Vol. 2….Norwegian Farmer’s Son….September 23rd

September 23rd…..“WHAT UNUSUAL EVENTS, DURING WORLD WAR II, CAUSED YOUR AUNTIE TO HAVE A ROMANTICALLY-INCLINED SOLDIER PEN PAL?”

Miss Beaulah May Dowd of Scarville, Iowa. Circa 1943.

Bing Crosby was on the family radio singing, “Coming In On A Wing And A Prayer” while Beaulah May Dowd brushed her hair that morning in the spring of 1943. How excited she was to be graduating High School soon AND to be able to do her patriotic duty in her new-found role as a young adult.

Beaulah’s sleepy little hamlet of Scarville, Iowa, being nestled near the borderline with Minnesota, was in full support of America’s global struggle during World War II. Everyone knew everyone in that gentle village which lent to true family feelings of community and loving safety overall for residents who called those tree-lined streets home.

After enduring the frostbitten winter, that rural world was happily warming back to life there across the northern Iowa farmlands on those fine spring days.

As Beaulah stepped from her family home that morning, colorful robins sang along to the cadence of her footsteps and maple trees waved their new young leaves at her as she walked towards her main employment as one of the local telephone operators in her small community. Life as a telephone operator could get hectic while working that switchboard station. Farmers, as well as townsfolk, would spin the hand-crank on the side of their wall-mounted phones to “ring in” as Beaulah responded quickly to yank retractable cords of phone lines from one jack on the vertical switchboard and swiftly plug the jack into the needed port for her citizen’s respective phone calls to go through.

Like any industrious young person of that World War II era, a few extra dollars in the pocket were always a bonus. For our Beaulah, that extra income came in the form of a second job working at the local grocery store performing a task that few young people even know about today. Her assignment was to ‘candle’ eggs before sending them on their way to sell there in the Scarville grocery store or through the trucking and railroad industry to all ports of call around our great nation. Those delicious eggs served the need for feeding everyone from city folk to soldiers fighting for our nation’s freedom. And, for those younger readers who are unaware, to ‘candle’ an egg, a person will put each egg up against a point of light to see if the egg had a chick inside, or not. If there’s no chick embryo inside, the egg is ready to sell for food of all varieties of delightful meals of eggs fried, scrambled, hard-boiled, etc..

A similar egg, like Beaulah’s, only this one has a Forest City, Iowa address.

As time went on, and I imagine some boredom too, one day Beaulah decided to have some fun with one of her ‘candled’ eggs. She carefully wrote her name and address on that special egg and sent it on its merry way. To her utter amazement, that ‘EGGciting egg’ made its way from her farmlands of Iowa all the way down to a United States Army camp in the State of Florida!!!

A blonde, curly-haired Army Corporal and Company Cook by the name of Bill Krantz was preparing a massive breakfast for the cavernous stomachs of his large Army garrison one morning when, of all things, one egg (among hundreds) jumped out and caught this lonely soldier’s attention. “Well, well, guys!!! Lookee what we have here!!” Said Bill, “Some young lady way up in Iowa State is lonely, ya?” Doing his own version of ‘candling’, Bill held up that potential happy egg to get a clear look at his new-found pen-pal’s address. Thus began a new friendship between Beaulah May Dowd in Scarville, Iowa and a lonely soldier way down yonder in Florida as he served ‘Uncle Sam’ on that Army base. Needless to say, letters began winging their way to Iowa and back to that Florida Army base on a regular basis. 😉

There’s an old saying that goes…….”Be careful what you wish for, you just MIGHT get it!!!”. As life would have it, Beaulah was not only busy writing to her soldier, but, she also fell in love with a local young man by the name of Hubert Orion Martinson there in the local Scarville area. Hubert had proposed marriage to our young lady in this story and she gladly accepted. The problem was, what to do now with her young soldier pen-pal?? Corporal Krantz was not only serving our nation’s call there in 1943, but he was also not one that dear Beaulah could just brush aside.

A young, 14 year old Beverly June Sletten is seen in this July 1943 photo with Elliott’s brother, Lowell, and Beverly’s older brother, Marcus “Del” Sletten there in Scarville, Iowa.

Into this scenario came a young girl of a mere fourteen years of age that availed herself to Beaulah’s rescue. Beverly June Sletten lived right next door to Beaulah and they were very good friends. One day, Beaulah came over from next-door and Bev could see concern written all over her girlfriend’s face. “Ohhh Beverly!! Can you come to my rescue?? I just know that my fiancé, Hubert, will not understand about my letters to Corporal Krantz. Can you please take over in being his pen-pal? Please??”

Tenderhearted and good-natured as she was (and still IS at 95 years), Beverly took a recent photo of herself that included her baby nephew, Lowell Noorlun, and her elder brother, Marcus “Del” Sletten and sent her first letter off to Corporal Bill Krantz way down in Florida. Needless to say, Bill was instantly head-over heels and twitterpated by this gorgeous young woman in the photograph that had the appeal of a full-grown woman of 24 instead of her actual 14 years of age. Bill’s letters became more and more romantic in nature to the point of asking for Beverly’s hand in marriage. Flattered, but yet in shock, Beverly wrote back to Bill and said, “I just can’t marry you, Bill, I’m ONLY fourteen years old!!” In his next letter, our curly, blonde-haired soldier came back with his response of …….“I don’t care if you’re 14 or FORTY!!! I STILL wanna marry you!!!”

In her wisdom, and as daily life moved on, Beverly decided to slow down in writing her letters and let Bill ‘cool his heels’ there in Florida by not writing much more to him. Her family eventually moved over the border into Minnesota and began life in the city known as Albert Lea. One day, Beverly’s mother, Amanda, noticed a tall, curly-haired, blonde young soldier walking near their new place of residence on Euclid Avenue. Bev was gone on errands that day and only her mother was at home. The young corporal quietly walked up to the front door of their home and began knocking on the door. Inside their home, Amanda was too shy to answer the door while the young man knocked and knocked, repeatedly. Obviously discouraged by no one answering, the young soldier quietly walked away, never to be seen again. Was this the persistent Corporal Bill Krantz who might have traveled all the way from Florida to Scarville, Iowa in search of Beverly’s affections? Did former Scarville neighbors give Bill the Sletten’s new address in Albert Lea? Only the good Lord Himself knows. But, personally, I think Bill returned to the Army life and served out his many years as a cook who had been, in a way, guilty of ‘cooking up’ a romance that was just not to be……….thus are the thoughts of this Norwegian Farmer’s Son. 😉

Maybe this was Corporal Bill Krantz, in later years, still cooking for the Army and missing his opportunity to woo and win young Beverly. 😉

Vol. 2….Norwegian Farmer’s Son….September 16th

September 16th……“WHAT CAN WE, AS HUMANS, LEARN FROM COWS?”

In 1936, the world was in a turmoil both here in America and around the globe, yet, an anonymous farmer poet, in “The Old Farmer’s Almanac”, wrote a thought-provoking poem on how we should take some wisdom from how a cow handles life around her. And, even here in 2024, I feel these words of cow wisdom can still be enjoyed and appropriated into our lives seeing the modern chaos that exists today.

POEM – “Ode To A Cow”

When life seems one too many for you, Go look at a cow.

When the future’s black, and the outlook blue, Go look at a cow.

For she does nothing, But eat her food, And sleeps in the meadow, Entirely nood,

Refusing to fret or worry or brood,

Because she doesn’t know how. 😉

Whenever you’re feeling bothered and sore, Go look at a cow.

When everything else is a fearful bore, Go look at a cow.

Observe her gentle and placid air, Her nonchalance and savoir faire,

Her absolute freedom from every care,

Her imperturbable brow.

So when you’re at the end of your wits, Go look at a cow,

Or when your nerves are frayed to bits, And wrinkles furrow your brow;

She’ll merely moo in her gentle way, Switching her rudder as if to say,

“Bother tomorrow!!! Let’s live for today!!”

Please take the advice of a cow!!! 😉

Vol.2..Norwegian Farmer’s Son….October 6th

“WHO WAS YOUR FAVORITE BARBER IN YOUR CHILDHOOD HOMETOWN OF KIESTER, MINNESOTA?”

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Forrest “Pete” Herrick (at left) watches while his fellow barber, Arnold Hamren, cuts a young man’s hair in their original Barber Shop on Main Street in Kiester, Minnesota.  Circa mid 1950’s.

It was the late 1950’s.  Spring was in the air and Easter was just around the corner for our village of Kiester, Minnesota.  A gorgeous, sparkling Saturday morning found my father, with this tiny son of his in tow, as we walked down Main Street and towards our town’s barber shop.

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A booster seat for Elliott

Approaching the building, it was plain to see that the town’s tavern (known by most as “Forever Berma’s”) shared the same entry vestibule with the barber shop.  All patrons, intending to do business, entered that same vestibule……to the left, for those wanting to purchase a beer at “Berma’s”, or, to the right door for a shave and a haircut at “Pete’s Barber Shop”.  Of course, since my parents didn’t want a shaggy little boy walking through the doors of Grace Evangelical United Brethren Church on Easter…..Dad and I obviously made the right turn into “Pete’s Barber Shop”.

Classic, masculine fragrances greeted my nostrils each time that door swung in on its hinges.  Manly mixtures of powders, shaving lotions, after shave and colognes filled the air with a pleasant maleness about them.  Even as a tiny boy, I felt clean before it was even my turn to get that haircut.  So tiny a customer was I, that Pete Herrick would pull out an upholstered ‘booster seat’ that went across the barber chair’s arms just for me.   That way,  when he hoisted my little self up in the air to the ‘booster seat’, he could easily reach my head for that special, snazzy clean haircut that I was about to receive.

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Comic book heaven at the barber shop!

For purely selfish ulterior motives, I always urged Dad to get his haircut first.  Why?  The reason was visually easy to figure if one just glanced into the barber shop’s corner and saw a massive box of comic books, etc. waiting for a little boy to enjoy.  Ohhhh, how I could become happily lost in that giant cardboard box FULL of comic books that Pete kept along towards the end of the lineup of customers waiting chairs.  Various cartoon heroes as Richie Rich, Popeye, Casper The Friendly Ghost, and others kept me entranced in a little boy’s world of color and imagination while snipping scissors and electric barber shears could be heard behind me.   Barber shops, in those sweet days, were also hubs of manly socializing; even beyond when the cutting of the hair was completed.  Many men, including our farmer father, Russell, often maintained conversations with fellow farmer neighbors in the waiting chairs, as well as those in the actual barber chairs while getting their hair cut.  Topics of chat ranged from the growth of new crops or maybe the latest methods for getting your hens to produce more eggs.  And, like the forever debate between Ford and Chevrolet lovers, there was always good-natured ribbing about the latest new tractors being sold at the Sime’s John Deere dealership or the local International Harvester dealers selling Farmalls.

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Little did my young mind comprehend that the kind soul of a barber, that was cutting my hair on that fine day, was truly a hometown boy, himself.  Born the same year as our mother, Clarice, (in 1919) Pete Herrick grew up in our wonderful village there in south central Minnesota.   His father, M.J. Herrick (along with Pete’s uncle) had come from Webster, Iowa, in 1912, and purchased a grocery, dry goods and clothing store in our town.  Having graduated from our local Kiester High School, in the late 1930’s, Pete was ready for what life had to offer him.  When World War II broke out, in 1941, Pete answered his nation’s call and became a Seaman First Class in the United States Navy.  Coming back to his beloved hometown after the war, Pete eventually went into partnership with Arnold Hamren and kept the menfolk of our village always looking sharp and fashionable.  I was thrilled, as a little boy, to enjoy Pete, and his beautiful family as they attended worship at the same church we Noorluns attended……Grace Evangelical United Brethren Church.   And as a testament to the integrity and honorable nature of her fine parents, I saw and enjoyed seeing the same loving ways of Pete in his daughter, Lynn, who was in my same grade level during my years at Kiester Public School.

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Elliott would never have made a good barber! 😉

With my new haircut looking so sharp I could’ve ‘cut myself’ (tongue-n-cheek), Pete would reward us little guys for being all grownup as we sat still in his barber chair so that he could carry out his ‘art form’ undisturbed.  Out would come some sticks of gum (Teaberry or JuicyFruit were my favorites) or a stick of black licorice as a treat to say, “Thanks for being a good boy, Elliott!”.

Men of kindness and integrity, like Forrest “Pete” Herrick, maybe never knew just how magnanimous they were in the daily lives they led in front of us little ones.  Men of noble character, like Pete, were a common thread among the town-folk of our village of Kiester, Minnesota.  Personally, in my own humble opinion, I sincerely believe that as they themselves were raised in God-fearing, Christian homes where, they too, naturally exuded those Christ-like attributes to others in their daily life among us.  Together, as a whole, those godly men and women of our town created an aura of a loving and peace-filled community;  living together as ‘each other’s brother’s keeper’.

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Until The Resurrection Day, may you Rest In Peace, my childhood hero. ><>

In the Old Testament, in the book of Ecclesiastes Chapter 3, Verse 1 and 2.  “To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the Heaven.  A time to be born and a time to die;……”  For the well-loved man we all knew as “Pete The Barber”, that day came on April 19th of 1968.   Complications of a blood clot ended Pete Herrick’s life at the young age of just 48 years.   Sad as his loss was for his dear family and our community, I can rejoice that his legacy lives on in the wonderful lives of his children and grandchildren.  And, I can assure you, there will always be a place of honor for Forrest R. “Pete” Herrick in the heart of this Norwegian Farmer’s Son.

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This photo shows Pete Herrick in his new location that was across and on the east side of Main Street.  Just down from the former Bloom’s Variety Store.

Vol.2..Norwegian Farmer’s Son..September 15th

September 15th……....”WHAT ARE YOUR THOUGHTS, GRANDPA, ABOUT GOING TO HEAVEN SOMEDAY?”

POEM – “A Day Will Dawn” by N. Elliott Noorlun. Created 6.25.2013

A day will dawn, Sun lights my eyes,

T’will be the day, I fly to the skies.

Tomorrows all hoped for, Now exchanged with the past,

Eternity now, Is what will last.

The Lord, in His kindness, Brought about my birth,

Allowing me many, Grand years here on earth.

I’ve been grateful for, His gift of life,

All those sweet celebrations, Even times of strife.

Each person I’ve loved, Has their own tender story,

Now it’s “Good Night Earth”, And “Good Morning Glory!”,

Don’t think I’m morbid, I’m His child and mortal,

Yet, I’m looking someday, Towards Heaven’s portal,

When this gift of earth life, Is someday o’er,

I’ll be intimate with Him, On Heaven’s Shore!! ><>

Vol.2..Norwegian Farmer’s Son..September 14th

September 14th……...”EVEN AS A CHILD, DID YOU FEEL A CONNECTION OF THE GENERATIONS OF YOUR PATERNAL GRANDFATHER, TO YOUR OWN FATHER AND THEN TO YOURSELF?”

POEM – “Two Dads And A Lad” by N. Elliott Noorlun. Created 6.19.2016

Two dads and a lad, Linked in time, The harmony of life, Just like a rhyme.

Grandfather in 1888, With wide-brimmed hat upon his pate, Then Dad in year 1918, Handsome Norski, Fine and lean.

In January 1954, My tiny feet did hit the floor, The newest generation, With joy to explore!

As my youth-filled energy, Roared through the door.

So HAPPY FATHER’S DAY, To one and all!! Be proud of your legacy, And in love ‘stand tall’!!!

Vol.2..Norwegian Farmer’s Son..September 13th

September 13th……..”WHAT WAS OUR GRANDPA’S FIRST CAR? DID HE EVER HAVE AN ACCIDENT WITH IT?”

POEM – “Dad’s First Hot Rod” by N. Elliott Noorlun. Created 6.15.2014

This ’29 Chev, Was Dad’s first ‘hot rod’, While still a young buck, Upon this sod.

Until one snowy, winter’s day, Icy road and winds, Made Dad to sway,

Until his ‘buggy’, Hit the ditch, And from that point, He had to thumb a hitch.

But now in Heaven’s tender care, This Father’s Day, Daddy is safely there! 😉 <><

Vol.2..Norwegian Farmer’s Son..September 9th

September 9th……...”PLEASE SHARE WITH US, GRANDPA, ABOUT WHEN YOU WERE A TEENAGER AND HOW YOU HELPED YOUR CUSTODIAN DAD DO SUMMER CLEANING AT GLENWOOD HEIGHTS ELEMENTARY SCHOOL.

Mr. Lyford, Elliott’s dad, Russell, and even Elliott enjoyed listening to the Paul Harvey “News & Comment” during every lunch time they enjoyed together in the summer.

A dappled shade, flecked with dancing spots of summer sunlight, filtered down through the coolness of the two massive Birch trees that stood as stately guardians in the front of Glenwood Heights Elementary School. Within a stone’s throw, the rural, two-lane highway of NE 134th Street was the demarcation line between this quaint, domicile of education and local farmer’s fields to the south. In those quieter times, one was as likely to hear a tractor and hay baler drive by as you would a local family car.

The Honorable Mr. Lowell Lyford, Principal of Glenwood Hts. Elementary.

In the regal, warm ritual of routines, I’m taken back to those early days when our father, Russell Noorlun, was the Head Custodian of Glenwood Heights School. The governing Principal of the school, in those pleasant days of long ago, was the very respected and loved Mr. Lowell Horace “Pic” Lyford. Although these two men had traveled life in different echelons of education, they were of the same echelon in that they were brothers in their Christian faith as well as kindred spirits in the comforting facts that they were both born the same year (1918), came from the Midwest (Iowa & Minnesota) and both came from farming backgrounds. In the enjoyment of those summer rituals of routine came our daily lunch time…..together.

Mr. Lyford (as my father always called Lowell out of high respect for his position of leadership at Glenwood) would join Dad and myself as we would bring a transistor radio with us just outside of the school’s front main entry doors to the shade of those lovely Birch trees. Out came the traditional black, metal lunch pails and always a thermos of coffee to wash down their sandwich and cookies.

“Good Day Americans!! Stand by for NEWS!” was Paul Harvey’s opening words to millions of listeners each day.

In amongst the fragrance of good coffee and visiting, the three of us would ‘keep our ears peeled’ as we’d listen to the “Paul Harvey News & Commentary” broadcast. There was a sense of honor, truth and camaraderie, and yes, even a believability to how Mr. Harvey shared the news of the day and would end most broadcasts with his favored “Rest Of The Story”. It was like a dessert at the end of each broadcast. While birds above us sang and summer breezes cooled the three of us, we enjoyed that fellowship of a relaxed summer day and lunchtimes. Once school would start up in the fall, life at Glenwood would be too hectic to take these satisfying lunch times together. It was a time relished by we three each summer when I helped Dad clean his school.

Russ and Elliott THOUGHT they had cleaned windows….until the next morning.

Our dear father had been a farmer for his entire life up until 1967 when he began a new career as a custodian for the Battle Ground School District at Glenwood Heights Elementary School. Needless to say, there was a lot to learn in this new occupation of cleaning a school. For instance, one summer afternoon, Dad decided that he and I would use rags to clean the interior windows of the 3rd & 4th Grade East Wing of the school. We sprayed and rubbed and rubbed and sprayed for hours, thinking we had done a pretty nice job on those windows. NOT!!! When we arrived the following morning to school, the sun was cresting over the Cascade Mountains to the east of us. We gazed with forlorn shock into those East Wing classrooms and their windows. Sadly, you could see every single rag swipe on those slimy windows that we thought we had properly cleaned the previous afternoon. It was time to swallow some custodian ‘humble pie’ in our paradigm shift and quickly relearn the right way to clean windows with a proper window cleaner solution and a squeegee.

From that first summer of 1967, through my High School graduation of 1972, I was glad to spend time with our father as he learned the trade of taking care of a school and meeting the needs of students and staff. There are some things Dad gleaned from previous custodians teaching him and many things he was able to improve on his own. For myself, rather than learning to drive tractors, as I would have done on our farm in Minnesota days, I instead learned how to drive a rotary scrubbing machine and a myriad of other bits of knowledge that helped me in my own 31 years of being a custodian for the Battle Ground School District. I’m grateful for those warm routines of life that have come back to bless me as the Norwegian Farmer’s Son!!! 😉

That was the glad career of both Russell and Elliott!

Vol.2..Norwegian Farmer’s Son..August 31st

August 31st……..“TELL US ABOUT SOMEONE IN YOUR LIFE WHO TRULY CHOOSES TO LIVE OUT THEIR CHRISTIAN CONVICTIONS AS THEY DAILY ‘WALK THE TALK’ OF THEIR FAITH”.

“STAND BACK!!! WHAT ARE YOU DOING? WATCH OUT, IT’S GOING TO EXPLODE!!” Those are just some of the super excited exclamations that came from a family whose Mercedes rear brakes had ‘hung up’ and erupted in flames. In terror, the father managed to steer their ‘ball of flame’ off to the far right shoulder of the north-bound lanes of the Interstate 5 Freeway in southwest Washington State. Thankfully, the family had escaped the vehicle and were a safe distance away as they stood there in helpless horror on that drizzly, cold fall Sunday afternoon. The person they were calling out to was a total stranger that appeared out of nowhere and hobbled towards them with a pronounced limp to his gait. This man approached the flame-engulfed car with a fire extinguisher and was about to pull the pin of his powder-loaded device. Keep that thought folks, cause I’m gonna hold you in suspense here and digress from this scene, for the moment, to divulge more of the background story of that ‘Good Samaritan’ and what led to this amazing interaction.

Pastor Landis Epp and his lovely wife, Evelyn.

It was July of 1979 and our father, Russell Noorlun, had just come from the operating room where he’d had emergency exploratory surgery. Shocking news entered our family’s life because Dad had now been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Our Norwegian patriarch was convalescing after his surgery at the Bess Kaiser Hospital on North Greeley Avenue in Portland, Oregon. One day, while the whole family was visiting our beloved Poppa, into the hospital room walks a handsome young man in a nice suit and wearing cowboy boots while carrying a Bible. A stranger to us, this young pastor and his fine family had just moved to the Northwest from Powell, Wyoming. His name was Landis Epp and he had just been called as the new pastor at Battle Ground Baptist Church.

Within a matter of minutes, our entire clan came to love this dear man of God as if he were a part of our family unit. Just think, to be a brand new stranger in town and yet he’d heard about our Russell’s cancer and without hesitation had come to introduce himself and let our family know he was there for us in any way we needed.

In the Old Testament book of Proverbs Chapter 27, Verse 2 it says, “Let another man’s lips praise you and not your own………”. It is with joy that I do just that here in this short story about this dear and godly man who has ministered to so many in his 43+ years of life there in Clark County Washington! Ya know folks,…..NOW is the time we should take the opportunity to uplift and encourage those special friends among us for all that they do in our life………..once they’re gone from us and step into eternity it’s too late and their honorable deeds can only be eulogized for the survivors.

Landis Epp with one of his tiny church members, Nathan Noorlun, on top of Astoria Column in Astoria, OR. Circa 1981.

Landis has always had a giant heart for people!! Another Bible verse comes to mind. First Corinthians Chapter 9 and Verses 19 – 23 (paraphrased) “……..I have become all things to all people……….I do all this for the sake of the gospel, that I may share in its blessings.” Not only was Landis a trained seminarian in sharing the Gospel (which means, Good News), but this dear man could identify with countless folks in the community. Everyone from car mechanics (Landis could ‘turn a wrench’ with the best of them) to meat cutters (Landis had learned the butchering trade to help get him through seminary) could relate to Landis and he to they. It wasn’t long before the big heart of this Christian man began reaching out to the community as he became a chaplain for the Battle Ground Fire Department while still ministering, full-time, to his congregation at Battle Ground Baptist Church. Eventually, Landis, and other dedicated people began what is known as County-Wide Chaplaincy and touched even more lives with their love and caring.

One of this dear man’s hobbies was riding motorcycle, that is, until one day when Landis hit some loose gravel and ended up laying down his bike and sliding for a long, painful injury to his leg. Of course, his family and our entire congregation praised the Lord that his incident, although very painful, had not been worse. Needless to say, that injury resulted in our pastor having a distinct limp for quite awhile.

A Men’s Fall Roundup weekend was held at Camp Arnold near Seattle, WA

Landis blessed me with the opportunity to accompany him, with his big Ford pickup and camping trailer as together we headed north on our way to Camp Arnold in the shadow of Mount Rainier not too far from Seattle, Washington. It was time for a grand Fall Men’s Roundup for many of the Conservative Baptist Churches around our State. There, we as brothers in the Lord, enjoyed a weekend of great food and fellowship and excellent teaching/preaching from Dr. Earl Radmacher and Dr. Ronald Barclay Allen from Western Baptist Theological Seminary.

Remember now, our good Pastor Landis Epp was still very much convalescing from his motorcycle injuries and his limp was almost to the point of using a cane to traverse the camp grounds.

After an uplifting time and waving goodbye to our Christian brothers at Camp Arnold, Landis pointed us southbound on the Interstate 5 Freeway as we headed home to Battle Ground, Washington and our respective families. Just south of Longview, Washington we both noticed a car on fire on the far side of the northbound lanes. To my shame, if I were driving, I would have thought to myself, “Ohhh, that’s too bad” and kept on driving. NOT Landis!! He pulled the pickup and camping trailer off to the right side of the freeway and climbs out to pull the seat forward as he grabs a fire extinguisher and says, “You watch the rig here, I’m gonna try and put out that car fire.”

Dear Landis had absolutely no idea who those scared people were, but out of a Christian caring heart, there he went, hobbling across the southbound lanes, across the grass median and he, carrying that fairly heavy fire extinguisher, hobbled across the zooming traffic of the northbound lanes till he reached the car fire. That kind-hearted soul could have had his leg buckle and give out at any time, but the good Lord obviously had His angels holding him up for that wild hobble.

As it turns out, the Mercedes rear brakes had hung up and caught on fire. As the family yelled, “It’s going to explode!”, Landis replied, “It’s not hot enough yet for that!!” So, pulling the pin on his fire extinguisher, crippled Landis managed to get down alongside of the car’s rear fender well and fired the charge of powder up onto that brake fire. Our hero then managed to limp over to the other side and was successful in firing another charge of powder from the passenger side to those flaming brakes, as well. The fire was OUT!!!

The terrified family were in shock and awe over what they had just witnessed!!! A stranger, and an injured stranger at that, had literally come out of nowhere and put out their car fire!!

In deep gratitude to this amazing ‘Good Samaritan’, the father of the family offered a gift of money as a heartfelt thank you to Landis. When my brother in the Lord once again hobbled across that crazy busy freeway, he got into the truck and shared with me about how they offered him some money for what he had just done. Landis had told them, “I didn’t come over here for money……….your car was on fire!!” 😉 I count myself as deeply blessed to have Landis Epp as one of the heroes of this Norwegian Farmer’s Son!! 😉

Vol.2..Norwegian Farmer’s Son..September 11th

September 11th…….“GRANDPA, AS A LITTLE BOY ON YOUR FARM, THERE IN SOUTHERN MINNESOTA, DID YOU IDOLIZE AND SEE YOUR FATHER AS KIND OF A ‘SUPERMAN’?

POEM – “Super Farmer Russ” by N. Elliott Noorlun. Created 6.11.2013

In cartoon books and movie screens, The Super Heroes soar!

They exude such an amazing strength, Showing endurance all the more!

My farmer dad, that Norwegian lad, Was a Super Hero to me.

Cause on that farm, no matter the harm, His endurance was awesome to see!

There’s no sick leave or vacation time, There are no ‘Subs’ to call,

Life is 24/7 on the farm, Come winter, spring, summer and fall.


Like the time Dad’s ribs were broken, I could hear his holler and moans!

Mom wrapped him up tight, and later that night, He milked while holding those bones.

Or the winter when we lost power, In frigid blizzard conditions.

Dad milked cows by hand, till he just couldn’t stand, His pain-filled hand positions.

This father of mine was human, With frailties like all of us,

Yet for love of his family, and providing our needs, To us he was “Super Farmer Russ”!!!

Vol.2..Norwegian Farmer’s Son..September 10th

September 10th……..“WHAT WAS ONE OF THE WAYS OUR GRANDPA RUSSELL GOT FROM ONE END OF YOUR FARM ACREAGE TO THE OTHER FOR REPAIRS OR JUST PLAIN FUN?”

Mourning Doves took their musical cue from the dawning sunlight that crested Charlie Heitzeg’s hill to the east of our family farm. Gentle in grace and manners, their pensive, melancholic melodies floated on the cool morning breeze from a high perch in our Maple tree and sifted through the upstairs window screen of our eleven year old brother Lowell’s bedroom.

Spring of 1954 finds Lowell Noorlun in happy command of the family’s little Farmall B tractor.

It wasn’t only the Mourning Doves that jostled Lowell awake on that early summer’s morning of 1954. All the way downstairs, he could also hear the wailing of his new baby brother, Elliott, howling in his crib. Lowell did his best to climb out of the ‘valley’ of his very old bed that consisted of a sway-backed mattress and springs while visions of possible fun times danced around in his young thoughts while pulling on clothes and shoes for the day ahead.

Lowell’s daddy, Russ, at the wheel with little sister, Rosie, Lowell and Pauline Bidne in the back of the Noorlun ‘jalopy’ ready for a wild ride on their farm! 😉

Lowell’s ebullient eleven year old enthusiasm was evident as the magnetic aroma of Mom’s bacon and eggs drew his energetic legs to fly down those creaking wooden stairs to our family kitchen and ‘inhale’ some delicious ‘fuel’ to spark another day of adventure there on our family farm northwest of Kiester, Minnesota.

Dad, and his brother, Doren, were like a farmer’s version of Henry & Edsel Ford as they redesigned that Model A.

These were the days before we owned our Ford pickup, so, for our farmer father, Plato’s philosophy quote “Necessity is the mother of invention” was his mantra to this agrarian lifestyle he lived. Dad was seeking a type of vehicle that needed to be easy to get on and off of and still able to do some hauling for him, too. There eventually came the day that Dad was able to procure an old Ford Model A car and the idea struck him to create his own ‘jeep’ for farming chores and even some fun. Russell’s brother, Doren, had a welding business nearby in our hometown of Kiester, so, between the two them, using acetylene torches and welders, they took the old “A” apart, shortened the frame, put a little platform/box on the back and PRESTO there appeared a utilitarian vehicle we affectionately called “The Jeep”.

“I Am A Happy Wanderer” played from the barn radio that morning in 1954 while Dad and Lowell completed their first milking of the day.

That morning, while Lowell was helping Dad milk our herd of Holsteins, there came a new tune from the barn radio that was popular in 1954…… “I Am A Happy Wanderer”. Right through the dust and cobwebs, that clung to that radio, sang out that catchy tune that incited Lowell to wanna be a ‘happy wanderer’ and ride along with Dad in our ‘jeep’ while he drove our farm’s fence lines to check for needed repairs.

Dad had the option, on that ’29 Ford, to use a crank to turn over the engine or give a push of the electric starter button on the floor. Either way, that old ‘jeep’ came to life with a POP and a WHEEZE and almost a human “Yahoo!, let’s GO!!” kind of a report from its almost non-existent muffler.

A brisk west wind tousled the hair of our farmer and his son as they bumped and careened over the fecund, onyx soil of our farmland. The old, former Model A Ford ( now with chains on the back tires for better traction) even managed to drive right down an embankment and into the waterway bed of Brush Creek that ran east to west along our south property boundaries. Wherever there was a broken stretch of fence on our land, or a need for a new fencepost, our Norwegian dynamic-duo would jump off the ‘jeep’, grab tools and supplies from the back platform and make repairs. Some fun always ensued whenever Dad found soggy ground to ‘spin out’ with or churned his way out of the Brush Creek bed itself…….ohhhh, how the mud could hit the sky with those chained tires spinning away!!! 😉

Uncle Erwin Noorlun. World War II Army Paratrooper.

With Dad’s teaching, Lowell’s young 11 year old legs were able reach and work the floor pedals as he became quite adept at boogying around the farm property in the ‘jeep’ as well as the gravel road that ran past our farm.

Along came the day that Dad’s brother Erwin (and family) came for a visit from Colorado. Erwin had been a Staff Sergeant during World War II as a member of the Army’s 17th Airborne Division. During the final phases of the war, he and his fellow Paratroopers were heading for Japan in 1945 to parachute their forces in a land invasion of the Japanese Mainland itself. That mission was gratefully called off thanks to the atomic bomb being dropped and Japan’s surrender.

Uncle Erwin was shocked BIG TIME!!

“Come on, Uncle Erwin, let me take you for a spin in our ‘jeep’!!!” invited Lowell. Having survived World War II and being a man of adventure, Erwin thought, “Sure, why not!!” and took a seat on a large tool box of Dad’s that sat where a passenger seat would have been. With Lowell’s foot punching to the floorboard starter button, the ‘jeep’ happily snapped, popped and jerked to life for this fun ride. Lurching forward, Lowell and Erwin rolled down the south sloping driveway as Lowell rolled the steering wheel and banked right as they headed onto the county gravel road with the throttle wide open. With bugs and wind whipping their faces, all was fine and dandy until Lowell took a side road towards the Kephart farm and decided to turn the jalopy around in the width of that gravel road. Our big brother almost had the ‘jeep’ turned around when he mistook 1st Gear for Reverse. Lowell revved up the engine, popped the clutch and ……...KAZOWEEE!!!…..Uncle Erwin, Lowell and the ‘jeep’ shot backwards down the road embankment and right through the Ozmun family’s barbed wire pasture fence!!! Needless to say, our dad’s brother must’ve thought he was back in World War II again with all the mayhem going on around him. With a stern face and voice, Erwin took command of the situation and poor brother Lowell was demoted from being driver to passenger as Erwin managed to rev up the engine, climb the ditch embankment and headed that old ‘jeep’ back to the farm of this Norwegian Farmer’s Son!!!! 😉

Our farm’s ‘jalopy’ with Elliott’s dad, Russell, driving and, this time, our Uncle Gaylord Noorlun’s wife, Pat, sitting on the toolbox ‘passenger’ seat.