Sailing by Ash Breeze

    I recently reread a book I had read many years ago, that was an assigned book in one of my kids homeschool literature class.  “Carry On Mr. Bowditch” by Jean Lee Latham, is a wonderful read of the life of Nathaniel Bowditch, who was a small boy at the end of the American Revolution.   His mother passes away and at the old of twelve becomes an indentured servant until he is twenty-one.  In his younger years, his teachers had viewed him as a mathematical genius, and encouraged him to go to Harvard to further his education.  But when he becomes indentured, all hopes of attending Harvard go down the drain. By the time he was ‘free’ at twenty-one, he was considered much too old to be attending Harvard!  Although a friend continuially told him he was ‘becalmed’, Nathaniel, or Nat as he is called, refused to give up hope and began to ‘sail by ash breeze.’  

    Since I’m a Dakota prairie girl, any sailing terms are pretty foreign to me.  My Mom grew up near the coast in Maine, but on a dairy, not in a sailing family.  Although I often remember her telling me when times were tough to, ‘Hang to the riggings,’  hold on, and don’t let the storm throw you overboard in other words.  But the phrase, ‘sail by ash breeze’ was a new one for me.  When you become, ‘becalmed’ or maybe more commonly said, have the 'wind knocked out of your sails’ there’s still another way to sail the sail boat.  You sail by ash breeze.  Most oars were made of ash wood, so if the wind isn’t blowing, pull out the oars and begin to sail.  Sailing by ash breeze is a lot more work, but you still get there.  In the case of Nathaniel in the story, he continued to study in all his spare time, and ended up teaching himself, Latin, French, and Spanish, plus navigation and all the mathematics it required.  He ended up becoming a clerk and 2nd mate on a ship, and continued to study and work hard.  He even taught many of the sailors on board navigation, and they were able to better their lives by getting better positions aboard ship.  By the end of his life he was a Captain of his own ship. He was even given a degree by Harvard for all his scientific discovery in the area of navigation, even though he never set foot in a class room at Harvard.  He continued his whole life ‘sailing by ash breeze.’   He truly learned that you 'can’t adjust the storm, but you can adjust the sails.' 

   So if life hasn’t turned out exactly the way you had hoped and planned, remember to ‘sail by ash breeze’ and 'hang to the riggings.’  Or translated into our prairie life, keep on plowing and never give up.  There’s more than one way to accomplish your dream.  

    2 Timothy 2:15 says, “Study to show thyself approved unto God, a workman that need not to be ashamed, rightly dividing the word of truth.”  

I'm an Original

A Christmas Tale
by Mick B Harrison
Todd, Tyson and Shiloh (the dog) were his models

“We must live in the Holy Spirit and follow after him. So may we never be arrogant, or look down on another, for each of us is an original. We must forsake all jealousy that diminishes the value of others.”  Galatians‬ ‭5:25-26‬ ‭TPT‬‬

  In the art world, well known artists often have prints made of their original paintings.  Those prints are sold at a much lower price than the original.  They look like the original, but lack the value of that artist touch on the actual canvas.  People often brag when they own the ‘original’ and usually for good cause as they paid a high price tag for it. 

    Years ago, my husband, son and dog posed for a famous western artist for a painting he was doing.  The out come was a touching painting with a Christmas theme.  The artist gave us the first print as a thank you for being his models.  After my husband died I contacted the artist and asked if I could buy the original from him.  He replied that he had no plans of ever selling that painting, as it was his personal favorite of all the paintings he had ever done.  I did ask him if he ever changed his mind, if I could have first option to buy.  I know I may have to mortgage my house to do so, as his paintings often sell in the tens of thousands of dollars, and if this is his personal favorite, the price will be very high.

   This is quite like how God sees each of us.  We’re each an original, and no prints have ever been made.  He is no way interested in ever selling prints or the original, because it’s His personal favorite.  So you can rest assure that the value of your life is high.  You are an original, no other you has ever been created, so there’s no need to compare yourself with other ‘originals.’ You are the best you there ever will be!  So quit struggling to be like someone else, and be comfortable in your own skin and who God made you to be.  And on the other side of the coin, don’t think of yourself as so much better than anyone else either.  They are also an original and greatly valued by God. 

    I thank God we’re each originals. 

From the Ocean to the Prairie

Mom and Dad's Wedding picture 1952

  She sat staring out the window on that old train, listening to the rhythmic clicking on the wheels along the track.  Every turn of the wheels would bring her further and further from all that was familiar and known to her as home.  The prairie stretched before her, and it was a land totally unknown to her and her seaside upbringing.

   But the young man sitting next to her had stolen her heart, or caused what she called, ‘heart problems.’  She had just changed her last name to match his on that cool winter evening in the small church on the South Buxton/Scarboro line.  Rev. Lovejoy had pronounced them man and wife. They had hopes that their lives would match the ministers name, and life would prove it did.  This was a life time commitment, so now she traveled with him to his home on the Dakota prairies, leaving her family and life behind.

   Life on the prairie soon proved to be hard. Even in the early 1950’s it wasn’t easy.  When the old family farm was purchased from his family as their new place of residency, it lacked some comforts of life. Indoor plumbing and electricity were being installed, to help this young bride adjust to life on the prairie.  By now she had three little girls all still in diapers and oh how she longed for indoor plumbing to help easy the chore of washing diapers for her little flock.

    That young man had been hired on at the Oil Refinery in Mandan, and worked long hard shifts, then came home and farmed though his eyes and body longed for sleep before his next shift back at the refinery.  The equipment on the farm was old, and required constant repairs, but it sure beat that old stubborn horse he had grown up using to work the fields.  Work was constant, and hard, never ending as so many farmers know.

    The young bride battled what any young bride would battle far from home. Her longing for her family and all that was familiar.  She was so homesick, so everyday she wrote a penny postcard telling of life on the prairie to her Mom so far away, knowing that this was the only form of communication she could afford.  Her kind hearted new Mother-in-law, took her in and loved her as her own daughter, often comforting this young bride.  Life will get better, just keep holding on.

    Years past, and two more children were added, and they all did what children do, they grew up and moved on with their lives.   By now, life by the sea was almost forgotten, and life on this Dakota prairie was home.  Once asked what her secret of a long happy marriage was, she replied, “It was a long walk home.”  

     She’d came a long way for love and for that young man.  They had many adventures along the way.  

   Their hair began to turn gray, and his curls disappeared from his head to be replaced as his one small granddaughter called, ‘bald hair.  They’d had their scares of sickness, and heart attacks that threatened to end his life, but love fought on and won.  

    Then early one morning on the eve of Easter, he called out "Honey!" one more time, and she came to his side, and held him as he breathed his last breath.  She had always been his Honey, everyday of their 65 years together.  Now, the prairie rang out a loneliness she had never known before, not even as a young bride. Now she was left alone.  The children rallied to her side, to assist her in her grief, as they watched that strong man they had called Dad be laid to rest.  He had been their 'Quiet Giant’ their whole lives, now their anchor gone.

    The howling of the wind still whistles through the trees on the old farmstead, as the family gathers to say goodbye.  Goodbye to life they had lived there for so many years, life must take on more adjustments and change, but none felt it more that young bride from sea coast land of Maine.

Mom in the Black Hills. July 2018. Her first trip without Dad.

Mom and Dad sitting in front of the old farm house 2012.

      

Museum of Memories

Shaw farm in the early 1900's

Shaw farm house 2018

  

 I’ve spent some time in the last couple of weeks down in Mandan at my family’s farm. My Dad passed away at Easter, and my Mom has now moved into an apartment in town, as the farm is just too much work for her to take care of at 87 years old.

   My siblings had been working for days by the time I got there.  They had spent hours donned with dust masks emptying out the old rock basement of all it’s hidden treasures, some left by my grandparents, and a few by the homesteaders in the late 1880’s.  Years of setting things aside, for the next generation to find, and have to decide what has to be done with it. Sadly most of the treasures in the basement had to be tossed as moisture, and mold had taken hold and disintegration had begun.

   There were other closets that held treasures too many to tell of.  Things hidden for years, and not discovered until now.  We even found our great Grandfather’s law books in the attic from the late 1880’s.  He was one of the first lawyers and a judge  in the Dakota Territory, and was there helping North Dakota became a state.  

    My daughter showed up late on the 4th of July and spent a couple of days helping sort through things, having a few days off from her summer job in Medora.  That evening, I spent telling her stories of my childhood in this old farm house.  Showing her many treasures that triggered my memory of stories long forgotten even to me.  The treasures were wonderful to find, but sad at the same time, as it means there will be no more memories in the old house, or adventures out across the pastures and field.  Someone else will soon enjoy the beauty of this old farm, overlooking the Missouri River.  It saddens my heart that soon I won’t be heading up Highway 1806 to visit one of my favorite places on this earth.

    The last few weeks, truly have been a Museum of Memories.  That’s all we really have left of our past, memories.  I’m not dwelling there, but it was nice to visit to remember from whence I have come.  It’s wonderful to remember that I grew up in a house full of love and music, in a family that worked hard on the land as well knowing how to have times of fun.  I learned hard work will pay off if you don’t quit. I know what it’s like to get up at five a.m. and haul hay before the heat of the day makes it unbearable.  I know what a bale hook is, and how to use it in a little round bale.  My Dad being one of the last in North Dakota to use a small round baler. He finally was forced to quit when parts were no longer available.  

     I learned it’s always important to stop and enjoy life along the way.  I have memories of many Sunday afternoon times at the sandbar.  Running through hot sand and jumping into a pothole to cool off.  

    Memories become like a museum.  We see the past and what it held but we don’t live there anymore, we don’t do things the way we did as a child.  Life has changed and we grow up and move on.  There are things to remember, in our museum of memories and there are things to forget. But never forget the love, it’s the best item on display in our museum of memories, and that never gets old or out of style.

The Empty Cupboard

My Dad build these cupboards many years ago, just like all the other cupboards in this old farm house.

The Empty Cupboard

July 2018

As I closed the cupboard door, the emptiness of it echoed through the kitchen.

No more dishes, or can goods lined its shelves.

I remember the excitement as a child when my Dad built the cupboard.

First thinking how wonderfully talented my Dad was to be able to build something like this.

Next how cool it would be to have more cupboards in our old farmhouse kitchen.

As years went by, they become so common place, like they’d always been there.

When the kitchen got remodeled several years ago, these cupboards stood, while the rest were replaced.

I offered to repaint them for Mom and Dad, so they would match the new ‘purchased’ cupboards.

 

Now they stand empty, the house cleared out, the residents within have moved on.

Dad onto his eternal home, Mom into an apartment in town, where the work and upkeep won’t have to be her worry.

So empty cupboard attached to my childhood home, I just want to say.

Thanks for the memories and all the love you held.

Old Roanie and Dad

Dad putting up hay in 2015.

Back in 2015, I was visiting with my Dad (Donald Shaw) and he told me this story.  I thought it was so good, and didn't want to forget it so I wrote it down.  Dad always had a general dislike for horses, and I always thought it was cause they ate so much (thus he called all horses 'hay burners'), but this story gave more insight into his dislike.  When we lived there at the farm with Mom and Dad for a time, and had a couple of our horses there too, Dad almost seemed to enjoy them.  I guess as long as he didn't have to hook them to a plow, a horse could be okay. 

Old Roanie

   That old work horse was more trouble than it was worth.  It was constantly causing trouble for Don as a kid.  As a young teenage boy he had Old Roanie hooked to the two bottom plow and was plowing up and down that old hill across the road from the house.  Roanie had a mind of his own and just decided he didn't want to work any more, and when Don turned the team towards the east which would face the house, Old Roanie took off with the plow and headed home, there was no stopping him.  He had decided it was quitting time.

  This wasn't the first time Old Roanie had caused more than problem for the Shaw farm.  Back then in the late 30's it was open range.  Roanie went and grazed where he pleased, which was often in the neighbors grain bins.  He could actually open the gate all by himself, and even would move it to the side after he had lifted the latch to make his escape from the corral.  Open range meant going where ever he pleased.  One neighbor got pretty tired of Roanie getting into their grain and took a shot at him with a shot gun to scare him off.  Don found Roanie down in the Bottoms with a shoulder full of shot and just standing there shaking, it really didn't slow him down too much though, once he healed up he was right back at it.

   Don also had another old work horse called Dick. Dick was about four feet wide, or at least seemed that way to the young Don.  He said he had to do the splits to sit on his back.  They never owned a saddle, so it was always bareback riding for him.  He got dumped a few times off Dicks back, as it was hard to hold on to such a large tub of a horse.

  This added to Don's general dislike of horses.  It was hard work plowing and planting with ornery old horses when you were such a little kid.  He was so happy to finally get a tractor in 1948 so he could quit farming with horses. That old 16 horse power tractor wasn't much but it sure beat a horse who had a mind of it's own.

"The Box"

"THE BOX"

  I finally did it today.  

   I’ve put it off for over four years; Going through “The Box.”  

   Ever since we left South Dakota in 2008, there has been this box labeled, “Todd’s Junk.”  Full of old notebooks from College (and found one from High School!) and cattle records, sermon notes, calendars, awards, etc.  After he died, I tried a couple times to go through it, and just couldn’t.  I had dug around it in before the funeral because I thought for sure the track he had written back in 1992 was in there, and we wanted everyone to have a copy at the funeral, but I just couldn’t seem to ever get myself to sort through all those memories.

   I’m not sure what made me go through it today, I just happened to step into the guest bedroom, and saw it sitting there on the floor, and said, “Today’s the day.”  

   Some time ago, I had placed an empty plastic tub beside it, for the day that would come when I was strong enough to go through it.   I placed in it today, those things that are ‘keepers’ in the memory of Todd.  His notes from Bible College were kept, along with all his sermon notes, but the High School notebook went in the throw pile.  His large collection of maps went in the throw pile too, along with old cattle records of cows that have long ago become someones burger.

   One of the most precious items, wasn’t something that Todd had written, but I had written, but he had kept.  “The Ode to Mr. Odd”, for those that know the name, yes, this was a Keeley Rooer character skit I have done for years.  Yup, Keeley Rooer has been around for a long time (actually several years before this record).  It was written for a Valentine’s Banquet in 1990
we had here in Kenmare while we pastored Grace Christian Fellowship.  It told of the many ways I loved him, in a fashion that only Keeley can tell.  I sat crying and laughing as I read through it, and then went and read it to Kristi, proving to her how long I’ve been doing this character Keeley Rooer.  And also I closed with, “See, Kristi, I loved your Dad, very much,” to which she said, “I know.”  

   Another precious jewel, was a small record of us meeting different people, while we lived in Steele ND.  Todd had just met Terry Smokov, and they had invited us out to their house for dinner.  I love how he put it, “We just met this couple, but somehow I feel our hearts are knit together.”  Terry and Donna, I still believe this.  Getting to see you last fall, is living proof there was (and is) a friendship there. 😃  Love you guys!

    The throw away pile is too heavy for me to carry down the stairs alone, so I’ll have to wait till Kristi is home from work to get rid of the unnecessary items.  I don’t think I will be needing those old Semen catalogs, and since they’re greatly outdated, they will do no one else any good either.  But the pages of sermon notes he preached, I look forward to reading through someday.  Although, Todd’s notes were pretty sketchy. A few main thoughts and a few scriptures, but I can still hear his heart.

    Sometimes, it's really hard when all you have left is, some old notebooks, and calendars, and of course some pictures of the one you loved the most on this planet.  But I’m thankful to have loved greatly, and he loved back.  

   You were the best pard ever Todd! Miss you!

Page one of the Ode to Mr Odd

Page two