Category Archives: The Baboon Congress

The Baboon Congress, The Future

HOPE

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Today’s guest post comes from Clyde of Mankato 

“Remember, Red, hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies.”

I suppose a few of you cannot identify that quote from Shawshank Redemption, a movie which portrays enduring hope as powerful, even when the only other option is despair, or maybe because the only other option is despair.

I do not picture myself as a hopeful person, but, as I think about the last fifty years, I see I often acted in hope. Because they are both about living in the present while preparing for the future, teaching and pastoring are hopeful acts. As is marriage.

Fifty years ago today Sandy and I stood in a church in Minneapolis and made promises to each other. The church, a substitute for a different church undergoing renovations, is named Hope. Two months later we joined a church in Dinkytown also named Hope. The coincidence of two churches named Hope struck us then and do me now. Without tracing why, I declare that hope is a thread woven through our marriage, not that I am offering anyone advice, mind you.

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“Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul and sings the tunes without the words and never stops at all.” Emily Dickinson

Pix 2 (1)As I recall, I acknowledge with too simple a point of view, the two predominate political forces of 1965 were hope and hate. Many candidates and people who garnered public attention spoke openly with hate, and with its camouflaged cousin superiority. While I am more a moderate than a liberal, I too hoped we would put an end to hate as a political force, not by law so much as by a change in the hearts of a greater mass of common people.

So here we are in 2015. Need I identify to what we have returned? To which I answer with a voice from 1965, Martin Luther King, Jr. “We must accept finite disappointment, but never lose infinite hope.”

Ignoring the hate, where do you see hope?

The Baboon Congress, Travel

Last Child Syndrome

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Today’s guest post comes from Pluto.

We all know the story. First child gets all the brand new clothes, thousands of photos, scrapbooks. Second child gets a few new clothes, some photos. By the third child, it’s all stained hand-me-downs and no photos.

Well I’m the ninth child.

No new clothes and the only photos were from a distance, blurry.

Then it got worse.  At one point, some people who were desperate for attention make a big deal out of announcing that I’m actually a runt and a cousin, not the 9th child.

You’d think that this would be devastating but it’s turned out to be great for me.  I was suddenly the center of attention. Groups were formed to voice outrage over how I was being treated, t-shirts were printed. Somebody even started a Facebook page for me!

And now finally, after many years, lots and lots  of miles and a few snapshots, it turns out I’m not so insignificant after all.   In fact, I’m kind of fascinating.  Not just the baby of the family, I’m much much younger than all my relatives. They were forced to admit this when they got a clear look at my complexion – cool and moist without too much acne.

It’s not nice to gloat, but at this distance, who cares?   I’ve had my close up, and it turns out I look pretty good!

What rank do you hold in your familial Universe?  

 

 

The Baboon Congress

Managing the Menagerie Part II: Goat Trouble

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Today’s guest post comes from Cynthia in Mahtowa

January 19. Trouble Goat did it again…got his head stuck in the cattle panel fence…wouldn’t let me position it to get back out. So I got the hack saw and sawed off the tip of the troublesome horn. A bit bloody as I went too deep, but his head came out of that fence just fine and he went right to eating. Bleeding stopped quickly and maybe now he will be able to get his head out by himself…? But. he is a goat. And even though I call him “Buddy,” not “Trouble,” and even though there is nothing on the other side of the fence to eat, I suppose he will do it again.

Hardanger Fjord Norway Milking Goats Near Odde 1903 (from a Singley Keystone Stereoview)
Hardanger Fjord Norway Milking Goats Near Odde 1903 (from a Singley Keystone Stereoview)

 

February 21 The roof shed its winter load…in time for a new load. If you’re coming to visit me, bring a pick ax…or wear crampons.

April 5. Oh, and the barn pump is running water again…first time since February (or was it January). Hauling 8 gallons of water 2x a day for horses at an end. Now they say it might rain…and the melt…more water than I want to think about sloshing about barns and house.

May 17. Goats contained two days in a row…perhaps I did find the hole in the fence after all..

May 18. Smart goats…put them in the pasture, then they are in the yard. Put them in the pasture then they are in the yard. Third time they stopped a truck on the road and sweetly followed the young woman back to me. But they ain’t smart enough to not jump the fence in front of me so I know where they are escaping. Sagging fence fixed. aha!!!!

May 22. Trouble goat figured out he could jump out the barn window…Beretta did not follow. Barrier erected promptly, leaving a view for them to look out but not follow their yearning.

June 1. Trouble goat did a no-no yesterday, butted me on the pocket of my trousers that had eggs in it. Only one (egg) casualty. Oh, and a messy pocket.

Did you have a “Trouble” animal in your life?

The Baboon Congress

Managing the Menagerie Part I : Houdini Horse

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Today’s guest post comes from Cynthia in Mahtowa

Fall 2012

October 10: Brush of snow on the grass, loose horses in the yard…oops, guess they found the weakness in my fencing system…never good when the animals are smarter than their keeper.

October 15: So if you spend most of the weekend fixing fence and the horse still is loose in the yard on Monday morning…

October 16: All horses (2) stayed in their proper pasture for a full 24 hours…and counting.

October17: So,the proper pasture didn’t hold the big brown horse. Leaving the goat barn after milking this evening, I opened the door to the dark and a big, darker form standing in front of me. Hallo! Her saving grace is she followed me into the horse barn…where she is now locked in. We walked that damn fence three times, fixing and straightening and tightening…where IS she getting out now????

.October 18: It’s confirmed: The horse is indeed smarter than I am.

October 19: Now she’s really messing with my mind…she wasn’t in the yard last night when I got home. She didn’t come when she was called. I worried she was caught in wire somewhere in the pasture, so I took my trusty flashlight and went looking for her, only to return and find her standing in the barn calmly eating chicken food. So was she waiting so she could freak me out or did she respond to the Icelandic’s call? Think like a horse, someone advised. Ja, sure, you betcha, no problem!

Horses in the pasture where they belong.
Horses in the pasture where they belong.

October 20: On Saturday, I stalked the horse at sunset, hoping to see where she was getting out. As she stood at the fence gazing across the road at the neighbor’s clover field, I thought, “Aha, I’m going to catch her at it!” Then she turned around and followed me back to the barn.

Oct 22: So, to update on Monday morning: four of us walked the fence line again with new posts to reinforce the height of the top line. Then we worked on the goat fence that still had an opening. Turned the horses loose in the goat pasture…this morning all animals were in their proper places (did I mention the goat who was escaping her pen overnight?). Final installment of the ongoing saga, finally?

October 26: Horses stayed in their pasture. The goat stayed in her pen. All is as it should be.

Have you ever been outsmarted by an animal?

Music, The Baboon Congress

Summer in the Music

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Header image by Brian Moen on Flickr. Used under Creative Commons nc-nd 2.0

Today’s guest post comes from Barbara in Robbinsdale.

Last week Husband and I had an uncharacteristically active week in the “going out for music” scene. I am usually a slug on summer evenings and weekends; but it seems the planets, the offerings, and ”logistic serendipity” lined up to make this possible.

Blues_fest

Last Saturday of July we took the Light Rail Green Line over to the Second Annual (FREE) Lowertown Blues Festival, held in Mears Park, a lovely square in downtown St. Paul near the river.

Although we are in no way blues aficionados, we enjoyed the two bands we heard, “Lisa Wenger & Her Mean Mean Men”, and “Jimmi and the Band of Souls”; also on the schedule were Elvin Bishop and Walter Trout. It was one of the Ten Perfect Days, and the people watching was fabulous – from lots of us old folks to barely-walking toddlers.

Claudia_Sally

Thursday evening found us at the Gingko Coffee House, also in St. Paul for an intimate, warm (the A/C started functioning again around 7:30), and rousing concert by Claudia Schmidt and Sally Rogers.   (Did you know they have now collaborated on three CDs? Or that Claudia now lives on Nicollet Island in Mpls?) What a joy! With two guitars and two dulcimers each, they played old favorites (Spoon River, Lovely Agnes, and the Berrymans’ A Chat with Your Mother) and new material. Claudia’s poem about humidity had us rolling. Baboons were well represented: PJ (who brought her 94 year-old-friend Eleanor), Linda, Lisa, and BiR & Michael.

On Friday we ventured out to Lake Harriet Bandshell in S. Mpls for The New Primitives, one of the best Reggae bands around, who play music “composed of ska, rock, Afro-Cuban, Caribbean and Mexican music, a soulful long simmering stew…”.   So much fun to dance to when we all get in their groove, and we always run into old friends there.

What kind of music will get you out of the house for a live concert or festival?

The Baboon Congress

Pastry Dreams

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We looked at the weather before our trip and we knew it would be cool in the mornings in the mountains. But although we took warm clothes, we seriously underestimated our ability to enjoy a cold breakfast out of the cooler on cold mornings.

That’s how we ended up driving through Castle Rock early one morning last week, looking for a warmer breakfast. We found a tiny little pastry shop, Dream Pastries, tucked between some other storefronts.

Pastry1

Wonderful, marvelous fancy pastries and good hot coffee – nothing frapped, latte’d or macchiato’ d. In addition to the great breakfast, the little shop has a wonderful modge podge of different tables and chairs, as if the owner had shopped at garage sales for his furniture. And along the walls there was shelving covered in cake plates!

Pastry2

All colors and sizes, some foster glass from the 40s and 50s, some fancy plates with “jewels” draped on them and some just whimsical designs. I asked the owner about the plates and how long it had taken him to collect them all. He also shared with me that if you purchase a cake from the bakery, you can borrow one of the cake plates to serve it on.

It made me wish I lived in Castle Rock.

As we drove away, it made me think of my collections.

Pastry4

My first “collection” started when I was in 5th grade. My folks took a long weekend trip to Kentucky and when they returned they brought me a brown ceramic pig bank. They’d seen in a shop there and thought I might like it.  He sits up and the hole is on the bottom with a big cork plug. I was charmed with him, kept him on my dresser and in the mysterious ways that these things happen, I received another fun pig bank for my birthday later that year.

So suddenly I was in the piggy bank collection business. I have about 50 pig banks these days, most of them stored in the attic since Young Adult was born. To make my collection a pig bank has to be really unusual, so I don’t add to the collection much. My goal is for them to eventually come back out of the attic, but I may have to wait until my youngest cat becomes less of a “knocker offer”.

Do you have any collections?

The Baboon Congress

Doubting Your Own Memory

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Today’s guest post comes from PlainJane

 

Many years ago, I’m guessing 1977 or 78, I attended a PHC show on the campus of St. Kate’s.  I don’t remember who was on the show, but I recall vividly that when Garrison was holding forth with the News From Lake Wobegon, he became so enthralled with his own yarn that he completely forgot about time.  Mesmerized, the audience sat, leaning forward in their seats, and let themselves be transported to that magical place that only a good story teller can take you.

By the time his new report ended and he realized that he had exceeded the time allocated for the live radio show, there was nothing he could do about it.  So, he causally mentioned that the show had run long, but that we might as well just finish up with some music, after which there was a stampede for the bathrooms.

Last year was the 40th anniversary of the PHC, and everyone remotely familiar with the show was reminiscing about their favorite PHC memories.  But I didn’t see or hear anyone ever mentioning the show that had continued past it’s live broadcasting time.  I began to doubt that it had ever happened.  Until yesterday, that is.

Garrison wrote on FB about a show he had done the previous night.  The show had lasted three hours, too long for a weeknight in his own estimation.  He had promised himself earlier in his career, he said, to not be so long-winded, but admitted that it was a promise he hadn’t been able to keep, but a promise he is rededicating himself to.

One of the responses he got to this post was a from a woman in Eagan.  She, too, had attended that PHC show that had gone overtime.  I responded to her that I had been at that show at St. Kate’s, and she confirmed that that was in fact where it was.

I have mentioned that show to others a couple of times, but have never met anyone who had heard about it, or believed it.  I feel vindicated.

When have you come to doubt a memory?

The Baboon Congress, Travel

The Trailer Court

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Lead photo:   Ariel view of the Trailer Court 

Today’s guest post comes from Barbara in Robbinsdale.

In 1958, my dad figured out how he could get his Masters Degree and become a guidance counselor (and leave behind teaching high school woodshop and mechanical drawing). There was a program at Colorado State (then) College in Greeley where you could complete a Masters over three summers. Since many of the students had families, dorms were not practical; CSC provided a “trailer court” if you could come up with a trailer.

So here’s where I spent a chunk of my childhood – in a 16-foot vintage Kit Carson Travel Trailer the folks bought used for under $1,000. It had two fold down beds – one from a couch (folks just kept it down and put their home mattress on it) and one converted from the dinette for my sister and me (ages 6 and 10 the first summer) – a kitchenette, closet and other cubbies (no bathroom – that’s what the community wash-house was for). The ice box wasn’t so hot – tiny and drippy and inefficient – so a few weeks into the first summer, Dad scored the vintage refrigerator you see on the pallet in the photo. We didn’t bring much but necessities, but the folks were smart enough to fit in our bikes.

Turned out the original trailer court was full, and the “overflow court” where we landed was a gravel parking lot between CSC’s football and baseball fields. This was Kid Heaven, as the football grandstand was our castle, the baseball dugouts were low enough on one side to be climbed on, and the ticket booths were unlocked – available for a play house, hide-out, and selling stuff. We kids created our own newspaper, played hearts at Doug M.’s converted school bus in the evening, got books from the bi-weekly bookmobile that stopped at the end of the Court. By the third summer I was 12, and had my first jobs: babysitting (heck, my mom was right across the lot), and some ironing in the washhouse.

The second year we knew more, and did as everyone else did – laid a length of linoleum down on our “yard”, placed a long table right outside the door for the summer kitchen (the electric fry pan, toaster, and coffee maker), and basically lived outside. Called it “Okee Hollow.” The only time we were in the trailer was for sleep, except Dad who would study in there if it wasn’t too hot.

Trailer at Grandmas

And a little cloud passed over every afternoon, showered us and settled the dust, and then moved on.

My sis and I spent time on campus practicing in the piano rooms of the music building, while Mom sang in the Summer Chorus. Yes, she left us on our own for a whole hour!) Wednesday nights on campus was Family Fun Night, with an outdoor movie (i.e. The Seven Voyages of Sinbad), concessions, and games. Some weekends we took day trips to Denver to Elitch’s Amusement Park or the Natural History Museum, or Estes Park in the Rockies. We have home movies of Mom typing one of Dad’s papers on a picnic table next to the Big Thompson River, as Sue and I dangled our feet from a boulder in the icy stream.

These three summers were golden – we called them the best summers of our lives.

What has been your best summer?

The Baboon Congress

Love’s Labour’s Cost

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Today’s guest post comes from Reneeinnd

One of the highlights of our trip to Brookings, SD at the end of June was the Dakota Royal Draft Horse Competition. I love seeing those gentle giants.

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The competition involved about 12 teams of Percherons, Shires, Belgians, and Clydesdales in various rigs and numbers. Each horse weighed at least 2000 pounds.

The teams were comprised of either all geldings or all mares, and were evidently matched as close as possible for size, color, and gait. The largest teams were comprised of six horses. My favorites were the Shire horses.

I’m not sure what criteria the judges used to determine what team was the best. I imagine it had something to do with the way the drivers handled the horses and the uniformity of the team and the way the teams moved. The wagons they pulled were shiny and beautiful., and the horses looked to be pampered and well cared for.

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There were some pretty impressive semis in the parking lot that carry these teams all over the US for competitions. I can only imagine the cost of this hobby?, passion? I can’t imagine that anyone makes much of a profit off it.

We live in a semi-arid part of the country, and gardening involves liberal use of soaker hoses. Our water bill gets pretty high in the summer, but I think it is worth the cost to have home grown veggies.

I would hate to calculate just how much more we pay for our home grown garden produce compared to just buying it in the store. Our farmers markets aren’t much to brag about, and I get a sense of accomplishment starting plants from seeds and ushering them to harvest and then putting up the produce for the winter.

I recently ran across The $64 Tomato: How One Man Nearly Lost His Sanity, Spent a Fortune, and Endured an Existential Crisis in the Quest for the Perfect Garden by William Alexander. The author calculated that every Brandywine tomato he harvested cost $64. I sure hope that isn’t the cost for our tomatoes.

I suppose there are more expensive hobbies, like draft horses or collecting rare musical instruments or sailing vintage sailboats, and at least the vegetables are healthy for us.

What hobby or activity do you pursue where cost is not the main concern?  

 

History, Science, The Baboon Congress

All the News That’s Fit to Print in Blowers

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Today’s guest post comes from Clyde of Mankato

“Mr and Mrs. Harold White were the guests of Mr. and Mrs. Einar Rasmussen on Friday night. Mrs. Rasmussen served Swiss steak with pineapple upside-down cake for dessert. After dinner the couples drove into Wadena for dancing at the American Legion club.”

Hot news that story, is it not? Such items were once the staple of small town newspapers. As I recall, they were called “social notices.” Anything to fill space around the ads and the legal notices. (More on the legal notices later.) Who does not want to see their name in print?

Pix 1

My parents spent much of their childhoods and early married life in the central Minnesota town of Sebeka, home of the Sebeka Review, to which my parents subscribed after they moved away. Each Thursday they would read the paper and tell us stories, fully augmented by imagination, about the people mentioned, the kind of tales a newspaper would never tell. The Review published social notices by regions, one of which stood out in our childhood—Blowers Township. My sister got a kick out of the name, “The Blowers News,” which as a joke we always pronounced as you are pronouncing it now, unless you are up on your Otter Tail County geography. It is not bloo-wers, as in people who blow, but blau-wers, as if you were expressing pain with the ow, “oooww.”

Every week my sister read the Blowers social notices aloud. Over time we became acquainted with most of the few residents of this small very rural township. My sister plotted out friendships and feuds. She drew scandalous unfounded conclusions about what the notices really meant.

As for the social notices on our town, my parents’ comings and goings were hot news almost every week. The wife in the couple with whom my parents were socially active was the reporter of such tidbits. A common item would read “Mr. and Mrs. Lewis Birkholz were the guests of My and Mrs. ______________. After a dinner of chicken and dumplings several games of smear were played.” Mrs. ______________ was a devoted fan of passive verbs. In social notices women were always Mrs. His-First-Name Something, as if they had no first name.

If you do not know what smear is and how to pronounce it (Schmear), then you don’t know Northern Minnesota.

Another long gone item was a legal notice, the property tax reports. Each household was listed, by the man’s name of course, unless the woman was in some form single. After each person’s name was the amount of property taxes assessed and if paid or not. My father relished the anger he could express at how much more property tax the few farmers paid than the high-paid citizens in town. The newspapers made good money from printing those long reports.

Pix 2

Doing a bit of research, I learned something new about Sebeka. It is the birthplace of one-time Twins pitcher Dick Stigman, which I knew, but is also birthplace of Kenneth Arnold, the pilot who made the first widely reported sighting of a UFO, or a flying saucer as he called it.

Have you ever been newsworthy?