April 19th…….“GRANDPA, DID YOUR DADDY USE HORSES TO FARM WITH IN SOUTHERN MINNESOTA? OR JUST TRACTORS”?

POEM – “King And Colonel” by N. Elliott Noorlun

“King and Colonel”, That equine pair,

With regal manes, Of flowing hair,

Helped make Dad’s work, Seem rightly fair,

While working on our farm.

Whether pulling plow, In rich black furrow,

Or parade wagon, In nearby burrow,

This stately team, With power thorough,

Always meant us good, Not harm.

Our father there, With reins in hand,

It must’ve made him, Feel so grand,

To farm the land, Just like his dad,

I’ll bet his heart felt warm!!! 😉

April 18th………“IN YOUR YOUNG FARM DAYS, DID YOU ENJOY BEING WITH YOUR BIG, STRONG DADDY? LATER, DID YOU SEE YOUR WALK WITH GOD IN A SIMILAR LIGHT”?

POEM – “To Savor The Savior” by N. Elliott Noorlun.

(Notes: Created 10.27.2009 in 21 minutes)

Rollin’ in or out of our driveway,

On my childhood family farm,

You’d find me closely snuggled,

To my handsome father’s arm.

But, better yet, From time to time,

I’d ask Dad if I could,

Sit upon that strong man’s lap,

And look out o’er the hood.

I’d enjoy the drive, Heck, just bein’ alive,

Never needed to fret or cower.

Cause this young lad, Had trust in his dad,

Who controlled that big car’s power.

Now I live in, The winter of my years,

With most of my life well-spent.

And I muse upon God’s blessings,

While upon life’s journey I went.

In parallel to, Those youthful drives,

I’ve come to realize,

I’ve ridden upon, Heavenly Father’s lap,

Beneath His watchful eyes.

And just as my daddy, Within his power,

Returned us safely to farm and home,

So also will Jesus, Escort me to Glory,

To savor my Savior, No more to roam! ><> 😉

April 17th……….“WHAT WAS IT LIKE ON YOUR FARM AND IN YOUR MINNESOTA HOMETOWN ON SUNDAYS”?

POEM – “Sweet Silent Sunday Stillness” by N. Elliott Noorlun

Even the sun, Gave a silent smile,

As it radiated warm, O’er our country mile.

Another Sunday, Was born with light,

Starting our Lord’s Day, With all that’s right.

Across farmlands, I’d hear church bells ring,

Calling all saints, His hymns to sing.

Church houses were full, All across our town,

As children of God, Came in and sat down.

Our pastor would open, God’s Book of Love,

With sixty six love letters, Sent from above.

Including the blessing, Of a Sabbath Day rest,

After working all week, Putting bodies to test.

After worship, T’was time to fellowship,

With same-minded neighbors, While coffee you’d sip.

Then was family time, Whether picnic or table,

And giving God thanks, For provisions so stable.

Most stores in our town, Were family owned,

So on the Lord’s Day, Rest and ease were honed,

The almighty dollar, Was not king back then,

It was a time of play, For both women and men.

Our dear mother, Back then, Would savor a book,

Or placidly take, A walk by the brook.

Even using a scissor, On Sunday she’d shun,

Reading Bible, and family, Were a lot more fun.

There were Sunday drives, Verdant farmlands serene,

Or visiting family, That we hadn’t seen.

Just the care of our livestock, That had to be done,

Sweet silent Sunday stillness, Enjoyed from sun to sun!! 😉

April 16th……..“SAY GRANDPA, DID ANY POLICE EVER COME OUT TO YOUR FARM NEAR KIESTER, MINNESOTA”? “IF SO, WHO AND WHAT FOR”?

Even the crows, in the wooded windbreak of our farm, had some thing to ‘crow’ about on June 5th of 1957. And, I do believe that our local population of bees were even jealous. Why, you ask? Because on that momentous day, there were six other “B’s” happening on or nearby our farm that had to do with a B..ank, B..andit, B..uick and a B..oy and B..arfing B..uckets!!!! Big brother, Lowell Noorlun, was a whole 14 years old upon that sunny summer day and had matured into the age of young manhood there on our farm.

Along with young manhood came the responsibility of obeying our father’s orders to take our little Farmall B tractor (with a cultivator attachment mounted onboard) and begin cultivating the weeds out of the field of corn to the southwest of our main farm place. With every intent of wanting to do a good job and pleasing our dad, Lowell drove that little tractor to the cornfield, dropped the “spearhead shovels” down into that black soil and let out the tractor’s clutch to begin beautifying our handsome corn rows. As big brother reached the far west end of our property, he lifted the cultivator out of the ground to make a sharp turn around for heading east on the next set of corn rows. As he dropped the “spearhead shovels” into the ground, and unbeknownst to Lowell, he had hit a large underground rock that bent out one of those shovels; taking it out of alignment for the job at hand and making it point directly at the young corn plants.. At that same moment, big brother also saw something that distracted him from his duty.

Like the proverbial ‘bat outta hell’, a sparkling new 1957 black Buick Roadster Riviera came rocketing along the gravel road from the south near Chet Ozmun’s farm. Boiling up clouds of dust flew skyward as it hit ‘warp speed’ past our farm and out north past Charlie Heitzeg’s farm. The maniacal driver then hooked a sharp left at the intersection and, like jet exhaust, disappeared to the west of us towards Bricelyn, Minnesota.

During that car spectacle, brother’s tractor is was still rolling forward. And, in the scope of less than a minute, Lowell’s attention was back to his cultivator work. With a glance, he looked back behind him in horror!!! That bent “spearhead shovel” had ripped out a long section of young corn plants from the ground. Lowell knew our farmer dad would be so angry he’d erupt to the point of being ‘fit to be tied’ about that potential crop loss……..even though it was purely unintentional on our brother’s part.

Poor brother!! He aimed his Farmall B back to the farmyard and shop to make repairs to the cultivator and tell Dad about what he had just witnessed, regarding the speeding black car, and what had happened to the corn. Sure enough, to put it mildly, Dad was NOT happy!!! Since Dad was committed to other farm work on that hot June day, our beloved mother Clarice ‘came to the rescue’. She and Lowell headed back out to the cornfield to manually re-plant, by hand, that long row of uprooted corn plants. The stress of our father’s anger, plus working out in that hot Minnesota sun saw our brother, in his deep worrying, succumb to a case of heat stroke. When dear Mom and Lowell were finished re-planting the corn, that sick elder sibling of ours made a mad dash to our toilet ‘Out-House’ . Good thing our commode in the woods was a ‘two-seater’ because brother was ‘busy’ sitting down on the one seat and leaning over to barf into the hole of the other seat.

From what brother related to our father, regarding the speeding black car, Dad thought it wise to call our local Peace Officer in Kiester by the name of Harold Lamping. Mr. Lamping was grateful for Dad’s call and shared that just moments earlier, The First National Bank in town had been robbed and someone saw the crook make a get-away in that same kind of black car. Turns out, the brand new ‘get-away’ car had been recently stolen off of a car dealership’s lot in Minneapolis. As the story unfolded, it turned out the armed gunman had done some pheasant hunting in the Kiester area in the past, so decided that the bank in our town would be his ‘target’ for the crime he was about to commit. The culprit came into the bank that day, found out who the administrator was and leveled his gun at Mr. Donald Elwell, the president of the bank. The thief, feeling remorse even during the bank robbery, kept telling Mr. Elwell and others that he “hated to do it”, but was desperate for money. The robber’s demands were met and he managed to get almost $5,000 (worth $55,884.00 in 2024) in cash and $12,900 (worth $144,181.00 in 2024) in Traveler’s Checks.

With his loot in hand, the gunman herded Mr. Elwell, ten employees and one lone customer into a back bookkeeping room, then made his escape. After driving west out of town, then north past our farm, the thief eventually headed south to the Kansas City, Missouri area and put that black Buick into storage there. After that, the bad guy headed for Las Vegas, Nevada and eventually California where he spent the lion’s share of his cash ‘living the high life’…….for a while, at least. ‘Mr. Crook’ somehow made his way to Houston, Texas hoping to melt in with the locals there and be able to start fresh in a new life with his Traveler’s Checks.

It wasn’t too long, after the bandit hit the bank, that our parent’s got a call at the farm from the FBI (Federal Bureau Of Investigation). Two FBI agents wanted to come out to our farm to interview Lowell about what he had seen that fateful day. Since our brother was still a minor at the time, our parents were present for the interview by the agents. Lowell was definitely impressed by the men being impeccably dressed in their business suits along with their official identification badges to show the seriousness of their task at hand. Adding our brother’s testimony to their other evidence finding, they slipped into their car and were on their way. A break came in the case when a letter was found near our hometown that was addressed to a man named, Robert McDonald.

Mr. McDonald had led a life of similar crimes dating way back into the late 1930’s. With that letter, and other detective work, within a month agents made an arrest of Mr. McDonald in Houston, Texas and he was brought back to Minnesota to stand trial for his crime. During the trial, the defendant related how he was released from prison in 1946, after serving 8 years for earlier “hold ups” and stealing from various savings and loan businesses. His original address had been Altoona, Wisconsin and, even though he was trying to live within the law, he feared losing his current job with the railroad because tests were soon coming up that would reveal that he was actually colorblind. This potential job loss, accumulating bills and arguments with his wife (and be his words she was the one “who wanted to wear the pants in the family”), drove him back into a life of crime and sought money via robbing The First National Bank of Kiester.

Most of the Traveler’s Checks were recovered, at the time of Mr. McDonald’s arrest and a prison sentence of 15 years in the penitentiary was leveled against him. We can only hope that at the end of his sentence, in the year 1972, Mr. McDonald was able to live a more law-abiding life.

Being a little tike of only three years old, at the time, I really didn’t comprehend how all this adventure transpired. Yet, I was glad for my brother’s part in cementing his hero status in the eyes of this Norwegian Farmer’s Son!

April 15th……….“IN YOUR LITTLE BOY DAYS, ON YOUR FARM NEAR KIESTER, MINNESOTA, WHAT WAS A TOY YOU YEARNED FOR AT CHRISTMAS BUT NEVER RECEIVED”?

POEM – “To Imbrue The View” by N. Elliott Noorlun

Christmas flew right by, For this little guy,

Santa’s bag just didn’t quite hold,

A View-Master toy, For this farm boy,

That could bring great joys untold!

In the days after Christmas, Dad pointed our car,

To take us to Albert Lea,

To visit our cousins, Experience their toys,

As their View-Master filled me with glee!!

While parents drank coffee, That smelled so fair,

With that beaned aroma, That filled the air,

I’d be cuddled near window, To get lots of light,

And insert a pic reel, With wonders of sight.

There was breathtaking scenery, And Disney, too,

As I clicked each reel, To bring them in view.

Their colors were vibrant, Each storyline great,

Such a childhood epiphany, I just couldn’t wait,

My cousins were patient, There in Albert Lea,

As they shared their View-Master, With little boy me.

Heck, even the adults, Enjoyed seeing us thrive,

With View-Master journeys, Those pics “came alive”!!! 😉

April 14th………“AS A LITTLE BOY ON YOUR FARM, WHEN YOU WERE AWAY FROM YOUR HOUSE EITHER PLAYING OR WORKING, WHERE DID YOU GO TO USE A BATHROOM”?

POEM – “The Urge To Purge” by N. Elliott Noorlun

Way back yonder, In the olden day,

That some of us recall.

We headed for, The nearby woods,

And yonder wooded stall.

Grateful just, To have a place,

To answer nature’s urge.

We’d close the door, In days of yore,

Then toot to boot, And purge!

Now if you had, A “TP” roll,

You really were ‘uptown’.

But many a page, Of Sears catalog,

Got used and then thrown down.

And OHHH those Hoot Owls, On windy nights,

Would hurry any ‘need’.

As branches scratched, Against the walls,

And imaginations feed.

For be it real, Or in my head,

So scared I truly flew,

Back to the house, Like flying grouse,

And left behind my peeeeyuuuuu!!!! 😉

April 13th……..“SAY, GRANDPA, DID YOU EVER KNOW AN AMERICAN SOLDIER FROM WORLD WAR ONE?  WHAT DID HE DO DURING WHAT WAS KNOWN AS ….. THE GREAT WAR?”

A loud succession of domino-like, “clankety-clang” sounds emanated from the iron couplers on the long line of Pullman Coach railroad cars.  They, in turn, were being obedient to the massive, steam-engine locomotives that yanked them forward from the loading platform at Fort Snelling, Minnesota.  Beautiful and 17 years young, Lizzie, accompanied by her future mother-in-law, were fervently giving hugs and their “God Bless You!!!” to tall, lanky, blue-eyed John P. Madsen.  That late summer day of 1917 was a momentous event for this young patriot with Danish blood in his veins.   While Lizzie and his mother, Mrs. Madsen, honored John, even John’s hometown of Ringsted, Iowa honored her ancestral elders by holding forth the same title of recognition from their original town in Denmark by the same name.  Obviously, many a good Dane had come to America to help farm the fecund black soils of that handsome new land they all called home.  A good man who loved life and his nation, young John had answered the call to serve “Uncle Sam” in any way possible during that current global conflict known today as World War I (One).  Rather than carry a rifle, though, John and up to 28,000 others would carry a different tool of war to defeat Emperor Kaiser Wilhelm and the German Army.

With a piercing screech of the steam whistle from that ‘Iron Horse’ locomotive, John, heeding his sergeant’s growl, blew a kiss to his mother and fiancé as he hopped aboard that west-bound troop train.  With his duffel bag stowed nearby, John gingerly made his way down the pulsating aisle of their Pullman Coach car and managed to snuggle his long legs, the best he could, into a window seat to take in the view of his first time adventure going west.  A journey of this length was going to encompass at least three days, or more, so it was best to make the best of it and relax. The never-ending expanses of prairie land passing by, coupled with the consistent “clickety-clack, clickety-clack” of the railroad tracks beneath him, caused John’s eyelids to become heavier and heavier until he crossed the threshold to dreamland with his Army-issued campaign hat pulled down over his face.

After crossing the mighty Rocky Mountains, later in the journey, John Madsen’s eyes were still like wide saucers in sheer awe of the immense majesty of those mountain peaks that scratched at the very skies above them and tickled the bellies of the clouds that dared to drift too low to earth.

Cruising now, down the windward slopes of the Rockies, the rugged terrain slipping by the train soon turned into the marvel of a conjuncture with the powerful Columbia River of Washington State.  Peering from his window seat, our young Army Private could’ve spit right into that roiling river; they were that close as the iron rails before them bent and curved round each bend of that impressive river whose waters were heading west, also.

The multiple day journey of John’s troop train made the young Danish-American that much more lonely for his darling mother and his bride-to-be that he had left on that railroad platform at Fort Snelling. That tender-hearted young soldier couldn’t wait to be billeted upon arrival at Vancouver Barracks near Fort Vancouver, Washington so he could get off his first of many letters back home.

By this time, in his rail journey, the handsome Columbia River, that divided the states of Oregon and Washington, had become like a friend to John and his fellow ‘doughboys’. Even the train, itself, seemed to be struck by the awe of what they saw next as the revolutions per minute of the steam engine’s wheels began to slow as they arrived onto the scene of the largest spruce wood sawmill in the world.

Within sight of this immense sawmill campus were the sparkling blue waters of that same Columbia River that John had enjoyed from his train window. The winking waves of the river, flowing past towards the Pacific Ocean, seemed to say, “Well, ‘doughboy’, you’ve got your work cut out for you now”!!

The elegantly attired Army Colonel Brice P. Disque convened an assembly of these robust young Americans to share with them what their weapons of valor would be as they employed them to defeat the Emperor Kaiser Wilhelm and his German Army. Holding a large trumpet-like megaphone, and in a booming voice, the Colonel exclaimed, “Men, your weapons, in this Great War, will not be rifles, but saws, sledgehammers, axes, and the like”!!!! “Engineers have found that Sitka Spruce, which fills the hills of these Pacific Northwest forests, is ideal for building not only our American military aircraft, but also for our allies of Britain, France and Italy”!!!

From that day on, John, and his fellow Army pals became loggers, truck drivers, mill workers, etc. and were affectionately called, “The Straight-Grained Soldiers”.

Sitka Spruce was known for its being a light wood, straight in its grain (which made it very strong) and, its ability to not splinter when struck by bullets. From this resilient wood source were made our American Curtiss “Jenny” aircraft, the British “Sopwith Camel” fighter aircraft, the French “Spad” fighter aircraft and others. Under the leadership of Colonel Disque, The Spruce Production Division exceeded their production goals and produced 143 million board feet of spruce for airplane manufacturing.

All work and no play made for pretty dull ‘doughboys’ while working in the military employ of “Uncle Sam”. A tent-city sprang up around the Spruce Mill and some of those tents were used for feeding the hungry mouths of thousands of young men who gave their all in the forests and wood mill each day. Baseball teams were organized for fun during off-duty hours and even musical gatherings became a fun way to while away the evening hours or off-duty times. The Headquarters Office for Colonel Disque and staff were located across the Columbia River in Portland, Oregon with logging and mill sites scattered throughout Oregon and Washington.

The day after the Armistice was signed, on November 11th, 1918, all wood mill production ceased and young John Madsen was among the thousands of young “Straight-Grained Soldiers” that were soon heading home.

Marriage ensued for John and Lizzie with a family of five children blessing their lives. The Madsens lost their little son, Walter, at the young age of four years in 1928 and then John lost his beloved Lizzie who was taken in death in 1946. Fast forward to the late 1940’s and early 1950’s when John, via our family friend, Harry Bauman, came to work on our Noorlun farm as a hired hand for our daddy, Russell. Those tender, Danish blue eyes of his were now weakened with age and John had to wear super-thick ‘coke bottle bottom’ glasses to make his way around in daily life. Yet, those long, lanky legs, that had carried him around the Spruce Mill, in his Army days, still made him a giant in our lives. And you know, his being a giant wasn’t merely from his physical height……….it was his ever grateful, ever inspiring and ever positive view of relishing each day of life God gave him (from 1892 until 1978) that touched the life and soul of this Norwegian Farmer’s Son.

April 12th………..“PLEASE TELL US, GRANDPA, HOW DID YOUR MOTHER, CLARICE, WASH CLOTHES AND DRY THEM DURING YOUR YOUNG FARM DAYS IN MINNESOTA”?

POEM – “Laughing Laundry” by N. Elliott Noorlun

Daddy’s longjohns waved at me, Upon that early spring breeze.

His bib overalls, Were dancing alongside, Exposing their worn out knees.

The air was chilled, Yet early spring had spilled, Across our farming world,

With orchard soon abloom, There now was room, To make our family clothes unfurled.

Mom’s ‘unmentionables’ were shy, As they’d fly up high, They blushed to hide behind a cloud.

Her ‘private affairs’, Were now posted upstairs, On that clothesline so public and loud.

There was something sublime, To our farm life time, Prairie winds made our clothes ‘come alive’.

To all passersby, Neighbor farm gal or guy, Were clothes-signs that our family did thrive.

In our mom’s cleaning day, Wringer washer held sway, When it came to scrubbing our clothes.

But you had to watch out, You might hear Mom shout, When she and machine came to blows.

Grandma Amanda fared worse, In pre-electric curse, Wet clothes had to go through crank ringer.

Some body parts, Learned a hard way with ‘SMARTS’, That wrong hand crank made a ‘ZINGER’!

From handkerchief giggles, To wet washcloth wiggles, Laughing laundry could gladly rejoice.

To have danced on the air, Of that spring wind bare, As our ears heard each sweet fabric ‘voice’!

April 11th…..“BEING NORWEGIAN, GRANDPA, WAS THERE A SPECIAL TREAT THAT YOU ENJOYED THAT CAME FROM YOUR ANCIENT MOTHERLAND OF NORWAY?”

SONG – “Yust A Little Lefse” The author of these fun lyrics is unknown. For the younger generation tuning in to this……….these lyrics reflect how a first or even second generation Norwegian person tried to speak English. I sweetly recall my Norwegian grandparents had a distinct ‘flavor’ to their English because their native Norwegian language was still very much a part of them.

Our sweet Norwegian mother, Clarice, found this cute item and took this to her Senior Citizen Church Group at Bethel Lutheran Church in Brush Prairie, Washington. The group called themselves, “The Keenagers” and on December 14th of 1995, they all had some fun singing this song. You can, too…..it is sung to the 1948 tune, “Just A Little Lovin’ (Will Go A Long Way)”…..written by Eddy Arnold and Zeke Clements. A great audio clip of this song can be found on YouTube. Enjoy!!! 😉

CHORUS: Yust a leetle lefse, Vill go a long vayyy,

Gives yew indeeyestion, Most all of dah day.

Poot it on yer menu, Yew’ll be sure tew say,

Yust a leetle lefse, Vill go a long vayyyyy!

VERSE: Lefse’s good for many tings, Und vee can gif yew proof,

Fer tiling on dah kitchen floor, Or patching up dah roof.

Peeple sometimes use it as, Dah soles upon dair feet,

And some folks tink, It’s even good tew eat!!

CHORUS: Sing it again, ya? 😉

VERSE: Leif Erikson vunce had a boat, It vas a leaky scow,

He said, “Tew beat Columbus, Vee yust gotta leave right now”!!

Dah boat vahs leaking badly as, Dey neared dah U.S.A.

But he plugged dah holes, Yay lefse saved dah dayyyyyy!!

CHORUS: again, ya? Yew know dah rootine by now!

VERSE: If yew know vat lefse is, Den yew can understood,

It looks und feels like plastic, Und it tastes yust like plyvood.

Vee don’t know vat invented it, Vee don’t know hew’s tew blame,

But if yew’re Norsk, Yew eat it yust dah same!!!

CHORUS: Vun more time, humma dinger!!! Und den yew can schtop!!! 😉

April 10th……….“WAS THERE EVER AN ITEM FROM YOUR CHILDHOOD HOMETOWN IN MINNESOTA THAT CAME BACK INTO YOUR LIFE LATER ON?”

POEM – “The Rove Of Mr. Clove” by N. Elliott Noorlun

I ponder as to when, My little glass friend,

That you had decided to rove,

From Paulson Drugs and Kiester,

A tiny bottle we’ll call, “Mr. Clove”.

In days gone by, Mr. Paulson, great guy,

Would pull you down from his shelf,

To ease someone’s pain, With their good health to gain,

You were a popular pixie elf.

You sat there with pride,

Of an assortment quite wide,

With other bottles of medicinal elixir.

Should farm lady come in,

With a wart on her chin,

In a minute came the potion to fix ‘er!! 😉

Someone, “Mr. Clove”, must’ve needed your power,

To help them through their ailing hour,

Because you left “Paulson’s”, And traveled for miles,

Maybe toothache had turned someone sour?

Whether pocket, or purse, Or suitcase of nurse,

You traveled a journey so far,

To Mantorville town, Quiet place of reknown,

Did you hitchhike and ride someone’s car?

There you sat on a shelf, Not quite feeling yourself,

That cluttered antique store now home.

Among all that junk, You were feeling a funk,

Cause you’re now just a lost little gnome.

But through your glass eyes, You saw a surprise,

A face from your old hometown.

He recognized you, And saw you were blue,

So he bought you to erase your frown.

Now you once again live, On a home shelf to give,

Out the fragrance you still have inside.

“Mr. Clove’s” back among friends, With the fragrance he lends,

Brings back memories of life giving pride!! 😉