The Flour Bin

Going up as a child we were quite poor. Partially because my father owned his own saw mill. He had a partner that would help him haul logs from the woods and then saw them into lumber. Winters were especially hard because it was difficult haul logs from the woods because of the snow. Lumber sales were also down, because people didn’t do much building in the winter.
Being poor with seven children, my mom made a lot of bread. She had a flour bin that would hold at least a hundred pound sack of flour. As a child, I loved watching her make bread. She would get out a very large bread bowl. She would dip her large flour sifter into the bin several times in order to fill the large bowl with flour. She would then add warm water mixed with yeast, salt, sugar and other things. She would mix and kneed, wait for it to raise the kneed it again. Then she would repeat the process a couple times. During this weekly ritual she would make a dozen or so loaves of bread. Nothing was better than butter and honey on homemade bread, right out of the oven.
My father had been sick for some time and couldn’t work much, so there wasn’t much money. On my oldest brother 15th birthday my father passed away, leaving my mother with no money and seven children to feed.
After my father’s death, I remember watching my mother make bread as usual. I remember her opening the flower bin and it being nearly empty. I remember thinking there was hardly enough flour to fill the large sifter let alone make bread. But somehow she managed to scrape out enough flour to make her usual dozen or so loaves of bread for the week.
I wasn’t home at the time, but the week she baked another dozen loaves of bread again. I remember looking in the flower bin, when no one was looking thinking that someone must have bought her flour. But it was as empty as before.
The next week, I made extra effort to be home when she made bread. Again there was hardly any flour in the bin. I knew that there was not going to be enough flour, but somehow she managed to make her normal dozen or so loaves of bread. I remember wondering how she did it.
I think she made a couple more batches of bread, before going to the store and buying flour. I hadn’t thought much about the experience, until a couple years ago. We were at a family reunion and were telling stories from our childhood. My mother told the story that after my father had died; the flour bin didn’t go empty, until social security checks started coming in.


14 For thus saith the LORD God of Israel, The barrel of meal shall not waste, neither shall the cruse of oil fail, until the day that the LORD sendeth rain upon the earth.

(Old Testament | 1 Kings 17:14)

Christmas Ducks

All I got my wife for Christmas were ducks. I wasn’t too surprised when she said that was all she wanted. She always says something like that. I never believe her, so I always try to get her something big, something that will totally impress her. But it seems to never work. Gifts really aren’t her thing.
We don’t have a place for ducks in our back yard. Even if we did the HOA wouldn’t go for it. I’m sure the quacking would get us lots of those nasty letters. Besides, who wants’ to clean up duck poop; dog poop is bad enough. So she didn’t actually get the ducks. The ducks went to some under privileged family in some underdeveloped country. My wife likes the charitable organization, Heifer International (http://www.heifer.org). They provide livestock, training, and a “pass it along” program to help families become self sufficient.
I wasn’t going to get her just ducks this year. But I attended a (Mormon) Christmas devotional (http://www.lds.org/library/display/0,4945,8921-1-5016-2,00.html) and listened to President Monson speak and thought, “If all she wants for Christmas is something for others, why not?” There are a lot of people who are doing without this Christmas. Why should we spend a lot of money on each other while others are suffering? So this year our Christmas money went to helping others. Her gift to me was a scrapbook page listing some of the gifts and service we had given to others. But isn’t that what Christmas is supposed to be all about?
This and being able to spend time with my family made this a great Christmas. My wife thinks I gave the best gift of all this year. Lucky me. Next year she wants a water buffalo.

Seeker of truth

My neighbor was put in a rest home to die. I felt that I needed to go visit him, and had some impressions as to what to say to him. We had often visited in the in the front yard. We hadn’t been close, but I think he considered me a friend. It is hard to go visit someone that knows they are dying. What do you say to comfort them?

During the visit, it was very clear that he was very scared of death. He had never been very religious, but knew that I was and was looking for some form of comfort. I assured him that death wasn’t the end. I explained some of my experiences after my fathers passing, when I felt his presence, which gave me the assurance that death wasn’t the end.

I then explained that the things that were important here weren’t going to be important on the other side. That the things that would be important on the other side would be Light and Truth, which he would need to seek it. I explained that when he died, he would have loved ones that had already died come to meet him.

I was nervous about what he would think about what I was telling him but he seamed to find comfort in it. He then said that he believed me because he had been very sick once and his mother who had died earlier had come to him.

I have often reflected back on that experience, the conversation and the feeling that was there. But is finding light and truth only important after we die?

We live in a world where truth is hard to find. Everyone is selfishly seeking their own interest and beliefs, bending the truth to confirm to their own desires. It’s sad when people use deceptions to manipulate others, the consequences are seldom good. I don’t want to hear someone’s opinion; I want to know the truth.

I love science, because of the truths it contains. But I find myself very frustrated with science being used for politics, or as a basis to either prove or disprove personal beliefs. I would often get frustrated in collage when the professor would go on about theories based on some claimed scientific finding. I would say to myself, “Just give me the scientific facts, if I want a theory, I will come up with it myself”. I mostly thought this when the theory would conflict with logic or it just didn’t feel true.

I love the word of God because it is filled with truth. In it, is a truth that builds upon truth, so by studying it you can gain a greater and greater level of truth.

I love the spirit of Truth. That by it (through studying and pondering) you can know the truth; past, present, or future. That by that spirit you can know often know of things to come, and be guided through life. By it I have often known thing that were going to happen, long before they happened. But the spirit of truth cannot teach truths we are not willing to hear, learn and understand.

The Chainsaw

I was sitting on the floor working on homework when someone knocked on the front door. My mother answered the door. It was someone selling tickets for a fund raiser they were having in a neighboring town about 15 miles away. My mother told him that she couldn’t afford to buy a ticket. He seemed desperate to sell her one, but she was unwilling to buy one.

I had one dollar in my pocket and was tempted to buy a ticket, mostly because he seamed so desperate to sell them. The other reason was one of the prizes was a chainsaw. We needed to get wood for the winter, so we really needed a chainsaw. My father had passed away the year before and all the chainsaws he owned went with his business partner. I knew wood was our only means of keeping warm through the cold winters.

I remember my mothers concerned conversations with my older brother about what to do for wood and how to get it without a chainsaw. She had asked some of the neighbors about borrowing their saws, but they were reluctant. Perhaps for concern that only her young boys would be running it. They all talked about helping us, but no one seemed to have time.

I was just about to buy a ticket, when he said “OK” and left. I thought, it was just as well, “we probably wouldn’t win and why waste the only dollar I had”. I knew what my mother didn’t yet know what to do for winter wood. Perhaps she truly didn’t have any money, or like me thought we had no chance of winning and didn’t want to waste what little money she had.

Some time later she got a phone call telling her that she had won the chainsaw. To which she replied “There must be a mistake, we didn’t buy a ticket”. The man replied “All I know is that I have a ticket here with your name on it”.

We never found out how they got a ticket with my mothers name on it, or how it ended up being the one drawn. But we desperately need the saw. It allowed us to get the necessary wood we needed for the winter, so my mother could keep her seven children warm. Perhaps it was God’s way of rewarding us for the service my dad had given before he died, see http://omegathoughts.blogspot.com/2008/12/white-christmas.html.

Cow Power (because Jo asked for it.)

When I was about 6 or 7, I was wandering through the back yard when I came upon my older brother. Who was in the process of using bailing wire to tie the wagon to the milk cow’s tail.

For the non hick people, my older brother would milk the cow night and morning. So she was been used to him doing unusual things to her, though I couldn’t understand her standing there and allowing him to do this. Also bailing wire is one of the greatest inventions on earth. Initial purpose is to keep bails of hay together, but a country hick can find a thousand uses for it. Could fix most anything with it, well it would usually hold for a little while anyway. So it was perfect for attaching the wagon to the cow’s tail.

Back to the story. So while wondering through the back yard I came across my brother in the process of attaching the wagon to the cows’ tail. I thought to myself “this could be entertaining, I should stay and watch”! I tried to stay my distance out of direct eyesight of my brother. I only wanted to be entertained and not be involved in any way.

It didn’t work my brother noticed me and said “George get in the wagon, and I’ll chase the cow”. Well, I may be a dumb little hick kid, but I’m not stupid, there was no way I was going to get in that wagon. He said “OK then, I’ll get in the wagon and you chase the cow”. To me that was a good idea, involvement I would risk.

So he got in the wagon. I don’t understand why cows ignore little kids jumping up and down and hollering at them. She just stood their chewing her cud. He said “see she is not going anywhere, you get in the wagon and I will chase her”. She really wasn’t going anywhere, so I got in the wagon.

My brother started hollering at her. She took a few steeps, that was enough for me I was ready to get out. But we had a cow dog. He was always very eager to help chase the cows when ever the opportunity arose. Just as I was about to get out, I heard the dog barking at the cow. And she took off running, with me still in the wagon.

All I could do is hold on and scream as though my life was about to end. I wasn’t sure it wasn’t going to. This excited the dog even more who started biting the cows heals. This made the cow run faster and me scream louder. Did the dog really think that, making the cow run faster was going to save me?

To make matters worse the cow was headed for the plowed section of the pasture. When you plow a field it leaves large ripples in the field. Each ripple was a little ramp to make me and the wagon become airborne, coming down just in time to become airborne by the next ripple. This added a whole new challenge to holding on to the wagon, screaming and keeping it from tipping over. I’m sure it also added some discomfort to the cow, not that I cared about the cow.

To my salvation my mother heard my screams. She looked out the kitchen window to see her son flying through the plowed field, in the little red wagon, behind the cow, screaming his head off. She called for my dad, who stepped out the back door and whistled for the dog. The dog immediately stopped chasing the cow, and come to my dads call. The cow immediately then stopped, probably now tired of pulling a screaming kid in a wagon, by her tail.

Not willing to chance any more of this experience, I jumped out of the wagon as fast as I could and headed for the house as fast as I could. My dad was walking out to where my brother was. My only comfort from the horrible humiliating ordeal, was knowing that my brother was going to get in big trouble.

When I got to where my dad and brother were, I realized that they were both laughing. This was horrible, I wanted some sort of vengeance on my brother, and I wasn’t getting it. Desperate of some sort of vengeance, I turned and gave the cow a dirty look. This made them both laugh even harder.

I had only wanted to be entertained, not be the entertainment.

New Grandson

I have a new grandson. I’m very excited. My son looks good in Med scrubs, he will make a good Doctor.

Mice

Because Jamie asked for a farm story!

My mother has this thing with mice. We had lots of them in the grainery, as a kid I would go and find the baby mice there. They were tiny and cute, especially the little pink ones with no hair. I would always take them in to the house because I knew they wanted to see My mother. They would look up and squeak and she would jump, dance and squeak (scream). I’m sure it was her way of communicating with them. This form of communication was too complex for a child to understand. She would quickly send me out the door with the mice. Not sure why she wanted to spend such little time with them.

On one another occasion she got up very early in the morning to go hunting. I think she was hunting neighbor’s dogs. She had been quite successful hunting in the past. Maybe she thought they were going to eat her mice. She clamed they were after her chickens. She was a very good shot. They claim that she could shoot pennies off a picket fence. I kept hoping she would win me a turkey at the annual turkey shoot, but she never competed. I think she was afraid of showing all the men up.

That morning the dogs got away but not before she had loaded a bullet in the gun. She came in the house and as she was walking through the kitchen one of her friendly mice saw her. Wanting to get closer to her the mouse ran up her leg. She got very excited about the mouse running up her leg. She started doing the jump, dance and scream thing. She got so excited with the dance that she lost her wits and pulled the trigger on the gun. Of course the gun went off and the bullet that was meant for a dog, shot a hole in the kitchen floor.

On another occasion I was in the bathroom doing what “regular” people do several times a day. While there one of my mother’s mice friends came up and started looking at me. I thought to myself “little mouse, it’s not me that you wanted to see, it’s my mother”. I didn’t want him to get discouraged and run away, before he had a chance to see my mother, so I carefully placed the toilet plunger over him. I then went and got my mother. I brought my mother in the bathroom. Thinking they would want privacy for their little communication ritual, I closed the door to the bathroom.

After closing the door I removed the toilet plunger from off the mouse. My mother immediately did her jump, dance and scream ritual. She jumped so high that she landed on the rim of the toilet. Little boys are supposed to put the lid up and I had. I was very impressed with my mother, up until this point I never realized that she could do her mouse dance on the rim of a toilet.

Several years later while driving through Utah I stopped at a truck stop for gas. While paying for gas I looked down and they had a box with a slide lid on it. When I slid the lid a fake mouse come out and hit my had. I said to the teller “I have to get this for my mother for Mother’s day”. She said “you wouldn’t”. I don’t think she understood how much my mother likes mice. I gave it to my mother and waited to see if she would do the jump, dance and scream thing with a fake mouse. She did. I went to the back bedroom and within a few minutes heard a knock on the door. It was her visiting teachers. She said “look what my son got me for Mother’s day”. I then head a scream, then someone say “what is it”? Then I heard another scream. I was so glad she was able to share her love for mice with others.

For her 75 birthday party I thought about bringing a mouse so the grandkids could learn how to do the jump, dance and scream thing. But I decided she was probably too old to jump and dance like she used to.