December 13th………“DURING YOUR YOUNG YEARS, ON YOUR FARM IN MINNESOTA, WHAT WERE SOME OF THE POPULAR CHRISTMAS CARTOONS YOU ENJOYED WATCHING ON YOUR BLACK & WHITE TELEVISION”??

Nestled within the chambers of a child’s imagination are sparkling embers of fantasy. Then, when an inspiring artist, like Charles Schultz, comes along, those happy embers are fanned into a joyous blaze of wonderment.

Like a meal for the mind, you add music, gentle animation, voices and magic-infused story telling and combine them together to create a sweet moment that makes an indelible mark in the lives of every child who treasured the television premiere of “A Charlie Brown Christmas” back in 1965. Granted, I was a whole 11 years old that year, but hey, I was still a kid in a majority of ways.

This delightful cartoon story made me smile and even caused me to become introspective of what Charlie Brown’s quest was all about.

What a deeply poignant moment it was when little Linus called for the house lights to be dimmed and a spotlight was brought to focus on in his place, there on the school stage, while he shared the beauty of the Holy Scriptures. He told the Christmas Story from the New Testament Book of Luke. I am moved, even to this very day, with that touching moment. Cartoon? Yes. But powerful?……another resounding YES!

During the following year of 1966, another team of creative artists brought to life a cartoon version of the Dr. Seuss book, “How The Grinch Stole Christmas”. The cartoon genius of Mr. Chuck Jones, and fellow artists, created a delightful and yet moving story of animation that all us kids could cringe and giggle at, at the same time. And who but the “master of malice”, Boris Karloff, could create the convincing narrative voice that was synonymous with evil intent as the Grinch, himself. Dripping with malevolent overtones, The Grinch spoke of all the terrible things he’d do to the Who’s of Whoville. The deep, bass voice used to sing “You’re A Mean One, Mr. Grinch” belonged to none other than voice actor/singer, Thurl Ravenscroft, as he rendered that deep, despicable voice of his for this song. That gripping, unique Christmastime melody is stuck within the psyche of many a “Baby Boomer” (those born between 1946 to 1964) kid to this present day.

These classic Christmas cartoons, and many others, still hold a warm place in the heart of this HO HO HO Norwegian Farmer’s Son.

December 12th………“WHEN ON YOUR FAMILY FARM, THERE NEAR KIESTER, MINNESOTA, DID YOUR FAMILY RECEIVE CHRISTMAS CARD GREETINGS IN YOUR RURAL MAILBOX”??

POEM – “For Many A Year Came Christmas Cheer” created by N. Elliott Noorlun

For many a year, Much Christmas cheer,

Would land in our farm’s mail box.

With smiles galore, And memories more,

Than could fit in fire-mantled socks.

We were always quite taken, By their love we were shaken,

That family and friends would remember.

To send us their love, Based on His from above,

On this holiest day in December!!

So as I gaze back, On each snowy track,

That I made from our house to mail box.

I was always elated, To know we had “rated”,

With those Yuletide greetings, Blessed right out of our socks!!! 😉

December 11th………“TELL US, GRANDPA, ABOUT ENJOYING CHRISTMASTIME AT A RELATIVE’S HOME WHEN YOU WERE A YOUNG BOY AND LIVING IN MINNESOTA”.

Quiet, World War II heroes live among us all. Even after experiencing the vicious horrors of war, they came home to gently live out their daily lives in an elegant, soft-spoken manner that befits the tender soul that they are, yet, each of those quiet heroes have seen and endured immense suffering for the sake of survival of their own life in combat and for the betterment of this great nation that we live in called America.

One of my many heroes, in this realm of honor, was my mother’s brother, Marcus Delmaine (Del) Sletten. I hold numerous uncles on both sides of our family in honor for their service during World War II and they’re all treasured in my All-American little boy memories, but, for the sake of this Christmas story, I will hold up and honor my Uncle Del.

Delmaine Sletten served gallantly, during World War II, with Company A of the 351st Infantry Regiment of the 88th Division of the United States Army. With distinction, he and his fellow warriors fought tenaciously against the entrenched German invaders in the mountainous areas of Italy. Uncle Del, and his fellow soldiers, fought so fiercely, that their German enemies labeled this American fighting unit as “The Blue Devils”………and, when Del’s outfit heard that name, given them by their adversaries, they took it as their very own. “The Blue Devils” was now their badge of honor.

Uncle Del’s regiment fought so courageously, that they earned the coveted “Presidential Unit Citation” award for bravery from our then President Franklin Delano Roosevelt for “fearlessness, heroic determination and the aggressive fighting spirit that brings honor to the Armed Forces of The United States Of America”.

We fast-forward the Christmas time machine to the 1950’s and Uncle Del has survived and thrived after his service during World War II. Del found love, marriage and now had built his own lovely home for his young family in Albert Lea, Minnesota. In my childhood innocence, I had absolutely no cognizance what our gracious host had gone through to do his part in keeping America free. By his, and 16 million other patriot’s sacrifices, we, that day, were able to celebrate the birth of baby Jesus in a world brought back to peace and tranquility.

Especially at Christmastime, when you put a yuletide house-full of Norwegians and Germans together with lots of coffee and sugar-laden desserts……….it’s always the recipe for Christmas joviality and laughter. Our Norwegian patriarch, Russell, had a vein in his body made just for teasing, tricking, embarrassing while causing giggles and laughter to burst from whoever was nearest him at any given moment. One never knew what might pop out of Dad’s mouth, or elsewhere, to create a moment of convivial joy and raucous guffaws of merriment!! 😉

Without a doubt, on that late 1950’s Christmas Day, one of my most effervescent moments of Christmas magic at Uncle Del’s home was when I stepped inside to witness my very first sparkling, modern aluminum Christmas tree that was ablaze in an ever-changing radiant rainbow glow of color from a spotlight showing through a round, four-colored plastic wheel that went round and round by the power of a little electric motor. Every aluminum “branch needle” would be first glowing in cherry red, then verdant green, next to golden yellow and finish with a sapphire blue gleaming before repeating the color wheel’s turn once again. I’d be frozen in happy wonderment for what seemed like hours of childhood bliss as I saw those aluminum branches catch and reflect sparkling hues of spectacular Christmas prisms of joy for this boy!! 😉

Like all happy families in the spirit of Christmas, we treasured our times of laughter, food, colorfully wrapped gifts, Bible Storytime and singing of Christmas Carols.

What usually captured this boy’s attention was the veritable “ToyLand” that existed in my cousin’s bedroom after all those gifts had been opened. It was a little boy “heaven” to me. I’d often just lose track of time itself when we’d come to visit Uncle Del’s home for the holidays.

In retrospective thought, I have often pondered on what may have been going through Uncle Del’s mind as he gazed down upon we little ones at Christmas play around his fireplace and Yuletide tree. I can only surmise how deeply grateful he was to God for our Lord to have seen mercy upon him to survive and come home from that horrific war to enjoy an America of freedom and plenty.

Do you suppose he thought upon the memory of his Army buddies who didn’t come home from the war? Some of them had stopped a German bullet or were obliterated into a red vapor by the direct hit of a German mortar shell. Little me, on the other hand, while being oblivious to Del’s plight and experiences of war, was caught up in the bliss of my childhood innocence. Little did I realize what my uncle (and those 16 million other servicemen and women) did to preserve the freedoms that we, as Americans, still enjoy to this very day.

Eventually, our daddy donned his Homburg hat and pulled on his great coat over his handsome Christmas outfit of white shirt and tie. It was then we kids knew it was time to put away our cousin’s vast array of toys and prepare for our snowy trip across those winter roads that led back to our dear farm near Kiester. There were hearty handshakes amongst the men and our family ladies would be giving hugs and Season’s Greetings cheek kisses to one another as we stepped back outside to the frosty air and climbed into our modest, motorized chariot for the trip home. For, as a farmer, Christmas or no Christmas, our Holstein cows, back at the farm, needed to be milked and were getting hungry for their own Christmas “supper”, as well. Yes, Christmas in the long ago, still sets my memories all aglow for this Norwegian Farmer’s Son.

December 10th………“AS A CHILD, ON YOUR FARM NEAR KIESTER, MINNESOTA, DID YOU EVER GET THE CHANCE TO MEET SANTA CLAUSE AT CHRISTMASTIME”??

Santa works in mysterious ways, and for me, that meant seeing him for the first time in our farm home’s Living Room on our little black n white television set while I watched my favorite cartoon show called, “Bart’s Club House”.

Up until that time, in my tiny boy life, I had only heard of Jolly Old Saint Nicholas through oral stories and books. But on that day, thanks to the tall TV antenna on the roof of our farm house, we “caught” the television signal all the way from Mason City, Iowa where dear Mr. Bart Curran was hosting one of our cartoon clubhouse meetings. Bart was a kindly gentleman who gave us kiddies a steady diet of fun cartoons during the entire year, but here, at Christmastime, there was something special for us little ones to look forward to. A large, special television was brought onto the clubhouse studio set. I recall there even being a sign on the appliance called, “SANTA-VISION”. In my gullible, trusting childhood mind, I figured that somehow, those amazing television magicians must’ve created an antenna tall enough to send and receive signals all the way from the NORTH POLE!!! That day, after a cartoon just finished, we all saw Bart walking over to the “SANTA-VISION” set. He began fidgeting with picture adjustment knobs and started talking to the screen. “Calling North Pole, Calling North Pole”!! “Santa come in, please”!! In my wide-eyed amazement, I began to see a roly, poly image slowly start to materialize within the electronic fuzz and “snowstorm” at the North Pole. Another few seconds of knob adjustments and THERE HE WAS…….Old Saint Nick himself!!! “Bart?, Is that you I see way down there in Mason City, Iowa? It’s so good to see you”!!!, said Mr. HO HO HO. Santa and Bart chatted back and forth about all the gifts that the elves were making in Santa’s Toy Factory and how Santa loved getting all the letters from us boys n girls. I thought to myself, “Wouldn’t it be grand to meet Santa in person someday”?? Little did I realize that that dream was to come true in just a few days.

A fine, frigid Saturday dawned with a full, thick blanket of sparkling snow over the sleeping farmlands of south central Minnesota. This day was to be special indeed, for in our nearby village of Kiester, Christmas festivities were to be in full swing and joy-filled for old and young alike.

To say I was excited about this family fun day is an understatement……..I was like popcorn bouncing on the skillet with kinetic kid energy.

The snow was so thick on the ground that morning that Dad figured he’d better get the snow chains onto our little, green 1952 Chevrolet Deluxe. Myself and our family were fully bundled up against the crisp cold as we slogged from the house, through the snowdrifts, and into the Chevy. Dad fired up that old “Deluxe” and put the gas pedal to the metal as our chained show tires churned our way out of the driveway and onto the snow-filled roads that led to our hometown. Little did I know, though, as I sat in the backseat, one of those festivities of the day was for me to meet SANTA………..in the flesh!

About a mile from our farming village city limits, our Chevy was fast approaching a horse-drawn farm box sled being pulled by a handsome team of BIG Belgian draft horses. Within a second or two, our father recognized the man driving that team to be our very kind and burly farm neighbor, Chet Ozmun.

Chet Ozmun was a “bigger than life” kind of man. Tall, burly and round, this mountain of a man had been a blessing to our family many times over the years!! Recognizing our family car rolling up beside him, Chet pulled back on the reins of his beautiful Belgians and brought them to a halt as Dad gave the car some brakes and stopped alongside the rustic farm sled.

Quicker than an elf can blink, my little boy eyes popped wide open as I perceived that next to Chet was none other than the red-clad Jolly Ol’ Man himself………SANTA CLAUS!!!

We cranked down both passenger-side car windows to allow for Dad and Chet to visit a bit and exchanged “Season’s Greetings” to one another. Then, Chet asked, “By the way, Russ, would Elliott like to ride in the sled with us for the remainder of the sleigh ride into Kiester”??

From the backseat of the car I joyfully burst out with, “WOULD I EVER!!! Yes, please, can I, Dad”??? Dad’s answer was a happy “yes” as I climbed over the bench seat and into Mom’s lap. As big Chet reached down from his perch high up on the sleigh, Mom helped me climb out through her passenger window and into Chet’s strong grip which swung me up into the air and landed me joyfully between him and Santa!!! I was beyond thrilled to the point of being downright giddy!! Together, Chet and Santa fluffed a big lap robe into the air and brought its warmth down across the three of us on that wagon seat. I was about to bust from kid happiness! Our family Chevrolet, below us, continued its journey as I waved them “so-long” and they continued on into town. With a gentle slap of the reins to his team, Chet gave a soft, manly “Heeyah”! and his massive Belgians came to attention and obeyed their master while they leaned into their harness and our farm-sled sleigh began to slide n glide forward. With every muscled bounce of these equine giants, their silver harness of sleigh bells sounded out in singing harmonies of holiday cheer as we three “kings” were transported the rest of the way into our beloved hometown of Kiester.

I was “on top of the world’, literally, with Santa to my right, Chet Ozmun to my left and those mighty Belgians “singing” with their silver-belled harness resounding with a “ching a ching, ching” as their bells took us up Main Street and to the front of “The KEE Movie Theater”. We were just in time for the annual FREE Christmas movie that was sponsored each year by our very own “Sime’s John Deere Tractor Company”. Santa was there to take part in our Christmas season celebration by greeting all the children and handing out gifts of candy and peanut sacks from his giant red velvet bag after the movie and cartoons were finished. What an extra joyous Christmas that was for this elated Norwegian Farmer’s Son!!!

December 9th………“BEING A VERY LITTLE FARM BOY, WITH A FUN IMAGINATION, WHAT WERE SOME CHRISTMAS DOINGS YOU ENJOYED THAT AN ADULT WOULDN’T CARE OR DARE TO DO”??

It was getting closer to Christmas on our family farm there near Kiester, Minnesota in 1961. Our herd of Holsteins had been milked for the evening and bedded down for the night on fresh straw. Our Norwegian patriarch, Russell, my handsome big brother, Lowell, and myself were standing near the “Dutch-style” barn door and ready to bring this farm-work day to a close. As Dad reached out to douse the last barn light switch, one cow “moooed” and a second cow sneezed. I couldn’t help but smile, in my little farm boy imagination, for it kinda sounded like they were saying, “MOOOrry Christmas”!!! to us as we stepped out into the snow-mantled night.

From the ebony sky above, a Christmas peacefulness could be felt in the luxury of that quiet moment. Sparkling snowflakes twinkled and winked at us in the yard light’s tungsten rays from the top of a tall pole by the barn. An amber glow, from the windows of our humble farm home, called the three of us farmers to begin the trek towards warmth, supper and a cozy evening together as family. The near calf-high snow, along the way, made for a quiet walk as the three of us men-folk “plowed” our rubber winter boots along through the powdery white below us. Once inside our porch/pantry, off came the winter boots and multiple layers of winter coats, sweaters and gloves before entering the “welcome in” feeling of Mom’s warm kitchen with its permeating and salivating fragrances of a delicious meal that awaited us all.

After giving Mom our “Takk for maten”!!!(Norwegian meaning, “thank you for the meal”), the six of us Noorluns would disperse into various evening activities of television, listening to radio, reading or doing our school homework. Our Living Room was the realm of our Christmas tree in its regal full glow of color and lights. It was only natural that I was drawn to its quiet wonder and nestled down, laying on my belly, as I got up and personal with the tree’s beauty.

Seeing myself as an elf, I decided to pass away the evening by laying down on my back, with my head under and near the periphery of the Christmas tree’s branches. Then, with my little boy body barely fitting under the bottom boughs, I used my feet to push my little boy being completely under the tree as my shoulder blades “walked” me along. The Juletre (Norwegian meaning, “Christmas Tree”) and I were now one as I stared up and became happily lost in peering through this evergreen world laced with tinsel, lights and ornaments galore! Each glorious item on the tree possessed a placid, mystical essence all its own for this little boy celebrating the yearly season of remembering Christ’s birth on earth.

For those of us that were blessed to have grown up on the farmlands of Minnesota, Christmas season joys were embellished each year by a pristine blanket of snow across our part of the world. Bundled against the chill of that snow, we climbed into our famly car and would drive across frozen roads to our maternal grandparent’s home in Albert Lea, Minnesota. The cottage of our Norwegian elders was tiny in construction, but within resided a giant warmth that exuded from our “parents who were grand” to us.

Our sweet Grandma Amanda’s kitchen exuded the aroma of wunnerful Norwegian foods that included “Kringla” (Norwegian meaning, “round or circle”) and “Lefse” (Norwegian meaning, “large, thin potato pancake) that I consumed in happy, copious amounts! 😉

After welcoming hugs to us all, our family would settle down with Grandpa and Grandma Sletten on the couch and chairs of their tiny Living Room to visit and watch the late afternoon snowfall through their multi-paned “picture window”.

Evening shadows soon faded into darkness as the pleasant drone of adult conversations emanated from our grandparent’s cozy Living Room. My curious, inquisitive ways called me away from adult chatting as I would quietly step away and into the darkened entry foyer of that happy grandparent abode.

Above me, sitting on a window sill, sat a little plastic church that was illuminated from within by a tiny lightbulb. Climbing to the top of a small step-ladder, I accessed the heights of that window sill. As small as those stained-glass windows were, I could imagine an even tinier congregation inside of that Christmas worship center singing the carols of our faith and praising God for the greatest Christmas gift of all………… His Son, Jesus Christ coming to earth so long ago. Christians from around the world, at this holy time of year, were celebrating the wondrous birth of God’s Son……….just like this little Norwegian Farmer’s Son.

December 8th………“DURING YOUR CHILDHOOD IN MINNESOTA, WHAT WAS YOUR FAVORITE HOLIDAY AND WHY”??

Wrapped in the gentle folds of dream-kissed snowflakes dwelt the magic that made the Christmas Season, on our family farm near Kiester, Minnesota, to be my most beloved holiday of the entire year!!

Even the very word “holiday” is special and you know why? Because its origin comes from actually two words. The first part of the word, “Holi”, is derived from the word “HOLY” and that means “to set apart”. The last part of the word is “day”; therefore we “set apart” a special day from all the other days of the year to make it super grand and memorable………and that it was for this little wide-eyed farmer boy!!

I’ll bet our country mailman (who I seem to recall was Mr. Kabe) almost didn’t need chains on his vehicle to get through the snowdrifts during the Christmas Season because of all the extra heavy ballast he carried in the hundreds of pounds of Christmas catalogs that came to our farm (and all farms around us) from companies like Sears, Spiegel, Montgomery Wards and others.

Those thick volumes of childhood toy joy would make a heavy “kerplop” sound as they’d land on our farm kitchen table. Little sister, Candi, would grab one Christmas dream-book while I’d grab another and make a mad dash out to the Living Room couch to sink into those soft cushions and start making “dog ears” to pages we’d hope that Mom or Dad would come across and get us a ton of toys!!! 😉

All the elements that made this Christmas Season thrilling were already starting to percolate bubbles of happiness in my little boy heart and soul.

It was 1960, and our parents were gonna splurge for Christmas cards that year in having our farmer neighbor/photographer, Merrill Bauman, take a professional photo of us four Noorlun kids for our family card to send out that season. My “Cheshire Cat” grin, in that photo, was only too evident as I was musing how, when we got back home that evening, of how I could be the first one to glob onto the Sears Christmas catalog and go right to my already-worn cowboy pages of Roy Rogers clothing and gun holsters. “Please Santa!!! Bring me all these goodies”!!! was my heart-speak that I hope Santa heard all the way up to the North Pole!!! By Christmas Day, those fun catalogs were worn to a frazzle and even drooled on……..so to speak!!

Be it the innate immaturity of childhood, or the virile imagination station that permeates each child’s mind; either way, it was hard for me to feign happiness when our family grandparents (with good hearts, of course) would tantalize me with a Christmas package of splashy-colored paper and bows. My momentary thrill to receive that present was chilled when I’d rip open the fancily-wrapped gift only to find a practical gift of socks, a handkerchief…..or worse yet…….UNDERWEAR!!

Without a doubt, the good Lord gave this little boy a lesson of life in those practical gift moments. It was a form of spiritual calisthenics to strengthen my childish heart in maturing towards adulthood, someday, and learning the lesson that it’s not WHAT one receives for Christmas, but appreciating the love inside someone’s heart that caused them to WANT to give you a loving gift in the first place.

The rich, pine fragrance of our family’s Christmas tree each year saturated our humble farmhouse with the perfume of seasonal, evergreen cologne in the air. Out came boxes of sparkling, colored ornaments that soon bedazzled us as they hung from those scented evergreen boughs. Each lovely ornament was nestled amongst the “silver rain” of dainty strands of aluminum tinsel that floated with the slightest breeze upon each scented branch of our pine tree treasure. Seemingly lighter than air itself, the tinsel sparkled with moving colors of Christmas ambrosia whenever someone walked past the evergreen wonder that stood right there in our Living Room.

Unlike the frenetic and staccato-crazed techno lights of today’s Christmas electronics………our childhood Christmas tree was bedecked with the most gentle, rich-colored, conical orbs in a soft-glowing spectra of peaceful hues. These tapered glass cones of primary colors not only set off the beauty of the hanging decorations, but also spoke to my little boy heart, in their quaint and consistent light, as if they were speaking, “Be at peace, little one. Enjoy the tenderness and tranquility of this holy season”. So replays the Christmas memories of this Norwegian Farmer’s Son. 😉

August 30th………..“WHAT WAS A FUN, LITTLE BOY FRAME OF MIND IN HOW YOU KEPT THE INSIDE OF YOUR STUDENT DESK BACK IN GRADE SCHOOL DAYS”??

POEM – “Desk Digger Delights” by N. Elliott Noorlun. Created on December 7th, 2018

When Mrs. Baker said, “Bring out your book”,

I’d tell her, “Yes, dear teacher”, “I’ll try to look”!!

But mashed inside, This desk of steel,

T’was a mangle of fun, As I’d dig n feel.

While others had turned, To Page 53,

I was still in there a-diggin’, Experiencing glee!

For it’s not the destination, Far as I’m concerned.

T’was the MOSTEST FUN ‘badge’, I had just earned!!! 😉

August 29th………POEM – “To His Flowers I Go”. Created by N. Elliott Noorlun on December 2nd, 2014

As the world around us darkens, Corroding to its core,

I turn for solace, To His blooms, That comfort my heart more!

It is as if, I hear Him say, “Son, be at rest and peace”,

“For I, who made these flowers”, “Am in control and will not cease”.

Therefore no matter what befalls, I know God loves us so!!

And for a gentle reminder, It’s to His flowers I go!! 😉 ><>

August 28th………..POEM – “Is It Wise”? by N. Elliott Noorlun

Is it wise, To soliloquize?, I heard myself to say.

Just then, I balked, for I had talked, To myself in that very same way!

To soliloquize, Is to talk to yourself, I’ve done it myself, Have you?

Sometimes, me, myself and I, Just talk until we’re blue!

My three ‘inner beings’, Have all the right ‘seeings’, ‘We’ chat about this and that.

But since we’re not alone, And don’t want it shown, ‘We’ keep it under ‘our’ hat!!! 😉

August 27th……..“TELL US, GRANDPA, ABOUT THE KINDNESS OF A VISITOR WHO CAME TO YOUR FARM, OCCASIONALLY, TO DO BUSINESS WITH YOUR FATHER”.

There it flew, off the heights of Ozmun’s hill!!! It was a falcon. Living up to its reputation, it flew so fast and so close to the ground that it caused horizontal curlicues of dust to spiral into the sultry Minnesota summer air behind it. The only thing was, this wasn’t a bird, it was a super-charged Ford Falcon and its driver was making a beeline for the raised berm of the “Central & Northwest” railroad crossing just south of our farm.

Deathwish or not, at that same, tension-building moment, there came the ground-rumbling feel and sound of a mighty locomotive of the “Central & Northwest Railway” approaching from the west and coming to make its lumbering crossing of that same spot. What could have been a disastrous intersecting of car and train was adeptly avoided as said Falcon had the upper hand and shot up the incline of that gravel road berm; literally flying across and ‘catching air’ as it catapulted across the railroad tracks to the other side. Those Falcon winds buffeted me in its passing while I stood near the bridge over Brush Creek. To me, even though I was now cloaked in gravel dust, it had been a win/win moment. Win number one was…the Falcon survived and continued in his ‘flight’ to the north past our farm a half mile away. Win number two……this little Norwegian ‘Indian Chief’ still had time to get a wave back from the locomotive engineer as he saw the danger pass and poured more power to his iron juggernaut that continued pulling a hefty string of freight and grain cars to the east and our dear hometown of Kiester.

The reason I was able to capture that Falcon and train moment was because Brush Creek was my little boy’s home away from home. Our farm’s south pasture land was bordered by the creek line. No time-clock could ever track the untold number of hours I enjoyed along that narrow, miniature river that ambled sweetly along to the west for now, but, eventually joining the immense Mississippi River to the far east. It was in this blissful, farm boy ‘Shangri-La’ that my bib-overall boy being could lay on the creek banks for a nap, hunt for schools of tadpoles to take home in a jar or test my fast reflexes to catch those speedy crawdads lurking in the shadowy depths of the creek. Matter of fact, on some of those ultra-humid and hot summer days, I’d even strip naked and skinny-dip in the hidden bends of that languorous waterway that fueled a little farmboy’s imagination.

There was an essence of purity to the quiet that held reign across the country miles in those farming days of long ago. Other than our blessed bovines lowing to one another in our pasture next to me, my little boy ears could only detect the distant ‘johnny-popper’ sound of Louie Heitzeg’s John Deere 730 as he cultivated some soybeans to the east of me. As a result of that quaint quietness, I heard and could see that our farm was about to get a visit in the form of a handsome old Chevrolet cattle truck that was now shifting down its gears to make the turn into our north U-shaped driveway.

Ohhhh boyyy!!! I had a hankerin’ that I knew who this man was and didn’t wanna miss out on what was going to happen back at the farm. Jumpin’ aboard my trusty little 20″ bicycle, I began to pedal furiously in our farm’s direction. Sure enough, as I banked my bike into the south driveway, I realized that it was that super-nice gentleman who our farmer father employed from time to time to haul cows or hogs to auction. My little sister, Candi, had the same inclination that I did that fun day and appeared from the house as I rolled up on the scene. “Well, well, you two youngsters look familiar”!!, said our farm guest as he popped open the driver’s door and slid off his truck’s bench seat. “And you’ve both gotten taller, too”!!!, which brought a growing-up smile from the both of us. “When I get some cows loaded for your dad, we’ll celebrate with some gum, o.k.”?? inquired our kind visitor. We kiddos were salivating already! 😉

With his big old Chevy box-truck backed up to our loading ramp, our dad and this trucker man had his animals mooing onboard and ready for their trip to market.

Wiping his brow, the trucker said, “Whew!!!, now that that’s accomplished, how’s about you two and I celebrate with at least a couple sticks of gum”?? Candi and myself employed our parent-taught manners and said a number of “Thank You So Much” offerings to our benefactor who gave us our choice of at least two sticks of either “Teaberry”, “Black Jack” (licorice), “Beeman’s” (pepsin), or “Clove” chewing gum. If only I could remember the name of this sweet soul of a man who made our day a chewing ambrosia for this Norwegian Farmer’s Son.