Loonfoot Falls Chronicle-Gazette

Technical Difficulties

2010-11-13T02:24:00.002-06:00

Good news: the Loonfoot Falls Chronicle-Gazette is for sale at the Mighty Minn Mart and other places in Loonfoot Falls. No problems with our production.

The servers, on the other hand - that's another matter.

Plastic Deer, Yes: Gated Communities, No

2010-11-05T22:43:00.001-05:00

For the most part, I like living in Loonfoot Falls. The air is clean, the people are friendly, and mosquitoes aren't a problem after the first few killing frosts.

I suppose this exposes my rural naïveté, but it hadn't occurred to me until this week that Loonfoot Falls lacks one vital facet of contemporary culture.

We have not one single gated community.

Unless you count places like Fisk Implement. They've had a sturdy fence and a mildly paranoid alarm system ever since someone stole a harrow, back in 1996. Nobody lives there, apart from the occasional gopher: so it's not really a "community."

We don't have all that many fences of any sort in town. Much less walled-off neighborhoods where everybody inside is glad that they're not outside. I'm not sure if that says more for our values: or our desire to avoid having to mow near a fence.

It's not like we're some homogenized classless utopia. Houses around West 9th and Waterview Lane, or around Milldam Park, tend to be bigger than the ones on Siding Street. More expensive, anyway.

Some of the Waterview Lane places put on a nice show around Christmas time. The rest of the year, though, their yards are pretty plain. Nicely mowed, of course. Very trim.

Some of the folks who live on Siding Street don't wait for some holiday to embellish their lawns. Artificial deer are fairly popular. So is that sort of wind sculpture that looks like a duck flapping its wings.

Impossible! But That's What I Saw

2010-10-29T23:15:00.001-05:00

I haven't been to a Halloween party since I was a kid, but I still enjoy the holiday. Partly because of the decorations some folks in town put up, like inflatable spiders.

This week's wind storm left Loonfoot Falls alone, apart from a few downed trees: and radically rearranged inflatable Halloween displays.

The spider that had graced a neighborhood roof is missing: it may be in another county by now. A sort of pint-size pirate ship with a skeleton (literally) crew from the 'spider house' yard found anchorage at their mailbox.

I shouldn't joke, I suppose. Quite a few folks in this part of the state didn't have power for hours: a definitely unfunny situation with temperatures below freezing.

Then there was my experience Tuesday afternoon, on my way home from work. There was a brisk west wind: around 45 miles an hour, the radio said, with gusts to 60.

The neighborhood roof spider had already disappeared when I turned down the street where I live, the inflated skeleton crew were moshing at the mailbox, and somebody's garbage can sprinted past my car on the passenger side.

Just then somebody shot past me on the left and jumped onto the windshield. I was hitting the brakes when the lunatic jumped off, disappeared, and slapped the roof.

Sure: people can't do that. But that's what my eyes and ears were telling me.

I'd stopped the car by then: just in time for somebody's inflatable Dracula to whip back over the windshield.

Small Town Charm: With Internet

2010-10-22T22:22:00.003-05:00

I read a warm, glowing account of life in small town America this week. It started with something like "Take a step back in time, to a simpler world without the cares and worries of today."

I don't know where that place is: but it's not like any small town I know. Sure, the buildings downtown are mostly around a hundred years old. That's partly because the town's grown out more than up. In our case, mostly toward the Interstate. Those old fashioned storefronts reappeared a few years ago, after City Hall realized that folks passing through liked the olde towne look.

What you see today is 'authentic:' but it's what we got after tearing off paneling set up in the fifties and sixties. It took a lot of sandblasting, paint, and elbow grease to get something like fifty years of cobwebs, bat droppings, and, in one case, smoke, removed.

Are we isolated? Some folks in Loonfoot Falls don't have a full telephone/cable/Internet hookup in their homes: but it's a matter of choice or economic necessity. The technology's there, ready to be connected.

Our Internet services use the newish cable that's been laid alongside the Interstate. Cable television comes in mostly from satellites. The lot behind Vidiconnections is covered with dish antennas, and so is the ground around another cable service's mast a few miles outside town.

It's good that folks think nice thoughts about small towns in America. I sort of like it here, myself. But let's get real.

The School, a Skunk, the Woodpile, and Dynamite

2010-10-15T16:42:00.004-05:00

Loonfoot Falls schools, like the small town they live in, are quite up-to-date. They've got motivational posters on the walls, and the ‘no guns allowed’ sign at the doors.

It wasn't always that way.

A few generations back, it wasn't unusual to see a hunting rifle or three sitting in the corner of classrooms. This is a rural area, and bringing a rifle in the morning saved time if they planned to hunt after school.

There wasn't any trouble with the guns.

Dynamite, though: That was a problem, once.

This was back when the school was heated with wood stoves, which meant having a wood pile outside, against the back wall.

A skunk had wandered into the grounds behind the school. Trying to shoo it away, they chased the skunk into the wood pile.

The kids weren't able to dislodge the critter.

One of the youngsters had an idea. His family had been removing stumps: So he ran home, returning with dynamite, blasting cap, and a fuse.

He alerted the other students, who withdrew to a sensible distance, set the charge, lit the fuse, and backed off.

Less than a minute later, the skunk was gone. As well as the wood pile and the paint from that side of the school. The student had slightly over-estimated the size of the charge needed.

Nobody was hurt, but the young demolitions expert and several other students were put to work, painting the back of the school. Which might violate today's child-labor laws.

Brothers, Family Business, and Change

2010-10-08T23:26:00.000-05:00

Like many small towns, quite a few of the businesses in Loonfoot Falls are family-owned. Which means, obviously, working with members of your own family.

Like the Englebrechts, with their plumbing (and related) businesses, or Stan and Xul Parks.

Assuming that the Parks brothers get their enterprise off the ground.

Stan Parks runs S. Parks Computers: but he's also done work for Baum Media Productions. Which is a sort of family businesses, too: and the Parks are related to the Baums.

Stan and Xul Parks got the rights to Baum Media Productions' character, Galaxy Cadet, to make a comic book. Okay: this isn't your typical small-town family business, but I told Stan that I'd write about their project.

Stan worked on the two most recent Galaxy Cadet films, so he's familiar with the character. As an animator. Stan's a pretty good programmer, as well as a computer technician.

His brother, Xul, is an artist of the Salvador Dali variety. Sort of.

So, how is this collaboration of programmer and artist going? So far, Stan tells me, they've discussed several stories. Some of which had plots which Stan could follow. And none of which had, they thought, were worth developing.

I sort of liked the one about mutant squirrels, though.

The Engelbrechts went through something like this, too, when one brother took over the family plumbing business the other branched off into welding equipment. Then the other brother's wife started an 'everything but catering' wedding and event supply business: plus propane.

Central Minnesota's Uncooperative Trees

2010-10-01T23:53:00.001-05:00

Autumn is a season of clear blue skies and brightly colored leaves. The sound of leaves crunching underfoot, and the hiss of tires on drizzle-soaked streets.

I'd write about the smell of leaves burning and haze rising from a hundred back yards: but Loonfoot Falls banned leaf and trash burning a few decades ago. Which is probably just as well.

This season is also when folks in the country - and a few in town - start stacking hay bales around their houses. That, and sealing windows with plastic sheeting, helps with heating bills in winter. All of which is about as colorful and charming as taking out the garbage or doing the laundry: but they're important routines.

The New England states advertise fall foliage tours: and I understand they've got some spectacular displays of autumn leaves there.

Central Minnesota doesn't do too badly, when it comes to producing anything from bright yellow all the way to intensely dark red foliage, around this time of year.

The problem is, the trees and shrubs turn color at different times. I've seen some trees in town with bare branches on top, bands of color below that, and green leaves on one side of the bottom.

I'm not sure if I should be proud of their rugged individualism; or frustrated that they don't cooperate with the Minnesota tourism industry.

I think I'll opt for taking a walk around town this weekend, see which trees are turning color this week, and enjoy the show.

Drying the House: Thanks, Everyone!

2010-09-24T23:50:00.000-05:00

A week ago I heard my washing machine's rinse cycle in the small hours of the morning.

And later realized that I hadn't turned the washing machine on.

It's an old house, with uneven floors. That kept the water mostly in the kitchen and laundry room.

And the wall between them.

And the basement on that side of the house.

By the time I'd closed the main valve and was watching the fountain subside into a mere leak, it was about two in the morning. I called a plumber I've worked with before.

I didn't expect Jim Engelbrecht to answer the phone. I was leaving a message on his machine when he cut in. He was at my place about 20 minutes later.

Good news: the pipes were in generally good shape. But I should have replaced the flexible bit that connects to the washing machine a few years ago.

Live an learn.

Jim Engelbrecht told me about a place in Foggton that does cleanup work. They had a crew out here before dawn, pumped about an inch of water out of the basement and set up heavy-duty fans and dehumidifiers that sucked water out of the air. And, over several roaring days and nights, out of the floors and walls.

This could have been a lot worse.

I'd rather not have the bills for the cleanup: But that's better than having mold and rotting wood. And my hat's off to everybody who showed up that night, to help out.

Water Splashing Merrily: So, Why am I Not Smiling?

2010-09-17T22:01:00.003-05:00

One of the nice things about owning your own house is that you don't have to depend on the landlord to get things fixed.

One of the drawbacks about owning your own house is that you can't depend on the landlord to get things fixed.

I own the house I live in, and generally like getting things done without having to go through a landlord. Last night, I'd have cheerfully called maintenance and walked away.

Actually, it was 'early this morning.' I'd been up later than usual, getting a 'due Friday morning' piece done. Around midnight I was diligently working at that piece, and heard the washing machine go into its rinse cycle. Nothing odd about that. I generally set it so that it starts using water after I've washed up.

Somewhat later I remembered that I didn't have laundry to do.

And I was still hearing the washing machine going through its rinse cycle.

Or, more accurately, I was still hearing water rushing through the pipes toward the washing machine.

Not "to:" "toward." About a foot short of the machine, the water was splashing merrily out the end of a broken pipe.

The washer and dryer are on the ground floor, off the kitchen. The water there was almost an inch deep. It's an old house, so most of the water stayed at one end of the kitchen before wending its way through the wall and into the basement.

I'll let you know how this turns out, next week.

Back to School: Waking and Sleeping

2010-09-10T23:07:00.000-05:00

I wasn't one of those students who seem to live for exams and who react to pop quizzes like most of us react to snow days. On the other hand, by and large I enjoyed being a student.

By and large.

I went to college right after high school. It seemed like a good idea at the time: Maybe it was, maybe not.

The biggest change for me was the new set of routines. Or, rather, lack of routines. Like having huge blocks of time between classes - and being able to plan how I'd fit a job, classroom sessions, and homework around my free time. Or maybe it was the other way around. Learning about priorities took me a while.

I still get dreams about being in college. Generally, it's a day after the deadline for changing or dropping classes. I realize that I've forgotten about one of the classes I signed up for; it's too late to drop the class; I can't even remember which building it was in.

Or I can't find the instructor's office. That actually happened to me once.

Yes, there are worse fates than forgetting your locker combination.

Pheasant Hunting on Pontoons

2010-09-03T20:48:00.001-05:00

It's not official, but for most folks Labor Day is the end of summer. Then school will be in session, days will be getting shorter, and the next vacation probably won't be planned until Thanksgiving, at least.

Some of the lake country resorts stay open year-round here in Minnesota, particularly if they have a decent ski slope or trails for cross-country skiing. Then there's Paul Cox's Misty Inlet resort, on Loonfoot Lake. He's been known to keep his place open until mid-September: but that was to accommodate a business group, back in the nineties.

After the first week of September, Paul Cox plans to give the cabins a top-to-bottom cleaning, 'mothball' the outboard motors, and pull the pontoon boat up to the picnic area. The other boats go into a big shed at one end of the property, but the pontoon rig's too big to fit inside.

Besides, Paul Cox has another use for it.

"I wouldn't be in this business if I didn't like being with people," he told me. "But it's nice to have peace and quiet, too." On weekends, anyway. Paul Cox works at Fisk Implement and, during the Christmas season, the Coalworth store when he's not running Misty Inlet.

Most weekends, though, he'll be back at Misty Inlet. "Puttering around" he told me. Also, after the middle of October, hunting pheasant. From a chair on the pontoon boat's platform. He bags a few pheasants each year: but I suspect he likes the view of Loonfoot Lake.

Mysteries of the High School Senior School Supply List

2010-08-27T23:51:00.000-05:00

Classes start the day after Labor Day here in Sauk Centre. That gives families with seniors one week to stock up on everything from a dozen #2 pencils to one package of mechanical pencil leads.

The pencil leads I understand, since mechanical pencils are on the list. Why three mechanical pencils, I've no idea.

Maybe, in principle, a student could take twice as many notes by holding one pencil in each hand. But three?!

Another minor mystery on the list is item 15: one package of pencil crayons. I checked in Valderrama: and they've got three sorts of packages in stock: with 12; 16; and another with a different set of 12 colors. A little more research, and I discovered that the first 12-count package was the one for school use.

Maybe which sort of pencils the school wanted is obvious to shoppers: it wasn't to me.

One thing that even a bachelor like me understands is part of the sixth item on the list: one package of washable felt markers.

I may be the reason they added the word 'washable' to that item. During my senior year, I had a second-period class at one end of the school, with my third-period class at the other end. One day, I stuck the markers in my pocket without capping one.

Which of the four available sorts of washable felt markers the school wants seniors to get? I suggest asking someone at the store: They'll probably have figured that out by now.

Silly Season, LFTV, and Howard Leland

2010-08-20T20:50:00.003-05:00

Ever notice how, in August, you're more likely to see news about, say, off street parking or prize beagles on the front page? It's called the silly season. I read a post on Boston.com about this phenomenon: what Miriam Webster online says is "a period (as late summer) when the mass media often focus on trivial or frivolous matters for lack of major news stories."

Which reminds me of what happened when I went to Vidiconnections, to get pictures of their antenna farm. Howard Leland was there, too: at their public access
television center, LFTV, taping a sort of infomercial.

I thought he'd be plugging his Loonfoot Falls Museum of Lint and Gum Wrappers. He explained that plans weren't far enough along to make a public appeal. His goal that day was to raise awareness and funds for the SPCD, or Society for the Prevention of Continental Drift.

I'll say this for Howard Leland: his sense of civic duty is quite well developed. He has, for a time, set aside his dream of a museum celebrating undervalued cultural treasures: in a quest to stop North America's reckless march westward.

He was quite disappointed that LFTV wouldn't air a program by SPCD's candidate in the midterm election, and even more disappointed when I wouldn't sign SPCD's latest petition to Congress.

He perked up considerably when I agreed to let everyone reading this column know that he'd be on LFTV, warning of the dangers of continental drift, next Wednesday at 10:30 p.m.

Rambling on About Friday the 13th

2010-08-13T22:07:00.003-05:00

Friday the 13th is supposed to be unlucky. Many skyscrapers have no 13th floor: and none of the buildings in downtown Loonfoot Falls have a 13th floor.

It's not that we're particularly superstitious. There aren't any buildings downtown with more than four floors.

There's even a 13th Avenue South on some old maps, south of the Grimm County Fairground. It doesn't actually exist: although there's still a stub at the end of Fairside Road, going about fifteen feet toward where South 13th would have been.

The street was part of the proposed Southside Addition: a residential zone between the fairground and the Interstate, along the Loonfoot River. Plans for the addition were going smoothly until the 1965 flood.

The Loonfoot River rose almost to the deck of the 12th Street bridge: and entirely covered what would have been the Southside Addition. The Southside Addition was on the council's agenda a week after the food's peak, rejected, and never brought up again.

I don't know that flood was "unlucky," though: if it had happened a couple years later, a lot of people would have lost their homes.

Then there's the Belvedere Union Grand's room 313. Haunted, maybe: unlucky? I'd say not.

There was that fateful Friday the 13th in 1908, when the Bijou Opera House burned down. Indirectly as a result of an anti-superstition club meeting. I've written about that before.

What's the point of all this? I'm obliged to provide 250 words for this column each week. Now I have.

Dust Bunnies are Not Lint!

2010-08-06T23:14:00.004-05:00

Howard Leland found me in the Whistle Stop Cafe this week, and informed me that dust bunnies are not lint. And that this distinction is very important.

He also discussed his plans for the Loonfoot Falls Museum of Lint and Gum Wrappers. As I reported in April, his dream was to open a lint museum here in Loonfoot Falls. On consideration, he told me, he realized that as fascinating as lint is, it might prove challenging to provide a sufficiently varied array of displays on the subject.

Gum wrappers was an obvious choice, he explained, since those are often found mingled with lint when one empties one's pockets. Besides, there's a remarkable variety of gum wrappers.

The inner wrappings around individual sticks come in two basic varieties: single layers of paper or similar material; and double layers with paper inside and foil outside. The paper wrappers, of course, often are printed with the brand name: and occasionally are unmarked.

Remarkable.

Outer wrappings, enclosing several sticks, are what Howard Leland finds most interesting, though. He showed me a scrapbook he happened to have with him, where he has cataloged and categorized gum wrappers by brand, type, color, and historical period.

Inside the back cover of the scrapbook he had an envelope full of sketches of displays. His favorite was the interactive lint table. That was a large tray holding lint and lint cards: things that look like horse brushes. He figures folks will love playing with lint.

He may be right.

Action, Adventure, and Logarithmic Curve of Cauliflower

2010-07-30T23:17:00.005-05:00

The owner of S. Parks Computers, Stan, and his brother Xul think they've got a really good idea this time. Stan told me that they'd learned from their attempt to interest Baum Media Productions in "Dino Side Story." First, he told me, musicals probably wouldn't enjoy a revival any time soon. Second, he thinks they have a better chance, working with an existing series of stories.

They've gotten the comic book rights to Galaxy Cadet, heroine of Baum's animated films.

They're taking Galaxy Cadet out of the academy, and promoting her to ensign: a logical choice, considering the remarkably long time that she's been a cadet. How, or whether, they'll call their comics "Galaxy Cadet," when the central character has moved on wasn't clear to me.

What I'm even less certain of is how Xul Parks will fare as a cartoonist. There's no question that he's talented: a gifted artist. But an action-adventure comic is: well, it's not even close to anything I've seen him do.

Stan explained that he and Xul would be collaborating on the artwork, since Stan has worked on the two most recent Galaxy Cadet films. They plan, I'm told, to have Xul provide much of the inspiration for story lines and new characters.

That should be quite interesting. Xul says he developed his style partly by studying the Mike Wallace interview of the late Salvador Dali. And Dali's artwork, like "The Persistence of Memory."

I think Stan and Xul's Galaxy Cadet comic will be memorable.

Crime Wave! Well, It Could be Worse

2010-07-23T23:50:00.002-05:00

Several computers, television sets, and a video game set were stolen from three homes on the north side of Loonfoot Lake this week. You've probably read about it already, on the front page.

It's cold comfort to the folks whose property was stolen: but that sort of thing isn't all that common around here.

Loonfoot Falls isn't a crime-free zone. Each week the "Police Blotter" column records some number of traffic stops, loud parties, or other disturbances of the peace. But the theft of property totaling well into four figures is unusual.

What's really embarrassing is that the victims were folks who live in Loonfoot Falls on weekends, but have places in the Cities for weekday living. Which helps explains why it took a while for someone to notice the thefts. The weekend retreats being secluded didn't help either, I think. Still, I feel like we let neighbors down.

That crime cluster reminded me of something I ran across, about five years ago, about crime in rural America. The article made it sound like folks who took vacations in rural America were visiting a hotbed of crime. After a little checking, it turns out that the (comparatively) high-crime areas were around ski resorts.

A little more digging, and I found out that rural areas have less crime because we've got fewer people. No surprise there. Then, there's the per capita crime rate. Back in the mid-nineties, it was lower out here: less than half what it was in metropolitan areas.

It Seemed Like a Good Idea At the Time

2010-07-16T23:25:00.002-05:00

Clearing brush from that boggy patch behind my friend's place seemed like a good idea at the time. He isn't one of those fussy property owners, who won't rest until their place looks like it came from a cover of one of those 'House Wonderful' magazines.

On the other hand, he figured that he'd mind the smell less, when the wind was from that direction, if the dark, dank, green growths started a bit farther back from the house.

So, last Friday I pulled in the driveway of a place that's between the Twin Cities and Duluth, more or less. This column will be a bit vague about names and locations, by request.

I figured I'd lend a hand until one or the other of us figured we'd done a day's work. The idea was that I'd spend Saturday and Sunday fishing around a lake about an hour's drive from there.

We made good progress, hacking our way through everything from some kind of low-growing vine to a stand of smallish trees or shrubs. Most of them were a bit taller than I am, with smooth gray bark. The leaves were pretty, with red stems.

I was ready to quit by sunset, but we kept going until we had a hard time seeing the trees.

Then, around midnight, my hands and arms started itching.

Those trees were poison sumac.

I'm okay, and so is my friend: but I'm still typing with very thick, soft gloves on.

More about poison sumac.

Gone Fishing

2010-07-09T23:36:00.001-05:00

Thanks for stopping by.

Ed Brunsvold is on vacation, but he'll be back with another column next Friday.

Pair-A-Dice Lost

2010-07-02T23:20:00.000-05:00

There's more to Fourth of July celebrations here in Minnesota than just fireworks.

There are flags displayed in front yards, grills set up for traditional cookouts, and mosquitoes. Lots of mosquitoes. The little bloodsuckers aren't good fliers, so the windy weather we had this week keeps them grounded. Except in sheltered spots.

I spent a Fourth of July weekend with friends at a place like that once, a few years back. It was a little patch of water and weeds that might be called a lake in dryer states.

We were staying at a secluded place someone had called "Pair-A-Dice." The owner had set a couple of concrete cubes at the end of the drive. One had five indentations on all five of its visible faces, the other had two on each.

We'd have had more fun, I think, if there had been some wind. Any wind. A light breeze would have helped.

It wasn't particularly hot, maybe 85, but it was humid. Thick. Near-ideal flying conditions for mosquitoes. By late afternoon we'd gone through our supply of insect repellant, and the mosquitoes were closing in.

Someone - we couldn't decide, later, whose bright idea it was - said that mosquitoes don't like smoke. So we should build a fire, and put wet wood on it. The smoke discouraged the mosquitoes: but it wasn't doing us any good, either. With a couple hours left before sunset, eyes bloodshot and skin itching, we conceded defeat and surrendered Pair-A-Dice to the mosquitoes.

What If There's a Fire During the Parade?

2010-06-25T23:42:00.003-05:00

Ever worry about fire breaking out in a small town, while the Fire Department was in a parade?

Probably not.

It's happened, though: during the 2007 Loonfoot Falls' River Revel Parade.

I was watching the parade from a spot between Birch and Alder Streets, on Center Avenue. Fire engines at the head of the parade were about two blocks away when one of Loonfoot Falls' finest loped to his car, talking earnestly into that box they keep on their shoulders. And took off, lights flashing and siren on.

I heard more sirens going by, northwards: probably running along Park Avenue.

Then I noticed smoke coming up, somewhere to the east. I headed for the fire. My motivation was more than idle curiosity, or a journalist's instinct. I'd left my car parked in that direction. Right where most of the Loonfoot Falls Fire Department and one of our police cars were double- and triple-parked.

My car was okay. The one two spaces closer to downtown had to be towed. The engine fire was out by the time I got there, and the firefighters were discussing how to get re-inserted in the parade.

They got back in, near the back of the procession. That interruption may have thrown the rest of the parade off: by the time they reached the fairgrounds, there was almost a block between some of the units.

It's good to know that the Fire Department can respond, even if they're tied up in a parade when they're needed.

River Revel Parade Next Week

2010-06-18T22:20:00.001-05:00

You've probably seen the Rose Bowl and Macy's Thanksgiving Day parades on television. Maybe you've been there in person.

Loonfoot Falls' River Revel parade isn't quite like those. With about 100 units each year, it's not quite as big. We also don't have titanic balloons wafting over the crowd, or a rule that the floats have to be covered in flowers.

Back in the seventies, Dave Eskridge urged the Chamber of Commerce to have at least one float covered by duck feathers, as a reminder of the traditional Duck Races. Then someone calculated how many ducks would have to be plucked and Mr. Erskin's idea was dropped.

After experimenting with themes like "Weekend on the Lake" and "Camping Trip," the Chamber decided to get back to their roots, or maybe anchorage, in the Loonfoot River, with "River of Fun."

The public library is tying their summer reading program into that general idea, with a "Reading is Fun" float. I've heard that they're having people sit in inner tubes, reading.

Sonia Johnson, the event organizer, told me that it's a challenge, coming up with a fresh "River of Something" theme: but is counting on "River of Fun" being, well, fun.

There will be the usual marching, polka and rock bands in the parade, plus horses and tractors. I suppose it's a cliché, but the Loonfoot Falls' River Revel Parade really is "fun for the whole family." Plus, it's a good way for area businesses to remind folks that they're still around.

2010-06-12T22:01:00.004-05:00

I had Stan P. edit/correct your online column. We caught it before it hit the press.

Another time, if you're feeling this way: let me know. You've got sick days coming.

I'll see that you're covered for Monday, if you want to take the day off.

J.

At Raith's Lake: Alone?

2010-06-11T18:27:00.005-05:00

I've heard that what folks call rivers and creeks, lakes and ponds, mountains and hills, depends on where they are.

If the "hills" east of San Francisco Bay were in Minnesota, we'd probably call them "mountains." Someone claimed that Minnesotans call any watercourse that doesn't dry up in August a "river." There's something to that: Some of Minnesota's "rivers" are pretty small. But a body of standing water has to be pretty big before we'll call it a "lake." Generally.

Then, there's Raith's Lake. It's within an hour's drive of Loonfoot Falls: provided you know how to get there. It's a little easier to find than Lake 13. The nearest road is over a mile away, but If you know exactly what you're looking for, you can make out the cabin - it's more of a shed - by the dock.

Angus Raith built that cabin when he owned the land it's on, almost a hundred years ago. Like other owners since then, he used it as a source of water for his cattle and a place to cool off on hot summer days.

Some places are secluded. Raith's Lake is isolated.

Standing on the old dock, I've felt, well, exposed. Like everybody, or maybe everything, for miles around can see me. The pond is surrounded by hills, with a scattering of trees nearby: so there's something to that impression.

Oddly, the evening fogs around Raith's Lake increase the feeling that someone's watching. Or maybe something.

Next week: River Revel.

Zucchini: More Than You Probably Want to Know

2010-06-04T22:32:00.003-05:00

Here are some of the more interesting online discussions of zucchini:

"Zucchini Top 20"
allrecipes.com
"Zucchini History"
About.com: Home Cooking
"zucchini"
RecipeZaar
"How to Grow Zucchini Squash"
The Gardener's Network

Zucchini, the Kitchen Garden's Overachiever

2010-06-04T22:30:00.001-05:00

Zucchini: the vegetable kingdom's answer to bratwurst.

There's a reason why you don't see much zucchini in the grocery's produce section. Those green sausages don't keep very well: and one gardening enthusiast can keep an entire neighborhood supplied for the summer.

I found out more than I planned to, about zucchini, doing research for Heather Fisk. Most of us know zucchini as something that the neighbor brings in a basket. Along with an apologetic 'could you take some of these?'

Zucchini started out in Central and South America, was brought as an exotic food to Europe, and took root in Italy. Our zucchini is a descendant of those transplanted Italian plants.

Zucchini is called courgette in French: and so is some yellow thing that's sort of like zucchini. They're now part of French cuisine. Which is like food, only more expensive.

Perhaps mercifully, zucchini is a relatively delicate plant. Frost can kill it, although the survivors generally produce more of those long green things. A zucchini can be two feet long and six inches across. The smaller ones taste better, though.

Don't misunderstand me: I like zucchini. And, thanks to the generosity of my neighbors, I've had opportunities to try most of the hundreds of zucchini recipes. Like blueberry zucchini bread, zucchini relish and zucchini pumpkin bread.

Which reminds me. Zucchinis can be crossed with pumpkins. Stan Parks is growing what he assures me is a small crop of the things. I'll probably see the first in a couple months.

Loonfoot Falls Graduation Day: 2010 - and an Informal Poll

2010-05-28T23:47:00.002-05:00

It's graduation day: Families of the graduating seniors have been stocking up on helium-filled Mylar balloons and plastic plates at the Valderrama, down by the Interstate; Graduates are renting or borrowing graduation gowns - and, in some cases, learning the school song; the school's custodial staff is lining up rows and columns of folding chairs; and everybody has Memorial Day weekend on their minds.

Last week I wrote about the unique method Loonfoot Falls High School has for determining the day of its graduation ceremony. I've wondered if part of the idea was to give the graduating seniors a three-day weekend to celebrate in.

But that's speculation.

Folks who aren't involved in the High School's graduation are getting their fishing tackle ready, making sure their boat is seaworthy (or, in our case lakeworthy), or getting a rummage sale ready.

Rummage sales are a fairly important part of the Loonfoot Falls cultural scene. I haven't read any serious study of them, but I've seen the social and economic value of the institution. Which is a fancy way of saying that Loonfoot Fallers enjoy getting together on someone's driveway, or in the garage, to talk and get a little shopping done.

By the way, there's been some debate over what people who live in Loonfoot Falls should be called. I've used "Loonfoot Fallers" most of my life: but we're called everything from Loonies to Loonfeet. The Loonfoot Falls Chronicle-Gazette is conducting an informal, unscientific, poll to determine which names are most popular.

Graduation Ceremonies, History, Ducks, and a Rock

2010-05-21T23:13:00.002-05:00

For generations, Loonfoot Falls High School has had its commencement exercise on the Friday before Memorial Day weekend, or the next Wednesday. Each year the day is determined by an equation that fills two pages of the superintendent's manual.

The real mystery, though, is why the LFHS graduation ceremony is so late: long after classes are over and paperwork filed for the school year.

One story is that the ceremony was tied to the Memorial Day Weekend during the Great Depression, as a way to give people with strapped finances an excuse for not taking a trip. It's a good story, but there's no evidence to back it up.

Another account, first published in the 1920s when this paper was the Gazette, tells that the school principle, Mr. Herschel Thornton, lost his wife to pneumonia in May of 1919, and accompanied her body to Boston for burial.

As a mark of respect, the Class of 1919 delayed their graduation ceremony until Mr. Thornton returned. I checked: there was a Mr. Herschel Thornton serving as principal in 1919, and school records show that the spring 1919 graduation ceremony was delayed to late May.

But that doesn't explain why, generations later, Loonfoot Falls High School graduates wait to receive their diplomas until late May or early June: or why the date of the ceremony depends on such things as how many ducks are seen on Mosquito Flats and the date on which a five-pound rock breaks through the ice on Loonfoot Lake.

Minnesota Fishing Opener - or - No Column This Week

2010-05-14T17:18:00.004-05:00

No column this week. Fishing season starts tomorrow, and space for this column was needed for a special report. I don't mind: legwork for that special report was a nice change of pace.

I'll be back next week.

Ed Brunsvold

(Actually, Minnesota has quite a few overlapping fishing seasons. The ones that start tomorrow are for lake trout, and stream trout in lakes.)

Frost Advisory, Followed by Fire Weather: What, No Burning Hail?

2010-05-07T17:10:00.001-05:00

There's an old gag: 'Minnesota doesn't have a climate, it has weather.'

There's something to that.

Recently, Loonfoot Falls had a frost advisory, and the next day the counties north of us dealt with a fire weather advisory.

That "fire weather advisory" didn't involve burning hail with occasional frog showers. Northern Minnesota had warm weather, and no rain to speak of. The snow cover had melted, and run off; and vegetation hadn't started sprouting yet: so quite a few counties were covered by kindling.

Then we started getting rain. Day-long drizzles a few degrees above freezing don't encourage outdoor activities, but it's put a stop to that “fire weather.”

Then it snowed. In May, just before Mother's Day Weekend. And the forecast says we should expect more. It doesn't stay on the ground: but our April showers brought May snow.

Oh. No. Mother's Day weekend. I'll be right back.

A brisk walk to Broadway Drug and Photo, punctuated by three distinct and separate sneezes, confirmed my worst fear: I've got a cold.

Mom, you were right. I should wear a jacket when I go out this time of year, even if I don't feel like it. I've been out several times over the last few weeks, convinced that it's 'shirtsleeve weather.' And now I've got a cold.

Friday's nearly over now. I've decided to take care of Mrs. Brunsvold's boy by staying in and living largely on chicken soup. Don't worry, Mom: I've got enough to last me a week.

Howard Leland and the Deliberate Bear

2010-04-30T23:21:00.001-05:00

I don't like to contradict the Loonfoot Falls Chronicle-Gazette's news. But that bear was not "wandering." Not as far as I could tell, anyway.

You've read about it, probably: "Police Chase Bear" was on the bottom half of the front page this week. The article starts out by saying that police were told that a bear was "wandering around town," near south 10th Avenue and Cherry Street. The next location given for the bear was Broadway and south 10th Avenue: just a block west of where the bruin was first spotted.

The only other location given in the article was the corner of Jefferson Road and Jefferson Loop, near Jefferson Drive, in the Industrial Park. That's not due west of Broadway and south 10th, but it's more west than north of the other locations.

I did a little checking around the office: and sure enough, there was no evidence at all of the bear being sited anywhere else. Loonfoot Falls police had followed the bear after spotting it in the Industrial Park, all the way out of town. Where it was still headed in a westerly direction!

This bear: wandering? I ask you, since when could a steady movement in a single direction reasonably be called "wandering?"

We haven't heard the last of that bear: or, rather, Loonfoot Falls' policy regarding visiting bears. Howard Leland called me: he’s started another petition. This one demands that a provision against the harassment of bears be added to Loonfoot Falls' city charter.

Neglecting Hospitality

2010-04-23T23:52:00.003-05:00

Moreau Centre was the first town in what's now Fox County. Pierre Moreau founded the town in 1838, when the Iowa Territory was organized. All that's left of it now is a small cemetery and a few foundations.

I asked a historian or two: and nobody seems to know a great deal about Pierre Moreau, the town's founder, and only a little more about Moreau Center. On the other hand, there are a few stories.

Moreau Centre was on one of the Red River Cart trails and grew. Slowly. Then, in 1858, Minnesota became a state, By 1860, it had a post office, a church, and a school. A few years later, the town almost became a center of trade and industry in the region.

One of those historians, David Schmidt, says this is one of those stories that everyone apparently heard from someone else. Still, I think it makes a good story:

It was well after sunset when a dapper clerk at the Moreau Centre Hotel heard dogs barking outside. Then a snow-caked man strode in the door and up to the desk. The aroma accompanying him identified him as the dogsled driver.

This disreputable-looking person wanted a night's lodging.

The clerk sniffed and informed this man that he might find accommodations in the stable, down the street.

Next year surveyors came through, marking the railroad's route. Well away from Moreau Centre.

That disreputable-looking person was James J. Hill, making a personal inspection of possible routes for his enterprise.

Under-Appreciated Lint

2010-04-16T21:46:00.002-05:00

If you were one of the folks who signed that petition from the Society for the Prevention of Continental Drift, Howard Leland has another great cause you may want to support.

I ran into Howard this week, at the Whistle Stop Café. While I finished my coffee, he educated me on the subject of lint. You know? That stuff you find in your pocket and the clothes dryer filter.

Seems that many people think lint is useless: a nuisance at best, and sometimes a fire hazard.

That view, Howard told me, was very short-sighted and ill-informed. Then he generously shared his accumulated store of lint lore.

Take lint as a fire hazard, for example. Lint building up in your dryer filter can ignite and burn down your home. But lint makes good kindling when you want to start fires.

Need modeling clay? Take lint, flour and water: and you've got a sort of substitute for modeling clay. Lint, by itself, or stuck to construction paper, is a fair substitute for cotton balls: so a person could sculpt clouds and snowmen from the stuff. Families with school-age kids: take note.

Stuff lint in tube socks, and you've got a draft-stopper for the bottom of doors.

Lint makes decent compost: or you can use it to make homemade paper.

And, if you've got any lint left over after that, leave outside. Birds can use lint for nesting material.

Howard Leland's dream is to open a Museum of Lint here in Loonfoot Falls.

The Color T.V. Motel

2010-04-09T23:44:00.001-05:00

Elton Baum told me that U Betcha's Fountain, his old-fashioned drug store and soda fountain, minus the pharmacy, is off to a good start. So he's got a new project: re-opening the Color T.V. Motel, out on the old highway.

The Color T.V. Motel was going to be "Johnson's Motel" back in the early fifties. Then Melvin Johnson's custom-made sign arrived. The words "COLOR T.V." and "MOTEL" were there, as specified.

"JOHNSON'S," though, wasn't on the sign. At all. The only place his name appeared in the shipment was on the invoice – and the bill.

He couldn't afford another sign, since the outfit he'd worked with wouldn't fix the problem, or refund what he'd already paid them. Then the company went out of business: leaving Mr. Johnson with a brand-new sign that wasn't what he'd ordered.

We have a saying in Minnesota: "It could be worse." Mr. Johnson applied this grim wisdom, re-named his motel to match the sign and opened in time for the tourist season.

Years later the Interstate came. Folks seldom used the old highway, except for local traffic. The Color T.V. Motel closed its doors.

The buildings have gone through several hands since then, being used mostly as rental housing. The property went up for sale again this year. Elton Baum bought the land and buildings, but says he doesn't plan to restore the motel right away.

"It'll be a huge job. Besides, I'd like to give the folks living there time to find new homes."

Loonfoot Lake, Walker Mill, and Loonfoot Fall's Demented Ducks

2010-04-02T23:07:00.000-05:00

New York City's Battery Park has Zelda the Turkey, Capistrano has swallows, and Loonfoot Falls has ducks. Lots of ducks.

"When the swallows come back to Capistrano" sounds more lyric and romantic than "When the ducks waddle back to Loonfoot Falls," so I don't think anybody's going to write a famous song about us. Still, seeing daft drakes waddling after distracted ducks is one of the signs of spring around here.

They'll have settled in by the time we celebrate the Annual Memorial Day Loonfoot Falls Duck Race. This one will be the silver anniversary of that event. Plans haven't been announced, but the Chamber of Commerce says they've got something special planned.

Visitors sometimes ask why we've got ducks by the bushel here in Loonfoot Falls: but no loons. You'd think that a town named for the Minnesota state bird, or at least part of the bird, would have a few around.

It isn't that we've driven the loons away. As far as I can tell, there never were many loons in this area. You're more likely to see them in the lakes north of here.

The city of Loonfoot Falls was named after the waterfall where the Walker Mill was built: and that got its name from Loonfoot Lake, not far upstream. There weren't any loons near the lake, either: but it's shaped a little like a loon's foot.

From Battery Park to Loonfoot Lake, by way of demented ducks. That's a long enough trip for this day.

Daring Derik Dragon Returns?

2010-03-26T23:51:00.002-05:00

You've probably already read about the statue that's been proposed for the school. Or maybe Railroad Park. Or the fairgrounds. Or someplace else.

Or Loonfoot Falls may not get its dragon at all. The City Council will talk about it, again, next week.

I hope it's built.

Loonfoot Falls is a bit remarkable for being a Minnesota town without its own oversize sculpture of a crow, otter, prairie chicken, walleye, lumberjack, bear, pike, or muskie. There's even one showing a grasshopper the size of a terrier, shishkabobbed on somebody's pitchfork. And yes: I know. Muskies are a kind of pike.

That punctured grasshopper, I understand, dates back to a gag made up in the fifties: and doesn't have much to do with the nineteenth century grasshopper plague. Which was no joke at all.

I've gotten off track. Back to that dragon statue.

Folks in town have been talking about building another Loonfoot Dragon, ever since Daring Derik Dragon burned down, back in 1986. Derik was made of fiberglass, steel, and cardboard. Quite a lot of cardboard, apparently.

It's been a sore point with some folks here that Frazee rebuilt their turkey statue: but we're still dragonless.

The statue Albert Graff showed the council this week is small enough to fit on a trailer: a design requirement since be on the road from time to time as a high school mascot, or appear in parades.

Mr. Graff assured the council that his Derik wouldn't have a shred of cardboard in him.

Loonfoot Falls' Inland Beach Pavilion

2010-03-20T04:17:00.004-05:00

I found the drawing between file folders in a cabinet near Candace Kane's desk. The picture wasn't her style, quite, and she didn't know who had drawn it..

I'm guessing it was someone who worked here before either Candace or I came.

Who made it may remain a mystery, but it's pretty obvious what it's a picture of: the beach pavilion in Railroad Park. Or maybe it's a summer house. "Summer house" makes a little more sense, since the closest water is Mosquito Flats, over a mile away.

Halversen Builders called it a "Beautiful, Picturesque Beach Pavilion." They're the ones who built it for the 1927 Grimm County Fair. Not at the fairgrounds. Downtown.

Loonfoot Falls' newspaper was the Gazette back then. It merged with the Chronicle later. Or the Chronicle acquired it. There's a bit of a story there.

Back to Loonfoot Falls' inland beach pavilion.

According to the Gazette, Halversen Builders wanted to showcase their work by finishing construction of the pavilion during the fair. It was a good idea, but there was already a sort of pavilion at the fair. Besides, what Halversen had in mind was a permanent building.

The fair board wouldn't permit a new building on the fair grounds. By then, Halversen had been talking with the city council. They had no problem with somebody putting up a place to rest in the shade. Particularly since all the city had to do was give the okay for construction and take possession after the fair.

Springtime in Minnesota: Melting Snow, Rain, and Gloom at Noon

2010-03-12T22:08:00.007-06:00

Part of my job is to provide 250 witty, bright, cheerful words each Friday. Or, failing that, somewhat interesting words.

It's been overcast all week. It's above freezing during the day, below at night. We've had rain off and on. Tuesday, it was on: all day.

Particularly around noon, when Loonfoot Falls' light-sensitive street lights turned themselves on, Tuesday was damp, depressing, depressive, dim, dingy, dismal, dispiriting, doleful, downcast, drab, dreary and dull.

Still, it could be worse. The Loonfoot River isn't threatening to flood. Not yet.

That song that goes "The flowers that bloom in the spring, tra la, breathe promise of merry sunshine"? From the Mikado? I'm pretty sure that Gilbert didn't have Minnesota's version of spring in mind when he wrote that.

We get blooming flowers here in Minnesota: along with mosquitoes, horse flies and leeches. But by then it's more 'early summer' than spring.

Despite their name, horse flies are only about an inch long. Then there are deer flies, stable flies and biting midges.

The Minnesota tourism folks may write me another letter about this, but the fact is that we share the state with an impressive roster of invertebrate blood suckers. Although technically, black flies lap up their meal.

If you're visiting here and someone talks about no-see-ums, that person may not be pulling your leg. That's another name around here for biting midges. They're about a tenth of an inch long, and can walk right through a window screen. And some tent material.

George "Bubble Gum in My Hair" Johanson Returns to Loonfoot Falls

2010-03-05T20:04:00.001-06:00

George Johanson denies that he's a country music legend: "more like a tall tale," is the way he put it. His name is pronounced "Yohanson" around here. Just about everywhere else, the "J" is pronounced like it is in "judge" or "jury."

More to the point, he's moving back to Loonfoot Falls, where he graduated with the class of 1968.

Most people who break into country music seem to do it in places like Nashville. George Johanson got his break in Fort Worth, Texas. "The place I was working closed their doors, and I still had rent to pay," he explained. "That was January of 1974, so there weren't a whole lot of jobs. My neighbor told me to go sing in a club. I think he wanted me and my guitar out of the building, so he could get to sleep."

His neighbor may not have appreciated his voice, but other people did. George Johanson stopped checking the job postings, and started singing in clubs, working on cruise ships, and living out of an old van.

Then, in 1987, his "Bubble Gum in My Hair" got reviewed in Country Music Magazine. "Besides the headline and the reviewer's name, it was just two words: 'It's okay,' " George told me.

Those two words made a big difference, he told me. For the next ten years he lived and performed in and near Nashville, made three albums, and "spent a little less than I made each week, so I could retire."

Today It Warmed Up

2010-02-26T19:15:00.001-06:00

With bright sun and temperatures in the high 20s today, I decided to give my car a long-overdue wash during my lunch break.

Quite a few other people had the same idea. I was third in line at the Mighty Minn Mart's drive-through wash. No problem: I'd budgeted time for a delay like this.

My turn came, I drove up and punched my code into the keypad, and drove forward.

No: I planned to drive forward. What actually happened was that after going about six inches forward, I heard the tires spin and felt my car slide to the left.

There was a sort of reverse rut where dozens, maybe hundreds, of people had driven into the wash. Mighty Minn Mart's plowed and shoveled, but compacted snow and ice are as stubborn as some of our older Norwegians.

So, my front-wheel-drive car started rolling up a narrow ridge that had been periodically washed with warm, moist air from the car wash all morning. And lost traction, sliding off the ridge.

Good news: I didn't damage the keypad's box, and my car wasn't more than dented.

Bad news: I wasn't going anywhere until I got my car and that box away from each other.

More good news: Jake Nordstrom and Stan Parks were there, and the three of us were able to shove my car over to where I could drive forward. Around here, meeting people you know at a convenience store isn't much of a coincidence. Thanks, guys!

'When Does it Warm Up Around Here?'

2010-02-19T20:14:00.001-06:00

Central Minnesota isn't for everyone. It's the weather, I think. Dr. Glenn DeLoach, at Foggton State University, told me about a new faculty member he'd been sent to meet at the airport. It was one of those beautiful late-fall days: cloudless sky; and temperature around 60. Fahrenheit, that is. It was so warm, Dr. DeLoach left his jacket in the car.

The first words the newcomer said to Dr. Deloach were, "when does it warm up around here?!"

He lasted, I'm told, about three months.

Life in a small town isn't for everyone, either. Particularly for folks who think of Foggton, home to around 50,000 people, as a "small town." I'll grant that it's not like Los Angeles, which can be a good thing or a bad one: depending on what you're looking at.

Then there are places with a bar, two or three churches, a grain elevator and a hundred people or so. Now that's a small town!

One thing I've heard about small towns is that they're cliquish. I suppose it's true: but then we're supposed to be too interested in each other's lives, too. I grew up here, so I'm used to living in a place where I know my neighbors, and am related one way or another to a good-sized fraction of the town.

Like I said, it's not like Los Angeles.

It's not like those "small town museums" you see, either. Those generally show the way small towns were like: maybe a hundred years ago.

Comments, Spam, and Having to Wait

2010-02-16T12:49:00.001-06:00

I'm moderating comments on this blog from here on.

Sorry about that. I like to see the comments I make show up right away, and figure that you probably do, too.

On the other hand, I've been getting too much obscene spam: which I don't like to see, and figure you may not, either. Particularly if you understand the language it's written in.

I rambled on about this more, in another blog:

"Lemming Tracks: Comments and Spam"
Apathetic Lemming of the North (February 16, 2010)

Snow, Neighbors, and Jake's Snow Blower

2010-02-12T23:08:00.000-06:00

You've heard the joke: 'It's a town so small, they don't have a town drunk, so they take turns.' Sometimes it's 'town idiot.'

We don't take turns being the town idiot, here in Loonfoot Falls. We have full-time colorful characters. But there's a little truth to the story: we do help each other out.

Along with everybody else in this part of the country, we got hit by a winter storm over the weekend. I dug through about two feet of snow Tuesday morning, just getting the garage door open. Jake Nordstrom, my neighbor up the street, had his sidewalk cleared by then and was working his way toward my place.

There's an ordinance about keeping you sidewalk clear, and some folks in the neighborhood aren't as young as Jake and I are. Besides, I think Jake likes using his snow blower.

I've read about the trouble folks in eastern cities, like Washington, are having with their snow. That's one reason I like living here in central Minnesota. With weather swinging back and forth between tropical and arctic, we expect to have trouble with snow, floods, drought, and the occasional tornado.

And have the equipment, crews, and budget to deal with what passes for “normal” in our part of the world.

Jake called me this afternoon: The plows were by again, leaving a rampart at the end of my driveway. He left his snow blower where I can get it: He'd do the job himself, except he's going ice fishing.

Why Minnesota Doesn't have a Punxsutawney Phil

2010-02-05T22:36:00.003-06:00

Punxsutawney Phil has a good job. For a groundhog. All he has to do is come out every February 2, and either see his shadow: or not. The job must agree with him. According to the Groundhog Day website, Phil's over 120 years old.

I'm not sure I believe that.

It's a good thing Punxsutawney Phil lives in Pennsylvania. If his home was in Minnesota, he'd never have gotten that reputation as a long-range weather forecaster: The climate here isn't boring.

There's quite a lot of truth in the old saying: that if you don't like the weather in Minnesota, wait a few minutes. It'll change. Here in central Minnesota, for every month of the year there's been a time when the temperature has been above freezing, and one when it's been below freezing.

There's some regularity, of course. January's generally the coldest month, and July the hottest: with August running a close second. And you can count on no snow falling from May through September. As a rule. Most years.

Rain? That's come in every month of the year. When it rains in winter, driving gets: interesting. If it hasn't frozen on the streets by sunset, it will soon after. And at night, patches of road with the traction of a skating rink look just like the rest of the pavement.

Then there was the time my father told me about, when National Guard arctic maneuvers were canceled, due to inclement weather.

Like I said, Minnesota's climate isn't boring.

Snowmobiling Trails: Groomed and Otherwise

2010-01-29T20:00:00.001-06:00

A page on the Minnesota Department of Natural Resources website says "Minnesota offers over 20,000 miles of groomed snowmobile trails. Over 18,000 miles are maintained by local snowmobile club volunteers."

We've got one of those groomed trails here, where the railroad used to be. In summer, the Blueberry Walleye Trail is a 10-foot-wide strip of asphalt used by walkers and cyclists. This time of year, it's snowmobile country.

Some trails are groomed. Others: well, you won't find them on the DNR maps, but we've got what I suppose you'd call ungroomed trails, too. Some of them are downright unkempt.

This winter's lavish snowfall made most ditches in central Minnesota snowmobile-ready. The more snowmobiles buzzed over the ditches, the harder the snow was packed. Sort of self-grooming?

Somebody's been putting little tiny "Stop" signs where roads and streets cut across the ditches: facing into the ditch.

They're a sort of reminder to snowmobilers that cars and trucks, besides being a whole lot bigger, have the right of way.

By the way: It's a really bad idea to see if your snowmobile can jump the road. It probably can, but people have died trying. Like I said: it's a bad idea.

Besides, there's enough excitement in racing across a frozen lake: wondering if that dark patch ahead is the shadow of a cloud, or open water.

Happily, folks who enjoy ice fishing and snowmobilers get along. Maybe snowmobilers have the good sense to steer clear of those little villages of fishing huts.

The Dark Story of This Week's Column

2010-01-22T22:10:00.001-06:00

Power failures always come at an inconvenient time. Think about it: when would it be convenient, for the lights to go out, the furnace to stop working, and your computer monitor to go black?

Okay: maybe you're one of those folks whose livelihood doesn't depend on whether or not the network and your computer are on speaking terms.

Speaking of which: hats off to Stan Parks, who came out to work on our Vacnet servers this evening. They were a bit temperamental, after the power outage.

There are all sorts of winter storms. Some are howling blizzards. Others involve serene descents of lovely drifting snowflakes whose accumulated weight collapses the roof.

Today's storm specialized in ice. Lots of ice. Layers of ice. Sheets of ice.

Ice on power lines. And cars.

When I let him in, Stan Parks told me that my car, had about a quarter-inch of ice on it. I'm seriously considering staying here in the office overnight.

By now, you may be wondering why there's so much "me" and "I" in this column. Aren't I supposed to be writing about something or someone in Loonfoot Falls? You're quite right: and I had a perfectly nice column written, when the lights went out.

Stan tells me it may still be somewhere in the digital depths of the network's memory. He may even be able to get it out, eventually.

But deadlines are deadlines. So this week's column will be an explanation of why there's no column this week.

Loonfoot Falls' Lutherans and Eagles

2010-01-15T22:25:00.004-06:00

Not everyone in Loonfoot Falls is a Norwegian Lutheran.

Some are German-Lutheran. Or Swedish-Lutheran.

Not that everybody in town goes to a Lutheran church. I checked in the yellow pages: under "Churches" there's Assemblies of God, Baptist, Catholic, Episcopal, Jehovah's Witness, United Church of Christ, and United Methodist. Then, after the church listings, the Cigar, Cigarette and Tobacco retailer in town. But that's another topic.

That leaves out some of the non-denominational groups. I'm not naming any, because I might leave out one.

And some folks don't go to any church.

It's a small selection, but remember: only about 4,000 people live in town. When enough folks with other beliefs and affiliations decide to move here, we'll have new houses of worship. But, seriously now: can you imagine the fuss there'd be, if someone was forced to move to a town in outer Minnesota?

The reason I brought this up was that each of the churches in town I checked with is doing some sort of second collection for the folks in Haiti this Sunday. And, so far, the Chamber of Commerce, Eagles, Knights of Columbus, Moose, Rotary, and VFW are passing the hat, too.

So, if you live in town, odds are that you'll have at least one opportunity to give.

Sure, Loonfoot Falls is feeling the economic troubles as much as anywhere else: but besides that, all we've got to worry about are blizzards, tornados, mosquitoes, leeches and other invertebrate blood-suckers.

Those folks in Haiti have real problems.

Ice Fishing and a Norwegian Joke

2010-01-08T22:17:00.000-06:00

The recent cold weather stiffened water on lakes around Loonfoot Falls, so villages of ice houses are out on the ice. Complete with tracks where the anglers drive out. Folks around here are fairly sensible. It's been quite a few years since someone broke through the ice.

You've probably heard this joke before. Probably featuring a blond or a drunk.. I happen to like Norwegian jokes, so here's my version.

Sven decided that he'd like to go ice fishing, so he packed up his gear and drove around until he found a big patch of clear ice near the road. He'd heard about trucks breaking through the ice, so he parked by the road and walked out to the middle of the ice.

Just as he began to cut a hole in the ice, a voice boomed out of the sky.

"There are no fish under that ice. Stop digging!"

Sven looked all around, but couldn't see anyone. He started sawing again. And again the voice boomed out.

"There are no fish under that ice!"

It took Sven a while to start cutting again. He looked ahead, to the right and left, and behind him. As far as he could tell, he was alone. Sven shrugged his shoulders and started cutting.

"Stop!" Thundered the voice. "There are no fish under that ice. I have told you that three times!"

Sven fell to his knees, looked up and asked, "is that you, God?"

"No, I'm the manager of the hockey rink."

New Year's Eve Crowds and the Stand-Up Comedian

2010-01-01T18:21:00.000-06:00

New Year's Eve is over, confetti's been cleaned up, and some folks are recovering from hangovers.

There's a sort of tradition that says people should get as lit up as the ball in New York City's Times Square at New Year's Eve. That may be changing. Folks at New York's New Year's Eve street party weren't allowed to bring drinks out on the street: and they seemed to be having a good time. Of course, they could have gotten tanked up beforehand.

A fellow I know is a stand-up comedian. He travels a lot, but came from this area and likes to play supper clubs like Thunder Haven, north of town. He asked me not to use his name - you'll see why - so I'll call him George.

George told me he doesn't like playing New Year's Eve events. It isn't that he'd rather be out having a good time. It's the people who show up.

Most nights, folks in the audience go out often enough so they generally know their limits. New Year's Eve, George said, brings out people who: It'll be easier if I tell you about a middle-aged couple.

Their table was right next to the stage. Each time George was on, they didn't look at him. They didn't look at each other. She glared at a saltshaker. He glared at George's microphone stand. They didn't say anything.

The third time George came out, she stood up, poured her drink over her partner's head, and left.

Not Your Usual Fluffy Christmas Rhyme

2009-12-25T11:57:00.000-06:00

Pip

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the shop
Nothing was stirring, you could hear a pin drop.
The sleigh was not ready, the toys were not packed,
Santa was fuming and quite lacking in tact.

"Pip!" he called out to the foreman on duty,
Where is your crew? And don't act so snooty!
Pip's feelings were hurt, but he wondered the same
Were they lost? Had they left? Were they playing a game?

"Never mind!" thundered Santa, while grabbing his sack,
"We'll do it ourselves: There are toys in the back."
So into the warehouse like madmen they flew.
Santa and Pip had much packing to do.

And then, down a corridor seldom in use,
They heard something like an hysterical goose.
But no, there were words in that hideous shriek,
It was music: now Santa was prone to critique.

Santa strode to the source of that hideous din,
Closely followed by Pip, who beheld with chagrin:
Three elves and four bottles and, there on a chair,
A boom box whose music was filling the air.

Santa stood for a moment, transfixed by the sight
Then he bellowed so loudly that Pip shook with fright.
"You! Chuckles! And Bubbles! And you, mister Suds!"
Why are you carousing while in your work duds?"

The fate of that threesome Pip would not relate,
Except to recall that the hour was late:
And Santa was anxious to fly in his sleigh,
And dealt with loose ends on the following day.

The Dubious Tale of Aunt Abigail's Christmas Cake

2009-12-18T22:46:00.001-06:00

The Christmas Cake is a particular sort of fruitcake, made especially for the holiday season. Comprised, I'm told, of: currants;, sultanas; candied cherries; plus enough butter and brown sugar to make your arteries harden, just looking at it. And, perhaps to make certain that no calorie-free void remains, syrup.

Prepared in the traditional manner, a "healthy Christmas cake" is an oxymoron: a contradiction in concepts. The entire point of baking a Christmas cake is to create a sumptuous and durable treat which, if necessary, can serve as a doorstop.

Which reminds me of Aunt Abigail's Christmas cake, baked not long after Disneyland opened.

Aunt Abigail mailed the massive fruitcake to her nephew's family, who had recently moved to California.

The nephew was touched by Aunt Abigail's kindness. He was also touched by the kind gift sent his family by his wife's Aunt Waverly: another fruitcake. Aunt Waverly's Christmas cake was tasted by the family. Aunt Abigail's was saved "for later."

"Later" stretched on, as weeks and months passed by. Around November of the next year, Aunt Waverly's cake had not been finished. The nephew weighed his options: and decided to give Aunt Abigail's fruitcake to a cousin's family.

And so the travels of Aunt Abigail's fruitcake began. Each year the mass of preserved fruits and nuts found itself in a new home: where it was admired; set aside "for later;" and ultimately sent forth to continue its journey.

Who knows? This year Aunt Abigail's fruitcake may arrive at your home.

Howard Leland and the SPCD

2009-12-11T22:58:00.004-06:00

Someone wanting to drift anonymously through life shouldn't live in a small town. It's like the old joke says: "If you can't remember what you did today, ask someone - they'll know."

So, it was a bit of a surprise to be when I learned that Howard Leland, someone I've known for years, is a long-time member of the SPCD.

I made the discovery, talking about the news with him last week. I mentioned an article about plate tectonics, which led to Howard Leland explaining a few things to me.

For years now, America has been drifting away from Europe. Literally. At a rate of 2 point five centimeters a year. That doesn't sound like much, but it adds up. The Atlantic is a dozen feet wider now than it was back in 1866 when the first trans-Atlantic cable was completed.

Obviously, Mr. Leland said, there has been a great deal of needless expense: repairing and replacing cables as North America moved west.

It's more than cables, of course. As North America and others drift recklessly around, their movement causes earthquakes, volcanic eruptions: and even, as mountains grow and oceans change shape, climate change.

The SPCD, or Society for the Prevention of Continental Drift, wants to change all that. They've sent petitions to Congress, and are raising funds for a national advertising campaign.

Mr. Leland was disappointed when I didn't sign the SPCD petition. As a sort of recompense, I thought I'd alert my readers to the perils of continental drift.

Howard Leland: It All Began With Butterflies

2009-12-11T20:01:00.007-06:00

The full list of columns featuring Howard Leland, one of Loonfoot Falls' more earnest citizens, has been moved to "".

Here's where Howard first appeared:

"Loonfoot Falls' Backyard Butterfly Preserves"
(August 23, 2008)

The True Meaning of Christmas, Robot Dinosaurs, Designated Drivers and Julekaga

2009-12-04T21:40:00.004-06:00

It's Friday again. Time for me to come up with another 250 words for this column.

There really hasn't been all that much going on in Loonfoot Falls, apart from people going half-crazy, trying to get ready for Christmas. Which, now that I think of it, should be good for twenty dozen words plus ten.

Of course, there's that tired old "and the true meaning of Christmas is" thing: generally something about feeling all warm and fuzzy all over. Sort of like my cousin George. He's the one who looks like he's wearing a sweater, when he takes off his shirt.

Or, there's being indignant about the crass commercialization of Christmas. Problem is, I really like seeing row after row of glittering ornaments on the store shelves, and suspect that most people do. Hey, somebody's buying that stuff. I don't do "indignant" all that well, anyway.

Then there are those weird robot-dinosaur toys. You've seen the ads. They don't exactly have artificial intelligence, but they move around. And one squirts water. The kids would love them: but I'm not so sure about the parents.

Of course, I could jump ahead and do a public service message about having a designated driver if you're out making an idiot of yourself on New Year's Eve. That's actually a good idea. The designated driver part, I mean.

Or, I could write about Julekake: pronounced "yuleh-kaga," for those of you who don't live near Norvegians, don't cha know. But I've run out of room.

Spiral Christmas Trees: Relics of Disco? Or Spaceport Beacons?

2009-11-27T22:11:00.001-06:00

The day after Thanksgiving is known for two things: Black Friday sales in the stores; and Christmas displays lighting up in front yards. Headlines about the commercial side of today have phrases like "door buster sales:" and occasionally "doors busted during sale."

Somehow, that sort of excitement hasn't happened in Loonfoot Falls. The busted doors thing, that is.

Loonfoot Falls' household Christmas displays, on the other hand, came to life last night. And, if this year follows the pattern, there will be more lights shining and flashing along the streets as the next couple of weeks pass.

Some households put something new out each year.

The Engelbrechts, for example, added two corkscrew-shaped LED Christmas trees in their front yard. Flashing ones. One blue, the other white. Not a simple ‘on/off' flash, either: first one set of the LEDs light up, then the other. They run through their cycle three or four times a second.

I can't decide whether the abstract tannenbaums look more like decorations from the Disco era, or landing lights salvaged from a spaceport somewhere. Don't get me wrong: I like the things, but they take a little getting used to. Especially the white one. It's bright. Very bright.

I see that advertisements call those spiral trees "Pre-Lit LED Outdoor Spiral Christmas Tree Yard Art Decoration" Which seems redundant to me. I mean to say: have you ever heard of a yard that wasn't Outdoors?

Then there are the lighted wire animals: but that'll wait for another day.

H1N1 2009, Pigs, Turkeys, and Small Town America

2009-11-20T19:59:00.003-06:00

I see in the news that H1N1 2009, or swine flu, is on the decline, at least in America. I can't say that I'm disappointed. I got over that cold I had last month, and am quite willing to go through the winter with no flu: swine or otherwise.

The schools here in Loonfoot Falls are inoculating students, starting next week. One of my nephews is getting the shot: and not looking forward to it. Not many people like being stuck with needles. In this case, though, it's probably worth it. One of the boy's friends came down with H1N1 recently, recovered: and assured my nephew that it's a miserable bug to have.

"Pig farmer" probably isn't high on anybody's list of glamour careers: but hog farming is big business in this part of Minnesota. And, an important part of Loonfoot Fall's economy. Which may be part of the reason why this paper hasn't been using the term, "swine flu," all that much. Besides, around here, the pigs are more likely to catch it from people, than the other way around.

Or would be, if the hog farmers weren't so careful with their herds.

Then there are the precautions turkey operations take.

Many of America's forty six million Thanksgiving turkeys start out around here. Approaches to the turkey barns generally have signs warning people off: Nobody that doesn't have business there, and is disease-free, is allowed near the gobblers. Regulations aside, there's a big investment tied up in each bird.

Tofu Turkey: No Kidding

2009-11-13T21:38:00.004-06:00

You may remember Howard Leland, proponent of the 'natural yard,' member of the Asclepias Society member, and defender of zombie ants.

He's decided that he won't contribute to the annual slaughter of turkeys this year. He told me that he's going to feast on a concoction of tofu, sage, rosemary and thyme. No parsley, though. The recipe also calls for vinegar (balsamic, not that ordinary kind), red wine, Dijon mustard, soy sauce, and a few other ingredients.

Turns out, "balsamic vinegar" isn't vinegar at all. It's not made from wine, but from grape pressings that get boiled down and aged. The source I used said that it got popular in America after chefs at upscale restaurants started using it. No wonder balsamic vinegar was new to me. I'm more a Captain Blimpo Lindenburger kind of guy.

I'd have thought that starting with five blocks of well-pressed curdled soybean milk would be enough soy product: but Mr. Leland showed me the recipe, and soy sauce is there, on top of the hefty dose of tofu.

And, I learned that there's a commercial product called Tofurky^®: Made, naturally, in a very vegan way with no "genetically engineered foods." That must take some doing, since soybeans have been a domesticated plant for about 31 centuries now.

I had a very interesting talk with Howard Leland, learned how enthusiastic he is about his latest project, and suggested that he see if he could make vegan tofu turkey: with cranberry flavor mixed in before baking.

Holiday Decorations I Can't Forget

2009-11-06T22:19:00.002-06:00

This is a very special time of year for stores. Shoppers are greeted by plastic pumpkins and inflatable spiders; paper mache turkeys and pilgrim hats; and ersatz evergreens with red, white, or silvery foliage and pre-mounted lights.

Retailers hope that they can sell this year's Halloween stuff, to make room for the next two big holidays.

The Loonfoot Falls Valderrama's manager, is no exception. They've got some fine-looking masks that could be the Scream mask's insanely happy cousin, with a metallic red finish. Then there are the plastic pumpkin buckets: dozens of them.

Dina Nelson, of Dina's Diesel Diner, by the Interstate, got her holiday stock on the shelf: including a very retro-looking plaque with an eagle and a turkey in front of a stars-and-bars shield.

Deuce Hardware's replaced garden supplies with snow shovels, de-icer fluid, bird feeders, and Christmas lighting equipment: including an inflatable snow globe. Somehow, "inflatable" shows up a lot in descriptions of holiday paraphernalia.

Rasmussen's is trying to keep this season's Titanic Transmogrifiers on the shelves in its toy department. They don't evoke the same warm, fuzzy feelings as outsized wooden nutcrackers and Christmas elves: but they're selling like hotcakes.

The downtown Coalworth store's gift section had something that caught my eye: "Nightmare Before Christmas" figures. Now I can't seem to forget a pair of them, Jack and Sally. I'll admit that Jack, dressed in a Santa Claus suit, is colorful. But they're rigged with little cables so they can be hung on a Christmas tree.

Belvedere Union Grand's Room 313

2009-10-31T22:31:00.000-05:00

Most nights, the key to the Belvedere Union Grand hotel's room 313 is the last to leave its hook. Not that many guests sleeping there have complained: but as the owner, T. J. Baum, told me, it's the room that's the farthest from the stairs on the top floor.

And there's that girl standing outside the window.

The Belvedere Union Grand hotel is a landmark in Loonfoot Falls, the tallest building downtown. Its foundation was laid at the corner of Broadway and Center Street in1899, overlooking Railroad Park.

And, like many buildings a century or more old, it's got its share of ghost stories.

There's the sound of a ball bouncing down the stairs between the second and third floor, usually heard late in the evening.

Several employees have refused to enter the 'back room' in the basement: a storeroom with a small window opening onto an air shaft. Others heard voices outside that window.

Several guests in room 313 woke up in the small hours of the morning, thinking someone had called their name. Each reported seeing a young woman, with "poofed up" dark hair, as one said, standing quietly outside the window, looking in.

It's disturbing, waking up to see someone looking at you through the window. What troubled the guests even more was what they saw the next morning. The young woman had apparently been standing with nothing but about ten yards of open air between her feet and the cement floor of the basement's air shaft.

Coming Soon: The Story of Room 313

2009-10-30T22:31:00.003-05:00

This week's column will come Halloween night, with the story of room 313.

Frankie and the Ferret Whisperer

2009-10-23T23:21:00.003-05:00

First grader Jamie Johnson thought it'd be a fine idea to bring Frankie the Ferret to show and tell last week. Jamie's teacher, Frances Robinson, had brought her dog, Mr. Frizz, to class earlier in the year, and Jamie figured that if they liked an Affenpinscher, his classmates would love a ferret.

Jamie was right. About two dozen first-graders mobbed Frankie before Mrs. Robinson restored order.

And discovered that Frankie wasn't in his carrier.

And, apparently, wasn't in the classroom, either.

Mrs. Robinson, partly out of consideration for Jamie, and partly because the school had a zero-tolerance policy for unsupervised animals, called the office.

About two hours later a ferret whisperer arrived. By helicopter.

Actually, it was a wildlife specialist from the Minnesota DNR. He was under the impression that we had spotted a black-footed ferret.

I think I see how the false alarm happened. The DNR wanted, and got, a description of Frankie. Frankie's color pattern is the usual 'sable:' whitish muzzle, a sort of dark mask, and dark paws.

The black-footed ferret's an endangered species. Minnesota wasn't part of its old range. No wonder the DNR got excited.

And had asked that the school be evacuated. Which it was.

George Winters (he's the DNR ferret man) was a good sport about the false alarm, after he realized that they were looking for the sort of ferret you can get at a pet store.

He finally found Frankie: on Mrs. Robinson's desk, eating her corned beef on rye lunch.

A Week Away From the Office

2009-10-16T23:53:00.000-05:00

Here's another bit I pulled out of the Chronicle-Gazette's archives. I've run into the story a few times. I've tracked one version of it back to Nat M. Wills' 1909 "No News, or What Killed the Dog" – But I suspect that it's a tale that's been revised and retold since before Plato's time.

I edited this version to fit the column's space requirements.

A busy executive's doctor told him that he had a choice: a week completely away from the stress of work, or a heart attack. So, the executive gave his staff instructions and told his family he was going to a place in northern Minnesota that didn't have telephone or telegraph service.

A week later, refreshed and feeling better than he had in years, the executive stopped at a gas station and called his office. After giving a summary of the week's business, the secretary said:

"There's one more thing. You dog died."

"He was healthy when I left, but he was getting old: what happened?"

"The vet says it was from eating burnt horse meat."

"Where'd he get that?"

"Well, after the stables burned down-"

"How did they catch fire?"

"The fire marshal says it was sparks from the house."

"The house is gone, right?"

"Yes, sir. But they got your mother's coffin out in time."

"My mother?! How did she die?"

"The doctor says it was stress from the news."

"What news?"

"Oh, of course: You haven't heard. Your wife ran off with the cable guy."

'Gone Fishing'

2009-10-09T20:33:00.001-05:00

Actually, I'm taking a short vacation. And, winterizing my house.

Some people in Loonfoot Falls haul in straw bales, stacking them one or two high around the house. One fellow, several years ago, put four mil sheeting around his place. The house looked like it was packed in shrink-wrap.

Me? I'm content to caulk the windows, put clear plastic sheeting over them, plug any leaks the doors might have developed over the summer, have someone make sure that the furnace is okay (it was), shut the inside valves for the outside spigots, and then check my work to see if I missed anything.

It's a sort of annual ritual for people living in a climate like this.

There are alternatives, of course: like waiting until it gets cold, fire up the furnace and hope you wake up the next morning.

There's a new regulation in Minnesota, by the way: as of August 1, 2009, "all multifamily dwelling units" have to have carbon dioxide detectors within ten feet of each bedroom. 'Single family dwellings' have to have CO detectors too. It's not a bad idea, actually. I've had CO detectors in my place for years.

It's not that I'm nervous or timid: but breathing is part of my lifestyle, and I don't want to give it up.

I don't think most people like higher fuel prices and new regulations, but I think we're seeing fewer houses blow up around the start of heating season now. I think that's a good thing.

October's Dull Gray Weather

2009-10-02T23:28:00.000-05:00

It's been a dreary week, here in Loonfoot Falls. Rain, overcast skies, the ‘swoosh' of cars driving on damp streets. I seem to remember seeing a bit of blue sky, it might have been Tuesday: but apart from that, daytime has been shades of gray.

Rain falling listlessly on windows, but finding no rest: droplets gathering on the glass to form caravans before continuing their downward journey.

Drivers out at noon, headlights glaring in the sodden gloom.

Householders wonder: does the furnace work? The more forethoughtful among them have had someone come out and see what repairs need to be made.

Extra blankets on the bed. Hardware stores selling caulking and plastic sheeting to people who firmly intend that last winter was indeed the last for some familiar draft.

Flu shots at the pharmacy. Should I get one this year? Would it help? Could anything help?

Summer closeout sales have ended. Candy and strange, disembodied faces haunt the store shelves. Halloween approaches: perhaps the leaves will be dry by then.

Raking in the rain. Chilling rivulets infiltrate the jacket, finding no resistance as they run down my back. Leaves, heavy with rain that came too late for their all-too-brief summer. Why should I rake? The leaves are beyond cares of this world. Soon the winter's snow will hide leaves, grass, and that hoe I forgot to bring in.

As I contemplate the rake, the hoe, and the woeful drizzle, a truth: unbidden, unsought, unwelcome comes. I have caught a cold.

A Dog's Tale

2009-09-25T23:43:00.000-05:00

Going through the Chronicle-Gazette's archives the other day, I ran across a sort of biography of a dog. It said that he was a sort of Scottish Terrier mix, which would account for the stern eyebrows in the dog's photo.

He'd stood out from his littermates: mostly because his combination of huge paws, clumsiness and enthusiasm sent him careening into walls, off steps, and into water dishes more often than the rest combined.

As he grew, his body continued to lag behind his paws: but he became slightly less clumsy. And, if anything, more energetic.

He lived on a farm, so he had plenty of room to run. Which was fine, until the day when he, chasing some critter nobody else could see, ran into the business end of a combine.

His owner had seen the dog coming, and cut power, but the kinetic canine (I know: but that's how the dog bio put it) still had to be disentangled from the reel. The vet told his owner that it'd be kinder to put the dog down, but a bond had formed between human and klutz. The dog, now minus his right ear and a few teeth, went home a week later.

And kept out of trouble all winter. During spring planting, apparently in an effort to catch a seeder, he ran under the wheels of a truck.

This time the dog came home with three legs, and no hope of siring puppies of his own.

The dog's name? Lucky.

The Disturbing Case of the Bored Husband

2009-09-18T23:26:00.001-05:00

Loonfoot Falls has no shortage of Nelsons, but I haven't found a couple who quite match the "Mr. and Mrs. Nelson" I read about this week. Maybe they're from out of town.

Here's the email I read:

Since his retirement, Mr. Nelson had accompanied his wife each time she went to Valderrama. She liked having someone to carry packages.

His idea of shopping was to get in, find the listed items, and get out. Hers was to browse until she had what she needed, then visit another department or two.

Mr. Nelson got bored.

Then, Mrs. Nelson got this letter from the Loonfoot Falls Valderrama:

Dear. Mrs. Nelson,

Your husband has, over the last three months, seriously inconvenienced many customers, and interfered with Valderrama cooperators. If he does not stop his antics, we may be forced to bar you from this store.

His actions, which force us to take this step, are as follows. We have surveillance video of each incident.

June 2: In housewares, set alarm clocks to go off at five minute intervals

June 8: Approached an employee, saying "Code 5 in Housewares. Take care of it now"

June 23: Spent twenty minutes at the Service Desk, trying to put a Hershey's candy bar on layaway

July 14: While holding a rifle in the Sporting Goods department, asked the cooperator where antidepressants were stocked

The Loonfoot Falls Valderrama manager doesn't know of any similar incidents: so this email may have been a hoax. Still, it's a good story.

Eight Years Ago Today

2009-09-11T11:07:00.000-05:00

Today is the first time since 2001 that September 11 has fallen on a Friday, the day this paper is published. I suppose most people remember where they were and what they were doing that morning.

I'd started my freshman year at Foggton State University, and was between classes in Sivertson Hall. Someone had a radio going. New York City under attack or not, I had classes to go to, so it wasn't until around 4:00 that I could start catching up.

The Loonfoot Falls Chronicle-Gazette doesn't, as a rule, do national or even state news, but the September 14, 2001, issue was an exception. The lead story's headline was simply, "America Attacked."

It shared the front page with an article on the Loonfoot Falls School Board's approval of a referendum for an operating levy, and another about allegations that a feedlot operator approved his own feedlot proposal, misrepresented the plan to his neighbors, and walked away with a quarter-million dollars.

Since then, this area's Minnesota National Guard unit has been deployed in Iraq, and returned; the referendum passed, and the operator was convicted.

This week's paper isn't quite so dramatic. A story about the trial of a man suspected of burglarizing the Mighty Minn Mart last year is the lead. The other two are about a traffic stop that turned into a drug arrest; and the end of Loonfoot Falls Police Department's K-9 program.

Rambler the bloodhound has been patrolling with Daniel Brown since 2003.

But that's another story.

Labor Day Traffic Jam and Picnic: 1973

2009-09-04T23:23:00.000-05:00

Afterwards, nobody seemed to know who first thought of repairing the U. S. Highway 73 bridge over the Loonfoot River during that Labor Day weekend, 37 years ago. It must have seemed like a good idea at the time.

That Friday afternoon, August 31, 1973, at 5:30, barriers went up and a crew began work on the bridge. The nearest north-south roads at the time were several miles away.

Work was almost completed Monday afternoon, when vacationers from Minnesota's lake country started pouring down Highway 73, past the detour signs.

No more than a hundred southbound cars were stopped on the highway by the time the Highway Patrol and police from several towns started sorting the mess out.

Frustrated drivers were getting turned around and pointed toward the detour, when a semi came barreling down the road. The cab went off the west side of the road. The back end slewed around. The wheels fell into the east ditch, dropping the fifty-foot trailer across the pavement.

Frank Anderson had been watching the excitement from his Lakeview Diner. Like good neighbors, he and his staff put together a sort of impromptu picnic. Those vacationers got home hours later than they planned: but they did get a free meal out of it.

Mr. Anderson explained to me that he figured it was worth it, in good will. It wasn't his fault that the 1973 oil crisis started about a month later. The Lakeview Diner closed its doors in the fall of 1974.

Loonfoot Falls Schools: Yes, the Students Get a Map

2009-08-28T23:40:00.005-05:00

School's starting soon. From the Valderrama down by the Interstate to Coalworth's, stores have shelves full of pencils, pens, paper, and all the rest. The school building's wall hides final preparations for fall classes.

I don't know if a town's school building tells you something about the town, but I do know that towns have different sorts of schools.

Watab's school, for example, was planned and built as a unified whole: two-story lobby and all.

Loonfoot Falls' school buildings grew in a more impromptu manner.

Work started on the oldest part of the present school complex in the summer of 1908.

The old Chester A. Arthur building still looks about the same as it did a hundred years ago: from the outside. Inside, it's gone through a major remodeling twice: once in the forties, adding a new heating system and insulation; and again in 1999, mostly to remove asbestos.

Until the fifties, elementary students used the first floor and high schoolers had the second: a simple, neat arrangement. Then elementary classes were moved to a new building, an auto shop grew out of the back of the old school, and the Polk Middle School went up next door.

The latest development is the new JFK high school building, more or less behind the middle school.

If you think that sounds complicated, you're not alone. The student manual has a map of the school inside: and I've heard that a few students get lost around the start of each school year.

Baum Media Productions: From Light Bulbs to Galaxy Cadet

2009-08-21T23:04:00.005-05:00

Baum Media Productions, with its distinctive "When You See the Bee" logo, started as a studio lighting company in the early seventies.

"I sold equipment that filmmakers use: lights, backdrops, filters, cables, booms, the whole thing," Elton Baum explained.

"There were a lot of experimental studios then, in the San Francisco area. Creative people, but without much practical experience. They needed help."

"I saw the sort of stuff they were making - and selling! - and thought, ‘I can do this.' So I talked to some people I'd met, and started making films."

The early films, like "Jerome Doesn't Live Here" and "The Krakow Chronicle," were commercially successful without achieving critical acclaim. "So what? A critic buys one ticket. I'm interested in what everybody else likes."

Baum Media Productions moved its studio to Minnesota in the eighties. "Partly for the climate," Elton grinned. I'll admit I'm biased, though, I like it here."

I discovered that Stan Parks and his brother Xul had worked on a Baum film that never made it to production: "Dino Side Story."

"Two gangs of dinosaurs, the fangs and the claws. A boy from one and a girl from the other fall in love, wish on a new star, everybody ‘sees the light,' makes friends – and then the star falls on the city and they die." Elton Baum shook his head.

"The legal department said there were problems with it: and I'm not sure I liked the ending, myself. Oh, well: there's always the next Galaxy Cadet film."

Rags to Riches to Rags: Sometimes

2009-08-14T22:34:00.007-05:00

My dad once told me that the 'rags to riches' story often was 'rags to riches to rags' in three generations. It's not a universal rule, but the pattern exists.

The founder is born poor, but has energy, ambition, and a really good idea. A few decades later, the founder's children start taking over the business. Let's say it's one child.

The kid's smart enough: but doesn't have the founder's spark. The second generation keeps the business running, though. Or, is sharp enough to live on the interest of investments.

The third generation comes along. This wunderkind grew up surrounded by wealth, and has bold, innovative ideas.

Which turn out to be innovatively suicidal, when applied to the founder's business.

Or, the founder's grandchild isn't all that interested in the business, but enjoys spending money on things like sports cars and skiing in Vail: and spends two generation's accumulation of wealth.

There are many exceptions, of course.

Like the Adams family: the real one, starting with Samuel Adams, who helped stir up the American revolution and was Governor of Massachusetts for a while. Two centuries later, Charles Francis Adams IV was Raytheon's first president.

They're not as famous as the Adams, but Loonfoot Falls has the Baums. The family is into its seventh generation now, and most of Zachariah Baum's descendants have done pretty well. I've mentioned Elton Baum's efforts with Haskell's Corner Drug, and the I Love Fruit! stand. Next week, I plan to tell about Baum Media Productions.

Amber Defenders and the Zombie Ant

2009-08-07T16:33:00.003-05:00

Howard Leland got bad news last month, from the Asclepias Society. It's official now, he told me: The society is interested in butterflies of any species. But not ants.

Mr. Leland is determined to save ants of the world from insensitive scientists, and is pursuing that goal with the zeal he’s shown for promoting butterfly preserves and sustainable leaf blowers.

Some people might have learned of the indignities suffered by a zombie ant, and remained unmoved. Not Howard Leland.

A lesser man might have been discouraged by the Asclepias Society's lack of cooperation. For Howard Leland, it was a call to action.

He's organizing the Amber Defenders: People protecting ants from indignities; even as amber has defended ancestral ants' remains from the ravages of time.

Looking at it that way, it's sort of heroic and poetic.

Howard Leland's told me, several times, the incident whose retelling inspired him.

About fifty years ago, an innocent ant got swabbed by oleic acid. No harm done, physically, but Mr. Leland’s sure the ant suffered emotional distress.

After ants have been dead for a few days they start giving off oleic acid. Ants rely heavily on smells to keep track of things, so that very-much-alive ant registered as "dead" to its colony-mates.

As far as other ants were concerned, they had a dead ant walking. For two hours, the zombie ant was picked up, carried to the colony's 'graveyard' pile, over and over.

So far, the Amber Defenders has three members, including Mr. Leland.

Related posts:

"Save the Ants!"
(April 3, 2009)
"About Leaf Blowers, Wild Flowers, and Raking"
(October 11, 2008)
"Loonfoot Falls' Backyard Butterfly Preserves"
(August 23, 2008)

Big Lemon at the Grimm County Fair

2009-07-31T23:49:00.000-05:00

Neighborhood lemonade stands are nothing unusual.

And you’ve seen lemonade concessions in portable huts, shaped like lemons.

What you probably haven't seen is anything quite like the I Love Fruit! (ILF) lemonade stand at this year's Grimm County Fair. It’s shaped like a lemon - nothing new there - with a big porthole instead of the usual rectangular opening. And, the giant lemon is still attached to a section of stem.

It's portable: although with a main section that's 12 feet long by nine and a quarter feet wide, it needs a 'wide load' permit to go on Minnesota roads. This colossal ersatz citrus has built-in refrigeration for its stock of lemons, and air conditioning for the staff.

Loonfoot Falls native Cherrie Baum has been involved with ILF's development for over a year now. 'I'd love it if people use these at county fairs,' she explained. 'The ILF concession is probably best suited for amusement parks like Valleyfair, though, and other areas where the stand can stay in place year-round.'

The ILF stand at this year’s fair is a test-run, to see how people like it.

Each year around 30,000 people come to the Grimm County Fair to look over farm equipment, eat fried candy, enjoy the midway, and check out livestock: so the ILF stand should get a good looking-over.

Provided that Saturday and Sunday aren't like today.

About three inches of rain thoroughly washed the streets this afternoon: and kept people at the fair in the exhibit buildings.

Frustrations of a Small-Town Journalist

2009-07-24T23:46:00.001-05:00

Daniel Nelson graduated from Loonfoot Falls High School back in 1999, got a degree in Journalism from Foggton University four years later, and started work here a couple weeks later. He did a good job: although Nelson clearly wanted to get past merely assisting the editors.

On his own time, he'd study Loonfoot Falls, looking for the story that would put his name on the journalistic map. He became convinced that there was an expose just waiting to be written about Rasmussen's department store, downtown.

There'd been a Rasmussen's in Loonfoot Falls for about a hundred years. The current owner's grandfather started the store as a clothing shop, and some of the fourth generation is working there, learning the ropes. And, as often as not, there are "SALE" signs in the windows.

Dan Nelson found the store's frequent sales quite suspicious.

After three years Nelson gave up, dropped his notes and a letter of resignation on Mr. Johnson's desk, and left town. His notes, weighing about two pounds, made their way to my desk this year. My hat's off to Dan Nelson: he'd done a particularly thorough job, not just collecting information about Rasmussen's, but analyzing the store's records.

Those sales? He'd discovered that Rasmussen's was getting the season's stock off the racks to make room for new merchandise. Not every store has sales that often, but there wasn't anything illegal, or unethical, about them.

Don't worry about Dan Nelson. He's now the editor of Morlock's Voice, down in Minneapolis.

"I am a Feather for Each Wind that Blows" and Other Cheerful Thoughts

2009-07-17T19:48:00.002-05:00

A chill wind drives leaden clouds across the sky. Trees wave their branches: beckoning, perhaps, for sunlight and warmth to return; or gesturing supplications against the boreal force.

It's been downright chilly in central Minnesota this week. Winds like this and highs in the sixties are fairly normal during autumn: but this is mid-July.

I should have said, "average during autumn". "Normal" in Minnesota covers a lot of ground. As they say: Minnesota doesn't have a climate: it has weather.

I think a writer overstated it a bit when, discussing "the future" (as imagined in 1964), he described living in Antarctica this way:

"...you too can take up residence in a barren desert of ice and snow where it's dark six months of the year and blizzards howl as they blast flesh-cutting shards of ice through the subzero air.

"A bit like living in Minnesota, actually." (Tales of Future Past, Futurama '64 (4), David S. Zondy)

There are, after all, many calm days during a Minnesota winter, and the sun is above the horizon for several hours. Of course, you can see the sun best on those days when it seems too cold for clouds to form.

My reason tells me that summer will return, along with blue skies and sunshine are not merely dim memories from another life; legends of an age when joy and laughter had not forsaken humanity, when wind and rain didn't have the ducks walking; tales recalling that epoch when I didn't have a cold.

Loonfoot Falls Community Theater: Recycling Keeps Them in the Green

2009-07-10T22:25:00.004-05:00

I caught Flora Ellert, Loonfoot Falls Community Theater's Dramatics Director, in a talkative mood this week. LFCT has been working on this summer's show: something called "Magic: A Fantastic Comedy."

That play wasn't what we talked about, though. I'd mentioned that the LFCT hadn't done a musical since "Doctor Jekyll, Please Don't Hyde!" in 2004.

Flora Ellert didn't say what that musical's royalties were, but I learned that stage musicals can cost between $250 and $500 for each performance - just for the right to use a script and music. Comedies and dramas, she told me, run around $65 for opening night and $35 a show after that. Then there's the matter of paying for each copy of the script, or a fee for the right to make photocopies.

"Sure: It's fun; it's art. It's business, too, sort of," she explained. Loonfoot Falls Community Theater is a non-profit outfit, with everybody volunteering their time. But, she pointed out, besides the royalties there's rental for the rehearsal and performance space, and generally some expense for sets, props, and costumes.

"We save quite a bit on our sets. Einar Johnson's something of a genius when it comes to re-using materials each year," Flora explained. Einar created Dr. Jekyll's laboratory out of pieces of sets for a Victorian sitting room, an apartment's kitchen, and PVC pipe that's been ship's rigging, trees in Sherwood Forest, a telescope and lamp posts.

Frances Robinson applies the same recycling principles to the theater's costumes. But that's another topic.

July Fourth Memories

2009-07-03T23:47:00.002-05:00

It's good to be back. I spent a few days last week at the 'vacation' house of a friend of mine, and did a bit of mowing and fixing while I was there.

While I was not watching television or surfing the Web, I started thinking about July Fourth celebrations I'd been at, or heard about.

Oakwood, just down the road, puts on a fine Independence Day fireworks display. When I was growing up, the family would go there every year, say 'OOH,' 'AAH,' swat mosquitoes and, sometimes, listen to my father tell about his teen years and the Foggton July Fourth fireworks show that ended early.

As he told it, that Independence Day had started with a heavy overcast, so that by the time the display was supposed to start, around local sunset, it was already quite dark. Then it started to drizzle on the people in River Park.

The organizers should probably have canceled right then. The drizzle hadn't dampened people's spirits (sorry: I couldn't resist that), but it had a bad effect on the fireworks. The mortars should have been lobbing shells high above the crowd. Instead, fiery flowers were going off so low that hot, glowing pieces were hitting the ground.

Then one of those flash-and-bang shells shot up, fell back, hit the ground and exploded.

My father says the people in front of him stood out like black cutouts for a moment. It was as if a lightning bolt had struck.

That ended the show.

'Sam' and the Electrifying Case of the Modem and the Surge Protector

2009-06-19T23:52:00.001-05:00

A fellow I know, I'll call him Sam, lives over a hundred miles north and west of here, on an old farmstead near a smallish town. He's a very smart man, but not particularly tech-savvy. But, he'd read about home computers, and all the information that's available on the Internet.

So, he bought a computer, printer, surge protector: the whole works.

Sam decided to pay someone to get the system running.

The fellow from town who ‘knew about computers' got cables plugged into boxes, power, and telephone outlets: and when he was through, Sam's computer started up.

Sam was delighted. He started learning how to use Google, and was developing a small set of favorite websites.

Sam was climbing a rather steep learning curve, when the first big thunderstorm of the season hit. When it was over, his computer worked, but he couldn't find anything on the Internet.

In that part of the country, rural telephone lines are all above ground. The network of poles and wires act as a giant lightning attractor. The relatively low-tech telephones don't seem to be affected that much, but a modem is something else.

The fellow who "knew about computers" had bypassed the telephone sockets in the surge protector, and plugged a telephone cord directly into the modem. Which, after the storm, was a bit of high tech pop sculpture.

Sam got a new modem, and he's surfing the Web again. But this time, without the help of the fellow who "knew about computers."

The Truncated Tale of Lake 13

2009-06-12T23:34:00.001-05:00

There's a picture postcard that's been for sale in Minnesota's lake country for decades. It's a cartoon of a small boat, rain, a man with fishing gear, and a woman who's clearly been in the rain for quite a while. She's asking, "Are we having fun yet?"

Sometimes, it's the other way around. Sonia Johnson, Loonfoot Falls Chamber of Commerce head, is an avid fisherman. Fisherperson. Fishwife.

She like to fish.

She took a break from organizing this year's River Revel last weekend, and headed to Lake 13.

About that lake's name: Maps of quite a few parts of central and northern Minnesota look like they've been spattered with blue ink. "Land of 10,000 Lakes" is an understatement. We've got upwards of 11,000 lakes that cover more than 10 acres.

With that many lakes, sometimes one name got stretched over several lakes, like Upper, Middle, Big, and Little Cormorant Lakes. Or First Crow Wing Lake, Second Crow Wing Lake, and so on, through Eleventh Crow Wing Lake.

When a lake wasn't all that big, or accessible, it got numbered. Which, here in Grimm County, got a little confusing. Minnesota's numbered lakes are mostly up in the northern part of the state, like Lake Thirteen, north of Leech Lake, and Thirty One Lake.

Grimm County numbered its own lakes, so county maps show spots like Lake 21. Our "Lake 13" is north and east of Loonfoot Falls. You won't find it, unless you've been there first.

And, I'm out of room.

The Class of Bent Twigs

2009-06-05T23:48:00.000-05:00

Graduation week's over, here in Loonfoot Falls. The high school graduation was a week ago, the elementary school had their commencement exercise Wednesday, and families are settling back into a routine.

So are stores in town: Finkle's Jewelry's 'class ring alternatives' catalog is gone for the year; Deuce Hardware has fishing tackle where the 'Congratulations Graduate' party supplies were; and Coalworth's swapped out their graduation paraphernalia for an array of sun hats, bagged charcoal, and insect repellent.

The school's quieter, now, but not quite empty. There's summer school, an adult education program and community events like toy shows, and craft fairs.

This year's high school graduation ceremony was covered elsewhere in the Loonfoot Falls Chronicle-Gazette. I think it's safe to say, though, that it doesn't match the ceremony that showed the Class of 1969 out the door.

The valedictorian that year was David Schmidt. Reminiscences by his classmates showed that he had a less-than-somber attitude toward ceremony and protocol. He had, for the crowning of the homecoming queen, sailed an envelope containing the judge's decision a clear twenty feet. Accidentally, he insists to this day.

That graduation day, standing at the podium, in academic cap and gown, young Mr. Schmidt intoned a familiar quote from "The works of Alexander Pope," 1822:

" 'Tis education forms the common mind;
Just as the twig is bent the tree's inclin'd."

He bowed his head briefly: moved, perhaps. Then he ran his eyes over the audience and began his address: "My fellow bent twigs...."

Have MRI, Will Travel

2009-05-29T23:51:00.001-05:00

One of the perks of being a journalist, or at least a columnist, is having an excuse to strike up conversations with just about anybody. I've gotten to know people in the porta potty maintenance business, a unicycling computer store owner, and now MRI technologist Harold Floyd.

He travels with Central Minnesota Diagnostic's Mobile Magnetic Resonance Imaging unit. The thing weighs a couple tons, and travels inside a semitrailer, visiting hospitals in this part of the state. That way, people in smaller towns can use up-to-date imaging technology without traveling an hour or more to a city.

I talked with Harold after he'd taken care of his last patient for the day at St. Damian's Hospital. The last one to show up, anyway.

Harold Floyd's been doing MRI scans for about three years. He's certified to use other imaging technologies, too. He spent around four years, learning which buttons to push and what not to do.

Safety is a big deal for people running MRI scanners. Their supercooled magnets have sucked everything from paper clips to a firefighter's air tank into an MRI's donut hole. The firefighter survived, but a six-year-old died, back in 2001, when a steel oxygen tank hit him.

On the lighter side, Harold showed me how the American Registry of Magnetic Resonance Imaging Technologists, ARMRIT, looks a lot like "armpit," if part of the "R" is covered.

He'd have told me more, but at that point it was time to head out to the next stop.

Chicken Fat as an Energy Source: Or, Dave's Memorable Memorial Day

2009-05-22T22:30:00.000-05:00

Dave wasn't one of those hard-core outdoor grillers who flip burgers in anything short of blizzard conditions. He waited until Memorial Day weekend to set up his grill: the user-friendly sort, with an LP gas tank instead of charcoal.

That year, Dave decided to start the summer with something different: grilled chicken.

He put it on aluminum foil, like the cooking instructions said: with a sort of curb at the edge, to prevent spills.

The first time Dave opened the grill's hood, to see how the chicken was coming, he noticed a pool of liquid fat forming on the foil. Also, that the chicken pieces weren't anywhere near being ready to turn.

Several minutes later, he checked again. This time, the pieces were browning, near the foil. Dave decided it was time to turn them.

Using one of those long-handled tongs they have for grilling, Dave lifted one piece – a drumstick, he tells me. The foil, now lightly baked onto the chicken skin, came with it.

That made the center of the foil higher than the curb, so liquid chicken fat poured off the foil and onto the hot grill.

The muted hiss of the grill turned to a subdued roar, as flames leaped out and up. Dave was lightly singed, but okay.

He got the LP gas shut off, but the fire kept going. Chicken fat makes a pretty good fuel, Dave tells me. By the time the fire was out, the chicken was over-done: even by Dave's standards.

The Curious Case of the Flying Bowling Ball

2009-05-15T23:56:00.001-05:00

There's a reason why Tropica Lanes, down by the Interstate, uses bright red pencils.

It goes back to Saturday, August 7, 1982. It had been a hot, sticky, week. Walt Jensen was with a party bowling the third lane. A family group had lane two. The family was not, by anybody's account, having a good time that evening. I'll call them the Lanes.

The story that's told most often is that car trouble had forced them to stay overnight in Loonfoot Falls.

Tropica Lanes had paper scorecards then, with pencils from the company whose yellow pencils get sold by the box around the beginning of school year.

Mr. 'Lane,' the father, was a bit intense that evening. By the time everyone in his family had bowled two frames, he'd rolled balls straight down the middle, on average: two each in the left, and right, gutters. And, snapped a pencil.

Not intentionally. In fact, years later, Walt Jensen recalled how apologetic ‘Mr. Lane' was, as parts of the pencil skittered across the third lane's foul line.

A few frames later, Walt rolled what he was sure would be a strike. His ball ran down the alley on a perfect curve: but went airborne just short of the pins, flew over the lot, and crashed into the ball pit.

It had hit the missing piece of Mr. Lane's pencil.

At over a dozen yards, the yellow pencil blended right into the wood of the lane.

Red pencils are much easier to see.

2009-05-11T21:53:00.001-05:00

@sparks You might want to check those permissions again.

2009-05-11T20:14:00.001-05:00

@ebrunsvold Network permissions okay. Let me know if there's anything else.

Whistle Stop Cafe - Neighborhood Eatery on the Blueberry Walleye Trail

2009-05-01T23:29:00.000-05:00

Sometime this summer, the granddaughter of Vince Groth will take over the Whistle Stop Café. Jill Groth started working there when she was eight, by helping carry dishes back to the kitchen.

Quite a bit has happened since Vince Groth opened the Whistle Stop, back in the fifties. The passenger station downtown closed when the Mississippi-Leech Lake Line merged with the Atlantic, Chicago, and Northwest Empire railroad. The station near the Whistle Stop Café was converted into a warehouse a few years later.

The only trace of the railroads today is the Blueberry Walleye Trail, named after Minnesota's state muffin and fish, respectively. The BWT snowmobile, hiking, and bicycle trail opened in 1998, after the rails were replaced with a ten-foot-wide bituminous path.

"We were doing fine, before that trail opened," recalled Elmer "Bud" Groth, "but I'm glad to see new people stop in." The Whistle Stop set up a bike rack and offers sack lunches now, besides the regular menu.

There were changes in the kitchen, too.

"Back when I was growing up, the Whistle Stop had 'Mother's Home Cooking.' Pretty good, too: but now, 'Mother's home, cooking.' I found a food service with the quality we needed, so we get everything in fresh, each day, and do the final cooking and preparation here. It's worked out pretty well."

The pies, though, are made by the Groth family: strictly according to state regulations for food preparation. Even so, they taste as good as they did, back when, Bud says.

The Rhythm of the Presses Pounding in My Brain - - -

2009-04-24T23:58:00.000-05:00

It's just over two weeks since a small fire drove the Loonfoot Falls Chronicle-Gazette staff into the street. For now, we're working on the press floor at Folden Press, where the Chronicle-Gazette gets printed.

Actually, we're just off the press floor, where they process large orders. Folden Press gets very busy, starting around Thanksgiving. We'd better be out of here by then.

Printing companies have a particular atmosphere. I'm not talking about feelings and associations. Between the inks, oils, and solvents, these places have a distinctive and noticeable bouquet.

While we were setting up here, Stan Parks was back at the old offices. He got permission to take the Vacnet servers out of the building: for which I am grateful. He also got the servers working again: about which I am impressed.

Stan strung together a network for us, here behind the press floor, with the Vacnet equipment sitting between two long tables: and a mess of cable and duct tape connecting it to a motley assembly of rented computers. Nobody's complained, very much, about the arrangement.

I think that's partly because Folden Press is such a successful company. Besides our paper, they do printing for several other weeklies in the area, plus advertising and a few catalogs.

That means that most of the time we've got the 'whooshathunkaTHUMPAklunka' of the printing presses permeating the air and our brains. I'm glad we have a place to work: but I'd have preferred one that didn't encourage the use of earplugs.

The Sudden Sortie of Mr. Frizz

2009-04-17T19:58:00.000-05:00

One of Loonfoot Falls' bright spots is the municipal flower garden, at the north end of Railroad Park.

And, since last year, it's had Loonfoot Falls' dog park for a neighbor. Between a dividing hedge and leash laws, nobody was expecting trouble.

They hadn't counted on Frances Robinson's Mr. Frizz: an Affenpinscher that looks, and acts, as if he'd backed into an electrical outlet.

Frances Robinson took Mr. Frizz to the dog park on Wednesday: a fine late spring afternoon. A city works crew was in the garden, setting out seedlings. It's a little early, but there's a mandate to get flowers blooming early.

The crew puts "cloches" over the plants: a fancy word for plastic milk jugs with the bottoms cut out. In case of a late frost.

At about 2:45, something caught Mr. Frizz's attention. He bolted for the hedge, pulling Frances off her feet and breaking her hold on the leash. Mr. Frizz, and his leash, shot through the hedge.

Eight pounds of Affenpinscher burst out the other side of the hedge, along with several ounces of leaves and twigs. The path of Mr. Frizz's sortie through the garden wasn't hard to miss: an arc of mangled plants ended in a small tangle of milk jugs, rakes, a small tractor, and Mr. Frizz: all attached by the Affen's leash.

Mr. Frizz is okay: aside from being a bit over-stimulated. The flowers, I'm told, will be replaced, and there's talk of putting an Affen-proof fence beside the hedge.

It Was Only a Small Fire - - -

2009-04-11T20:25:00.004-05:00

The good news is that the Loonfoot Falls Chronicle-Gazette's press is not near the offices in downtown Loonfoor Falls, and that this week's paper was printed and distributed without incident. And, that nobody got hurt.

The bad news is that there was a small fire yesterday in this paper's offices. I was a bit distracted when the alarm went off, and didn't finish posting this week's column. Actually, I'm not even sure that it's been saved. The lights went out just before the alarms started. The network gave a one-minute shutdown warning, and crashed right after that.

Stan Parks tells me that our data should still be there. But he put a bit more emphasis on the word "should" than I like.

I've been told not to say much more about the fire, until the inspectors get through looking over the place. I wouldn't have much to say, anyway: I didn't notice anything before the lights went out, and after that I was concentrating on getting me, a camera, and a flash drive out of the building.

Before I forget it, kudos to the Loonfoot Falls fire department: they had the fire out, for the most part, quite quickly.

Me? I've got the weekend off. Mr. Johnson told us we'd be told before Monday morning, whether we're going back to the offices, or somewhere else.

Save the Ants!

2009-04-03T23:04:00.001-05:00

Howard Leland, listening to All Things Considered last Wednesday, was appalled at what he heard. It was, in part, an account of how a respected scholar displayed blatant disregard for the safety of an ant.

Back in the fifties, I gather, a researcher named E. O. Wilson swabbed an innocent ant with oleic acid. That didn't hurt the ant directly. However, since oleic acid is what dead ants give off after a couple of days, other ants in the colony reacted to the very much living ant as though it were a little formican corpse.

For two hours, the swabbed ant endured the indignity, Mr. Leland explained to me, of being picked up, carried to the colony's 'graveyard' pile, and dumped there.

Howard Leland was never one to ignore a vital issue. In 2005, he was among the first in Loonfoot Falls to make his back yard a butterfly preserve. More recently, his stand against noise pollution led to a neighborhood discussion of noise: and a resolution to the leaf blower issue.

This week, Howard Leland has a new cause. He is determined to save the ants from uncaring researchers. He tells me that his letter to the Asclepias Society has not yet been answered.

"It's a long shot, anyway," Mr. Leland said, "the society's charter specifically limits its interests to monarch butterflies: but I felt I had to ask."

If you live in Loonfoot Falls, Howard Leland will probably ask you to join his cause. Just letting you know.

B. D. Johnson and the Trespassing Ducks

2009-03-27T23:50:00.000-05:00

Another bunch of volunteers from the Loonfoot Valley left yesterday, headed north to help fill and stack sandbags. The Twin Towns are having a rough time this year.

Here, the Loonfoot River's flooded part of Milldam Park, same as it does most years, but there's been no serious trouble around here.

For the most part.

Riverfront property is a treat to have: as long as the river keeps a respectful distance.

B. D. Johnson's place is a split level, with the garage and entry up near the road, and a really nice living room lower down, facing the Loonfoot River. He has glass patio doors, and windows right down to the floor. The idea, he told me, was to have a place where he could sit back and get close to nature.

This year, nature came met him half way.

The Loonfoot river's about a half inch, he figures, below his living room floor now. He's got a line of sandbags around the house, but water got through, or under, anyway.

The ducks and drakes on the river aren't changing their habits all that much: but since the river's expanded a bit, they've been getting quite familiar with B. D.'s living room. Yesterday, a pair of them swam up to the sandbags, waddled across to the inadvertent reflecting pool by the house, and swam up to his back door.

Getting closer to nature is one thing, B. D. told me. Nature getting close to you can be a tad unsettling.

Springtime in Minnesota: Snirt, Slud, and Chirping Birds

2009-03-20T23:50:00.001-05:00

Spring is supposed to be about green grass, brightly blooming flowers, cheerfully chirping birds, lots of sunlight, happiness, and all-round niftiness.

That's not what springtime in Minnesota is like.

Around here, it's the time when winter melts, a period which combines the more unpleasant qualities of both summer and winter.

Dust, dirt, and debris deposited by winter winds on successive layers of snow are systematically revealed and combined as water runs off.

Minnesotans developed a specialized vocabulary to deal with our alternatively-pleasant springtime. The combination of snot and dirt that accumulates during winter is "snirt" snow plus dirt. An "open winter," with exposed soil, leaves a lot of. This year we had lots of snow, so there wasn't that much snirt.

As it melts, snirt turns into snud. Sometimes the snirt melts so fast, it turns to slud. (Snow and mud, snow and liquid mud, respectively. And revoltingly.)
And there's water. Cold water. Cold water that runs over pavement by day and freezes overnight. In the morning, what appears to be a damp sidewalk or street is a perfect, smooth, skating-rink-slick layer of ice.

Then there are the trees, bending over this desolate and soggy scene with the charm of discarded oven-cleaning brushes.

And, in their branches, birds. Their chirps, warbles and squawks remind me that, if I wait long enough, the snud will rejoin the soil, grass will turn green, and trees will sprout leaves.

And, no matter how unlikely it may seem at the time, summer will come.

Friday the 13th and the Bijou Opera House

2009-03-13T23:51:00.002-05:00

Just about everybody knows that Friday the 13th is supposed to be unlucky, and that there's nothing to that superstition.

These days, of course, everybody knows there isn't anything to silly superstitions. There are plenty of 13th streets, and the Apollo 13 mission - - -. Bad example. All three astronauts made it back, though, so it couldn't have been all that unlucky.

In the 1880s, thirteen New Yorkers formed The Thirteen Club to debunk superstition, and kicked things off by walking under ladders into a room strewn with spilled salt.

That club was a big success, and soon had hundreds of members: including William McKinley, an honorary member who became president and was shot.

Inspired by the success of The Thirteen Club, a number of Loonfoot Falls' leading citizens formed their own Thirteen Club in the summer of 1908.

The Loonfoot Valley Thirteen Club held its first, and nearly its last, meeting in the old Bijou Opera House. Walking under ladders to a meeting hall on the second floor, the members spilled salt, broke seven mirrors, and started jumping on cracks in the floor. In unison.

The men were, as gentlemen of substance are wont to be, rather substantial. The Bijou's architect hadn't counted on something like one and a third gentlemanly tons bouncing on the meeting room's floor.

Which cracked under the strain, sending the clubmen rushing downstairs.

Knocking over a kerosene lamp on their way.

Setting fire to the Bijou Opera House.

Which burned to the ground.

The Strange Case of the Untimely Duck

2009-03-06T23:49:00.002-06:00

We're a little north of where mallards winter, but once in a while we see one of those green-headed wonders in the dead of winter. I have no idea whether they're the avian equivalent of daring explorers, or ditsy ducks with poor navigation skills.

I saw one of these out-of-season mallards the other day, out by mosquito flats. He was walking around on one of the ponds. Maybe it was my imagination, but he seemed to have a puzzled look. I half-expected him to stamp on the ice, to see if it really was solid.

He's probably getting his food from around the dam: There's open water there year-round, almost. Or maybe he spends most of his time around one of the spring-fed lakes. It's a rare winter that doesn't have open water somewhere.

That's good for the occasional misdirected duck, but not so good for ice fishing enthusiasts, cross country skiers, and other folks who like to get out in winter. After the fact, it's fun to have a story about putting a leg through an ice fishing hole, or walking a mile in frozen snowmobile pants. But when it happens, breaking through ice is just plain dangerous.

Back to Dudley, the misdirected mallard.

He waddled around for a little while, pausing now and again, and finally flew off. Almost any other creature, and I could imagine that it was contemplating the wintry landscape. But there's no level of willing suspension of disbelief that'll make a duck seem intellectual.

What are Friends For?

2009-02-27T22:15:00.001-06:00

Minnesota got quite a lot of snow yesterday. That sparkling new ground cover is beautiful: as long as you're a winter sports enthusiast, or don't have to go outside.

Snow loses some of its luster, if you you've got a job, and need to shovel out your garage door, so you can get at the snowblower, so you can cut a path to the street.

A friend of mine was up before sunrise, shoveling out his garage door. He'd tried opening it from the inside: but snow melting and re-freezing had glued the door in place. It didn't take more than about fifteen minutes to free up the door, and then it was just a matter of blowing out snow faster than the wind blew it in.

He'd cut a path from the garage to the street, through the ridge the plows left, he was good to go. The drive to work was quiet. Times being what they are, he hadn't gotten the car radio fixed. Who needs a radio, anyway, right?

The place he works is about a mile out of town, and the roads were closing in, but he made it. The parking lot was empty. And, the windows were really dark.

The shop closing had been announced on radio, and they'd tried calling him: while he was outside.

He called me this morning. He'd made it back into town, and into his driveway, before the car got stuck. It's still there: he needed a ride to work.

Upper-Midwest Enthusiasm and the Loonfoot Economy

2009-02-20T23:13:00.001-06:00

Mark Bjornson, Mayor of Loonfoot Falls, gave his state of the city report this week. He said that Loonfoot Falls' economy could be worse. In fact, he added, in a burst of upper-Midwest enthusiasm, it's not too bad off.

He pointed out that Loonfoot Basin Power, health care, and agriculture are either what he called recession-proof, or not doing badly at all.

It's not all beer and lutefisk, of course. We've got the same higher fuel prices and lower housing values that the rest of the country has. But it could be worse. Loonfoot Falls property values were never what, say, Miami had. But they haven't fallen all that much, either.

It sounds like I'm bragging, and maybe I am. But this isn't the worst place to live, and it's nice to hear someone say so.

Not everybody sees things the way Mayor Bjornson does. There are the guys who were laid off at the turkey plant, and I've heard that the hospital is planning to cut hours or staff. I've also heard that they're looking at adding a new wing: something doesn't add up there.

On the up side, Loonfoot Falls needs a new sewage plant, so there will be jobs open when the ground thaws this spring. But, somebody's going to have to pay the contractor, which means more city taxes or levies. And nobody likes to pay taxes.

I think I'll just say that the economy in Loonfoot Falls could be worse, and leave it at that.

Friday the 13th: The Day Before Valentine's Day

2009-02-13T19:24:00.002-06:00

I forgot about Valentine's Day shopping until last night, around 10:30.

That time of day, there's not much open here, except the Mighty Minn Mart and Dina's Diesel Diner. Neither had what I was looking for. I know: I checked.

So, this morning I headed for Broadway Drug and Photo (thanks, Mr. Johnson!). And, took a shortcut up the alley.

About a yard shy of the back entrance, I stepped in a puddle. With ice on the bottom. My feet shot northwards, and I splashed into a fraction of an inch of water. No damage, but my left side was soaked, from the ankle up to the shoulder.

I wasn't the only guy inside, looking at red and pink cards, but I was the wettest. Finding something appropriate, I headed for the checkout. Almost made it, too.

I tripped, fetching up against the side of the pharmacy counter, right below that stuffed penguin, “Percy.” It's been the store's mascot for years.

Reaching for the counter top, I grabbed Percy's foot instead. Percy slid, and so did I. Looking up, I saw Percy's pop-eyed face toppling toward me.

The store still has their mascot: I broke Percy's fall. And, I got the card and gift I wanted, so I was a happy camper.

Until after noon, when typing became an exhausting exercise. After dragging myself through most of the afternoon, I made a call to change some plans.

I'm not superstitious, but I can't help remembering that it's Friday the 13th.

For the Wedding Reception: Cake, Candelabras, and - Propane?

2009-02-06T23:29:00.002-06:00

Let's say you're planning a wedding. You've gotten directions to a place that you've heard does a good job with receptions. The directions take you past Fisk Implement and down a side street, to three sets of signs.

The ones on the left and right read "Engelbrecht Plumbing Rental" and "Egelbrecht Welding Supplies."

In the middle, top to bottom, there's a big arrow pointing right, with the word "enter;" then "Engelbrecht Wedding and Event Supplies & Party Store." Below that, there's another sign, whose huge letters proclaim "WE SELL PROPANE."

You're not lost: this is the right place.

Follow the arrow to a concrete block building, go through a metal door, and you'll be talking with Gerda Engelbrecht, who's been arranging wedding receptions, company cookouts, and graduation parties around Loonfoot Falls for over twenty years. She's got chairs and bubble machines, plant stands and punch bowls, including a five-gallon one that lights up. She calls it a "champagne fountain."

I hadn't made the connection between propane and parties until I saw her portable kitchen: a 14 by eight foot trailer with grills, a deep fryer, and five propane tanks.

Sometimes Gerda has to rent equipment herself: like the time a couple wanted a fog machine for the reception: and a black light miniature golf course for their guests.

The most unusual reception she'd set up, she told me, was one where the bridal bouquet was made of cattails, and the head table was made to look like a duck blind.

Of Snow, Wind, and an Open Garage Door

2009-01-30T23:26:00.001-06:00

Ever wake up feeling that you've forgotten something important? Around 3:00?

I did, a few weeks ago. Generally, I like the sound of wind roaring around the house, and snow rustling against windows. It's not as much fun, being jerked awake by the memory that I'd left the garage door open.

It had been a long day, The phone was ringing as I got inside. It was from the paper: one of those things that won't wait until the next day.

Later, with hot stew inside, a storm outside, and about ten hours of concentration behind me, I went to sleep.

One good thing about being awake at three in the morning during a winter storm: If you've left the garage open to the wind, there's just about enough time to shovel the snow out.

I finally realized that closing the garage door would keep more snow from blowing in. By then, I had uncovered one side of my car. With the door down, I excavated between the wheels, piling the snow on the patch I'd cleared.

By eight, the sky had cleared, the sun was coming up, and I had the car and part of the driveway almost free of snow.

Even better, the engine started. I let it warm up, then made a dash down the driveway. All I had to do was break through the rampart left by the plows.

I learned something that day: I don't, ever, want to forget about closing the garage door again.

Whatever Happened to "Buck and Becky in Burbank?"

2009-01-23T23:55:00.000-06:00

His high school nickname was "Video Vern," for the overgrown camcorder he often carried to school. By the time he graduated, in 1987, he'd written and directed the first television drama made by Loonfoot Falls High School students.

Vernon Pederson left Loonfoot Falls after graduating, headed for Los Angeles, and spent the next few years hopping from job to job. His parents weren't too happy about that: He'd been expected to go into the family construction business, like a sensible young man.

Then, in 1991, "Video Vern" ran an ad in this paper, announcing the premier of " ‘Buck and Becky in Burbank:' a series about a small town couple in the big city." He'd written the first episode.

"Buck and Becky" wasn't the most popular show on television that year, even in Loonfoot Falls. Remember: "Friends" and "ER" were running then. Still, it enjoyed good ratings.

Maybe too good. "Video Vern" was the show's director a few months later, when a reviewer called "Buck and Becky" "a 'Beverly Hillbillies' for the Nineties." That's when a senior studio vice presidents started taking a personal interest in the series. He had ideas that had never occurred to Vern.

Becky became a high-powered corporate lawyer on rollerblades, and Buck joined a tough-but-compassionate biker gang. Ratings for "Buck and Becky in Burbank" fell out of the sky and sank without a trace, somewhere off Santa Monica.

Vern's doing okay these days. He's back in Loonfoot Falls, managing Lakes Area Data Services' public-access programming.