Humane Society was already doing a lot of business saving pets prior to the arrival of 29 new dogs. It’s a massive task which they’ve assumed; they need volunteers and money, plain and simple. The volunteers are to help walk the dogs and the money is for everything else. The Pennington County Humane Society phone number is 218-681-8045. As we look to a higher power for care and guidance, so do these little pups look to us to make those same characteristics into concrete action.

I have to tidy up one loose end prior to making correspondence with
you, Dave. Last week, my friend Al Melbye asked me if I wrote about
what was happening on the farm because I couldn’t think of anything
else about which to write. I was shocked when he told me that his area of interest was not covered during the column. Now, Al’s main hobby is
washing his car, which may be too narrow a subject upon which to
build a column; however I bet I held his interest during this opening paragraph. See, I always listen, Al.

Farmers have fields around here looking pretty good, Dave. Most of
the ruts from last falls’ harvest are gone although there’s still
some corn that’s yet to be combined. The farmers who waited until now
to harvest are finding corn that’s much drier than last fall.
Unfortunately, the fields are still pretty wet-nothing holds water like corn ground.

I’ve seen several fields with combine tracks that start at one corner of the field and
aim desperately for the nearest field crossing to gain escape from
the mud.

I spoke recently to Mike Anderson from Viking. He and his brother only have a couple
hundred acres of corn left but harvest was halted by rain last
Friday. As young men, Mike and I used to talk about beer and women;
however age has narrowed our subject matter to crops and coffee. I
guess Hank Williams Junior was right about rowdy friends settling
down with age.

The guys with alfalfa finally have just enough dry weather to lure
them out into the field. The alfalfa is thick and has even lodged in
some cases. Lyle Swanson came out to cut our place to cut hay last
year and managed to harvest some black water pipe at the same time.
This year I removed all the water pipe so Lyle’s targets were few
although he did manage to hit a T-post. I like to tease Lyle a
little, but the truth is God never made a more conscientious man. I
just like to needle him a little to keep hay cutting prices low.

We are finally getting indoor plumbing in our section of Bray
Township, Dave. That’s the comparison I make when I explain why we
will soon bury the pipe that we use to water the cattle. I think it’s
a good metaphor as both acts create greater convenience and general
health. Anyone who questions the importance of fresh water to cattle
should go sit in the sun, without a cap and try to chug a little
green pond water. It will make the matter as clear as the pond water
is cloudy.

The last time we spoke on the phone, you were restoring your Farmall
450 tractor. I saw it the last time Jamie and I blew through
Carrington to get my manure spreader. That model of tractor was an
athletic, hard-working beast and we grew up using something similar
on the farm. You said you still have a little work on it but I would
like a picture if you get a chance. I will share it with those who
are reading along with you right now.

One more thing, remember “Ice Road Truckers” is on the History Channel on Sunday nights again. Nothing like watching people drive trucks at forty below to make you appreciate the heat and humidity.

Until next time, Dave-stay like the other side of the pillow. You know, cool.

Typically, we save our thankfulness for the holidays of Thanksgiving and Christmas. I found a reason to be thankful in spring as I was walking the cattle pasture this week. I considered the new piles of dirt courtesy of the local gophers and how their success as gophers belies my success, effort and interest as a trapper. I think spring is a good time to be
thankful; thankful that I no longer have to trap gophers.

Gopher trapping was like entering a family business for kids when I
was young. Kids would spread out across alfalfa fields to set
traps, and if successful, give the gopher a quick demise at the end of a stick. I hated the whole process, however the bounty for one gopher was at least a dollar
which would give me the money I needed to purchase my model
rockets and eventually a gyrocopter (yeah, I really planned to by a
gyrocopter) so I was willing at first.

The truth of gopher trapping is that it lacks the glamour associated
with trappers of the old frontier. Locating a gopher pile was easy,
but finding the entrance was difficult. I would stab around like a
blind nurse looking for a vein until the stick I used finally plunged
into a small cavern. I then opened the hole, placed a little alfalfa
on the trap release to attract the gopher, then set the trap. My
hands shook after I set the trap as I was sure it was going to snap
on my hands. It was the kind of tension that typically follows the
question, “do I cut the red wire or the yellow wire?’ That horrible sense of
impending doom absorbed my focus until I finally had it set
underground after which I covered everything with newspaper and dirt
to make things seem normal in the gopher’s house.

It didn’t take me long to realize I was not a gopher trapper. I never wanted to catch a gopher and was highly successful in that endeavor. I didn’t want to find a gopher in the trap, I didn’t want
to have to kill it and I certainly didn’t want to cut off whatever
proof I needed to collect the $1.25 reward. Even bounty hunters have
better work conditions than a gopher trapper and their prisoners
certainly enjoy better treatment. I love animals; even hissing pocket
gophers, with barred fangs and long claws. Their bodies always
reminded me of a potato and my own shape me feel that made us kindred
spirits. I can’t remember how many gophers I ever trapped (very few)
and I think brother Darrel did most of the post-trap, pre-bounty
taking stuff. Darrel enjoyed a moral flexibility about gophers, was not shaped like a gopher and so lacked my empathy for them and consequently; he made pretty good coin in the gopher-trapping business.

If you are a gopher trapper, please do not take offense in my words.
You do good work that extends the life of alfalfa fields by several
years; gopher trapping is simply not my bag. I instead have opted for the sort of urban renewal that occurs when we cut hay as the cutter bar absolutely levels the piles. It doesn’t really affect the gophers but it does make the field look better, plus you don’t have to produce any proof to collect a bounty.

Hi Dave,

This letter is going to be a laundry list, therefore it will be like most of the letters I send your way.

First off, I have a video recommendation. I recently received “President Reagan: The Greet Speeches,” from my Netflix account. I sometimes forget that I am now old and that there are voters who were not alive when Reagan was president and I assume everyone remembers him. It’s was so nice to listen to a government official who didn’t carefully talk his way around words like “religion” and “morality.” Reagan had such strength and conviction and didn’t seem to think the Constitution or the Bible were meant to be interpreted but were rather rocks upon which to cling. It all reminded that doing right isn’t always easy but it certainly is more simple than to justify doing wrong.

There was a vintage snowmobile show in town last week at the Ralph Engelstad. Our nephew, Jamie, and I stopped by for about an hour Saturday morning. Although there are a few large manufacturers left, there once we dozens of snowmobiles made in the world. Snowmobile dealerships were ran from one car garages, gas stations and agricultural dealerships. Arctic Cat and Polaris were well represented however our beloved John Deere’s had only on sled in attendance, however it was a Minneapolis to St Paul I-500 race contestant. I think most people like race sleds but I prefer consumer sleds and the unique restorations. Some of these sleds were basically the same product but with different paint and decals. The was an old “Johnson” sled (very similar to an Evinrude Bobcat) which had been painted in “Caterpillar” black and gold. Another sled I really liked was the purple “Viking” which had been restored by Greg Hestekind of Viking. Greg and I went to school together and he had painted the snowmobile in honor of Marshall County Central high school, once know as the Nordics.

I’m not sure if you heard, but Lisa’s mom recently had to have some surgery done. We went to pick her up afterward and bring her home and she was recovering nicely. The doctors had estimated she wouldn’t be out for three to five days but Jeanette surprised them and left in two. Jeanette has many nicknames but almost of all them make some reference to her amazing fortitude. At age 70, Jeanette cleaned then painted her house prior to surgery so she could focus on getting better when she got home. I think she is testament to the importance of staying busy and how it relates to good health. Jeanette’s sister, Joann, is taking care of Jeanette during what I’m sure will be a short convalescence. As Jeanette is a nurse, I’m sure Joann is being schooled by her patient on how to be a good caregiver with some regularity.

Farmers are moving quickly now through long hours to get small grains planted. Row crops will be next and there will be now break prior to spraying. Equipment gets bigger as the planting window gets smaller and I’m sure you’re seeing plenty of the same at Case/IH in Carrington, North Dakota.

Finally, it was nice season you and your family at mom’s birthday party. We all get together so rarely that it’s really quite nice. The only bad thing is taking pictures, or rather having pictures taken of you. After that Sunday, I think I understand why some primitive cultures refuse to have their picture taken.

You’re little bro’

Trees provide shade, cattle need shade; trees and cattle are a good combination. Cattle can be hard on trees however, so maybe trees get the short end of this relationship. Last week one tree evened the score at our little farm.

I came home from work in the mid-afternoon. The cattle are now out on the leftover corn stover from last fall and it’s a pleasant sight. They like being on pasture and so it was a surprise when one little heifer was not on pasture but rather standing amongst the shade on a cloudy day. There are ruts by the water tank, so I assumed she’d twisted an ankle and wished to walk as little as possible. I went inside and changed clothes.

Before I’d left town that day, I went to work out at the gym. I worked out pretty hard because I had no tough chores to do when I arrived home, at least until I went to check on that heifer. The little heifer had somehow wedged her head in between the crook of a tree where two nine inch trunks met. She was caught and she knew it as she hardly fought her situation.

I tried to lift her head higher to a spot where the trunks became further apart but it wasn’t enough to release her. I considered a chainsaw but that would cause her to thrash about and she could get cut. There was no answer her but labor; brutal, hard hand labor. I struck out for the garage to get a hand saw. I keep about three of those little camp saws around for trimming the trees so I knew I could cut the tree. I sat on my rear and slowly began cutting just under the heifers neck. Cattle know when you are there to help them and she settled down and let me work. The rest of the cattle formed a circle around us so I kept a stick near me in case someone stumbled into the scene.

The first saw broke at the blade, almost right away. I headed back to the yard for another, it was the first of seven round trips I made that afternoon. The second saw broke at the handle after about fifteen minutes. I used it anyway, until the spring sap made it too gummy to saw which caused me to change positions. I felt my biceps balloon and my left elbow ache as I pursued the heifers release.

There came a time of diminishing rewards as a result of my efforts with the saw. I could have pulled the tree down with a tractor but I didn’t have enough chain to thread it through the other trees to open space. I had already decided against a chain saw. I came upon a new plan. First I used what was left of my saw to scrape the bark from the inside of each trunk to get a little extra space for her head. Then I headed back (again) to the garage for my handyman jack. The handyman is a mixed blessing as it can either do tremendous things or open a door than leads the uncautious to injury. I positioned the jack above the heifer in between the two trunks and carefully pumped the handle once. It caught on the both trunks and moved them a little. I believe you can lift about four or five thousand pounds with a handyman and by pump number three it was getting tough. I was worried that the base would lose contact with the trunk and smack me in my head. I watched the lynch pin carefully as I made the final pump. Controlled strength is difficult and I slowly eased the handle until the pin fell into place, safely-perhaps.

The heifer lifted her head and was free. She hadn’t been caught too long as she wasn’t stiff or drooling from lack of water. She reminded of a cat who’s been caught doing something stupid: she had that look like “what, I meant to do that.”

In the end it all worked out. The heifer was free and uninjured, I got a little extra work-out which made Tuesday night’s beer that much better and the tree got a little payback. I love a happy ending.