Snow

Snow

By the time you read this blog, we will have had our first snow of the season. It is less than a week from the first day of autumn. The weather prognosticators have warned us of a major winter storm. In Bozeman not so much. The northern part of the state will get the brunt of it. The mountains of Glacier National Park a lot more. Maybe we’ll get some of those melting glaciers back.

The Old Farmer’s Almanac predicts a harsh winter. That means lots of snow and cold. Just like the old days before global warming when we had four seasons; mostly winter and road construction. With the minute by minute weather casting it’s hard to take it all in. You could just look out the window to see the weather. Now I have half a dozen apps on my smartphone to keep me abreast of the whims of nature.

I wonder how all the new arrivals to Montana are faring with the change in weather. The warm, breezy days of summer are fading like the evening sunset while winter is sending a chilling reminder that nature doesn’t always follow the calendar. Time to put away the toys of summer. Here winter can be long and the days short.

Digging around the garage, I found my shovels and ice scraper. This winter I have the blessing of a snowblower; a gift from my son who moved his family to the warmer land of Portlandia. Thanks, Nick, for the gift. I will use it a lot.

My expectation mounts. I am ready to turn up the thermostat and get the fireplace going. Winter boots, parka, mitts and wool cap are near at hand. I can hardly wait to put my truck in four wheel drive, plowing through the drifts looking to help some poor Californian who got his eco-car stuck. A great opportunity to play Good Samaritan.

Thank you, Lord, for the seasons, especially winter.

On Call

On Call

As I write, I am on call at our hospital. That means that if there is a trauma (auto accident, heart attack or any life threatening injury), the chaplain is alerted. I drop everything and head for the Emergency Room. I am on call only when the other chaplains are unavailable

If you have ever been to an Emergency Room, you know that it can be a busy place day or night. Anywhere from a child’s needing stitches from a fall to a person with a gunshot wound. It can get very hectic especially on weekends when people are enjoying all that Montana outdoors has to offer.

I have grown to appreciate the men and women who are trained to help in times of crisis. The police, firemen, EMTs, sheriff chaplains, nurses and doctors are trained to save lives. They do an extraordinary job in very difficult circumstances. The strain on their lives is great especially when all that could be done is not enough to save a life.

The chaplain’s responsibility in these situations is primarily with family. My focus is helping family members get accurate information about the condition of their loved one. Rarely are we prepared for the impact of trauma in life. Accurate information, a listening ear, and hugs go a long way in balancing fear of the unknown.

I am not immune to the emotional trauma that occurs in the ER. Many times, I feel that tightness in my stomach, the acute pain of the loss of life. I realize that it could be one of my loved ones who is dying. I don’t want to become hardened to the suffering of others.

I try to keep in mind the words of the prophet Isaiah who, foretelling the character of the messiah Jesus, said he is one who is “…a man of sorrows, acquainted with the bitterest grief.” There is much grief and sorrow in the ER that need words of encouragement and hope.

Saying Goodbye

Saying Goodbye

How many times does a person say goodbye in a lifetime? Probably a lot.  Goodbyes and hellos are so commonplace who keeps count? Most of the time, see you tomorrow or even next week, are attached to the goodbyes. These are the easy ones. The goodbyes that mean I won’t see you for a long time are a lot harder.

Two months ago, our son Nick and his wife Jackie told us they were uprooting and moving from Bozeman to Portland, Oregon. It came as a shock to us. We had grown used to having three of our grandchildren a short drive away for almost twelve years. Now they would be 800 miles away.

I remember all the times we moved from Minnesota to Montana and back again. It was exciting, at least for me. New adventures in new places were spice that added to life. Judy was less excited but persevered through it all. Looking back, I didn’t give much thought to how our parents felt about all our goodbyes. I was focused on the challenges ahead, not on what was left behind.

Now the shoe is on the other foot. We are the parents who are having to say goodbye to our adult children and grandkids. Imagining life with them growing up far from us has become an emotional yo-yo. No doubt they will plant roots and prosper in their new environment. For us, it’s going to take some getting used to.

Yes, there is FaceTime and phone calls along with occasional holidays and the summer week together at Sandpoint, Idaho. The flight from Bozeman to Portland is only an hour long and fairly inexpensive. But it’s not the same. Trouble with getting old is you want everything to stay the same. It never does.

Instead of goodbye, I say: adios, arrivederci, ciao, aud wiedersehen, au revoir, sayonara and bon voyage (while shedding a few tears). See you all in Portland for Thanksgiving.

Papa and Nana

Honyockers

Honyockers

Driving across eastern Montana, I am impressed by the uncluttered view of the Big Sky country. Other than animals wild and domestic, there is an overwhelming sense of primeval emptiness untouched by human hands. There are small towns, farms and ranches that appear here and there but only as a small dot on a very large landscape.

That is how it must have appeared to the immigrants from the old country who came to start a new life and tame the wilds of the West. Little did they know of the extreme weather patterns or the hardscrabble land they purchased from the government. They engaged a battle with nature that few won.

The name “Honyockers” was given to this adventurous people by the rough and tough cowboys who lived and worked this land punching cattle. They knew by experience that the land couldn’t raise crops to support a family. Living is the squalor of tar paper shacks or crudely build log shelters, families struggled to exist in an unforgiving land. Some survived but most headed further west.

What remains of their struggle are rusted barb wire on rotting fence posts. Here and there you can see a barn or homestead falling in on itself quickened by the ravages of nature. Who lived there and what happened to them is an unsolved mystery. Only an occasional unkept graveyard reveals names of those who died here.

The Montana of those days was far different from today. As I cruise down the paved highway in my air conditioned truck, I wonder what made those people persevere. Am I too insulated from the true nature of this land to appreciate what those people experienced? Unfortunately, the answer is yes!

Big Sky country is where people still want to come. There is opportunity to enjoy a taste of the West but not like the Honyockers. I can’t fully appreciate what I have here without remembering those who came before and never had the chance to enjoy it.

Leaks

Leaks

In preparation for the coming winter, I had the furnace man make a service call to make sure everything was in working order. The furnace is located in the crawl space hanging from the floor joist. The service man no sooner descended into the crawl space when he reappeared to tell me that there was a leak in the water line.

Not the kind of news I like to hear. There was a hairline crack in the one inch water pipe. It was spraying upward onto the floor joist below my study. How long that had been leaking no one knew. The service man replaced the pipe and a major disaster averted. The furnace checked out fine. With the addition of a new thermostat, I accrued a $500 bill.

Several days ago, I noticed a small oily leak on the garage floor. I quickly made my way to the auto repair shop where I was assured that the repair was minor and could be easily fixed. As I sat in the waiting room reading my Kindle, I heard a loud bang. Not thinking anything of it since mechanic work can be noisy. Shorty  the manager came out and told me he had some good news and some bad news.

The good news was my leak was fixed. The bad news was my truck has shifted on the hydronic lift and rested on the running boards bending and twisting them. Apologetic, the manager told me he would make the situation right and have all the damage repaired by a local body shop. My beautiful truck had taken a hit.

Recovering from the shock of seeing the damage I asked the mechanic if he was ok. A little shaken, he assured me he was and apologized profusely for what happened. I assured him that running boards can be replaced but human life could not. The cost of replacing the running boards and undercarriage damage is estimated to be around $3000. They wouldn’t let me pay for the leak repair.

 I don’t like leaks!