Monday, October 30, 2017

Hoppe's


Hoppe’s

Don’t recognize the name? Unless you are a hunter or a gun enthusiast, you don’t have reason to know. Hoppe’s is a liquid powder solvent that is used to clean guns and rifles. It has a distinct odor that permeates a room. It is the fragrance of choice for hunters and gun owners.

Why write a blog about Hoppe’s? Every time I open that bottle and get a whiff, the memory of my first hunting trip floods my mind. I was about eight years old when my dad took me bird hunting. All, I remember about that trip was the smell of Hoppe’s gun solvent and several dead pheasants. What I didn’t realize was that was the beginning of a life long love of hunting

As I age, I am amazed what triggers memories from the past. Remembering my first exposure to hunting comes in the form of an aroma of gun solvent. Over the years I have cleaned a lot of firearms and every time I open that bottle of solvent I see my dad standing in his hunting clothes with shotgun in hand. That was the only time I went hunting with him.

I love hunting. I am fortunate to live where hunting is a way of life. As soon as the aspen leaves start falling, it’s time to gather the gear, clean the rifles and plan the hunt. Over the years I have hunted deer, antelope, moose, bear, pheasants, Hungarian partridge and sage grouse. In the off-season gopher and prairie dog hunting keep my trigger finger happy.

Yes, I have passed the joy of hunting onto my three sons. We don’t hunt together often because of work and family obligations. Whenever they can break away, we head for the mountains, rifles in hand. I look forward to the opportunity to make hunting memories with my grandsons.

A big thanks to Hoppe’s for a sweet bouquet of memories!



Monday, October 23, 2017

Stain Master


Stain Master

I got the call mid-morning. My calendar was clear, I was free to respond. I quickly changed into my grungy work clothes and headed out the door. Another fence needed staining and only the stain master could do the job. Freed from desk work and pastoral responsibilities, I grabbed my red plastic bucket filled with disposable rubber gloves, wide brimmed hat and paint brushes. Off to work I went!

You see, I moonlight for Blue Spruce Services, a small construction company started by two of my sons, Tim and Nick. Several months ago, they quit their day jobs, formed an LLC and started working for themselves. They started out doing home repair work and then found their sweet spot in building fences. Tim has a background as a finished carpenter and Nick as a floor installer and cable TV guy.
They are talented men.

They approached me one day, asking if I was interested in doing a little side work staining the fences they were building. It would be part-time work and the pay would be good. I jumped at the chance to be outside doing physical labor. Besides, it would be quality time with my sons. What more could a dad ask for?

When the time came to negotiate my pay, they came up with the idea of supporting my candy bar addition. I particularly like Salted Nut Rolls. They said the first job was worth two Rolls but because I accidentally spilt some of the stain, I was docked one candy bar. I knew I was being taken to the cleaners, but they are my sons!

Truthfully, they have been very generous to me. In payment for my first stain job, they installed new front breaks on my truck. The payment for the second job was a remote starter for my truck. Not to bad for part-time work. But the best payment is working alongside two sons who labor hard and take pride in their work. A dad can’t ask for more than that.

Yes, the stain master at work!

Monday, October 16, 2017

Log Splitter


Log Splitter

I confess I love all that technology has to offer. I am old enough to remember land line phones, black and white TV, and Saturday afternoon matinees at the local theater. Now I have at my disposal an iPhone, a computer that can call anywhere in the world, watch color TV, show movies and have Siri answer all my questions.

However, if you live where I do, in the mountains of Montana, once you get out of town, that fancy phone isn’t much use. That brings me to what’s really important in life for a mountain man: a good chain saw and a log splitter. You see, some of us still have a real fireplace where, on those cold winter nights, a blazing fire warms heart and home.

That’s why I am making a case for the most advanced technology in the mountains: the log splitter. Again, I am old enough to remember using an ax or sledge hammer and metal wedge to split logs. I tell you that was a long and arduous process. Now the old-fashioned sweat and muscle method has been replaced by technology.

For the uninitiated, the mechanics of the log splitter consist of a gas engine and hydraulics mounted on a small trailer frame. Placing a log on one end of trailer rail, engaging the hydraulic lever, the wedge moves forward splitting the log in half.
It’s a two-man job: one lifting the logs on the rail and the other engaging the lever.

Earlier this month, my friend Hal invited me to be the lever man. We spent a glorious Saturday and Sunday afternoon lifting, splitting and loading wood into the back of our pickups. By the end of the weekend we had split about six cords. Without the splitter, it would have taken us a lot longer not to mention the damage to our aging bodies.

I enjoyed Hal and I working together. It gave us time to catch up on guy stuff. The blend of manual labor and technology made pleasant work on an autumn weekend in the mountains. It is quite satisfying to see those neat stacks of firewood. The smell of freshly split pine is a tonic for the mountain man’s soul.

 The hard work’s done, it’s time to get ready for hunting season.




Monday, October 9, 2017

Under Construction


Under Construction

A major frustration living in a first world country is the constant need for infrastructure repair. Where I live, there has been one road construction project after another. At first it was just fighting traffic driving from one end of town to the other. Now there is no direct route to wherever I want to go because roads are closed due to upgrading sewer, water and road surface.

I know this sounds like complaining and it is! Our local, state and federal tax dollars are at work making a five-minute drive into a half hour around construction. I am not upset with those who labor on these projects but I am perplexed at why one section of road has to be dug up and then dug up again and even in some cases a third time. Then there is the issue of ruts big enough to get a semi stuck that jars my teeth every time I drive over them.

In developing nations, I visited you rarely find signs that say, “road under construction.” Their paved roads are full of pot holes simply because of neglect. In fact, the dirt roads provide a smoother ride because most traffic is two or four footed. In Africa, we spent most of our drive time on the shoulder of the road because the pavement was so torn up.

I know we have the best road system in the world and that it demands constant maintenance. Just take a summer drive on any Interstate and you will experience mile after mile of one lane road construction. I need to keep perspective here. Everything worthwhile needs upkeep and periodic maintenance, even this old body of mine.

I am reminded of the words of Paul when he greeted the saints in Philippi. “I am sure that the good work God began in you will continue until he completes it on the day when Jesus Christ comes again.”

I hope the road He travels won’t be held up because of construction.

Monday, October 2, 2017

Bend the Knee


Bend the Knee

I endeavor to keep the focus of my blog on personal experiences and life observations that would be of interest to my readers. There are topics that I have strong convictions but feel they are for a different kind of blog. I try and stay clear of hot button political issues that tend to polarize public opinion. So, my goal in today’s blog is informational not divisive.

The media has fixated itself on the issue of  “bending the knee” by professional athletes during our national anthem. What started as the protest of one player has now turned into an emotional national debate. Fueled by political, social, economic and racial overtones it appears that we have one more issue that is driving us toward a divided nation.

Contrary to the attention this is getting in the public forum, “bending the knee” is not a new phenomenon. History is full of people who out of respect or repression knelt before kings, conquerors, czars, pharaohs, tyrants, popes and potentates. Its origin was a physical sign of submission, good or bad. I was raised in a church where “bending the knee” was mandatory upon entering a church. In those days, it was called genuflection!

The Bible gives a fresh perspective to whom we should bend the knee: “So come, let us worship: bow down before him, on your knees before God, who made us.” And in another place: “and at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth.”

There is an ancient Latin saying that may help us here: “in necessariis unitas, in dubiis libertas, in omnibus caritas” in essentials, unity; in doubtful matters, liberty; in all things, charity. Ah! Charity that benevolent goodwill towards all.


Monday, September 25, 2017

Siblings


Siblings

Growing up in a large family gave me plenty of opportunity to find fault with my brothers and sisters. I have memories of situations where, as the oldest, I felt slighted, misunderstood or taken advantage of by my younger brothers and sisters. The problem is they have their own list of offenses against their older brother. It must be part of the growing up process.

Recently, one of my sisters came to visit. She is the second oldest in the family and in many ways, we share the same memories of growing up in a large household. The nice thing is that now that we are older our perspective of those earlier years has mellowed. We can laugh and cry about all those times when we thought the world was going to end or at least a major meltdown of family life.

It is amazing that so many individuals can come from the same parents. Yes, we share some of the physical characteristics but in personality and temperament we are individuals. Grown up, married, raising families and in some cases making a geographic move away from the homestead, all of us maintain the identity as the Semsch family.

How our parents survived raising eight children continues to be a mystery to me. Not only the financial responsibilities but the challenge of individual personalities and problems must have driven them to the edge more than once. As I have often said, our parents gave us life, they didn’t give us perfect!

I look forward to those times I can get together with my siblings. I enjoy all the memories, happy and sad, because they give me the opportunity to relive those days long ago. These adult relationships keep alive the family life that I appreciate even more. Those memories enrich my life; a life that I want to pass on to my kids.

To my brothers and sisters who are faithful readers of my weekly blog, I say “thanks for all the memories.” Keep them coming!

Monday, September 18, 2017

Memory Bank


Memory Bank
I take pride in composing my weekly blogs. I love musing about life events as well as past memories. This week I make an exception. I hope you don’t mind. As a Facebook addict (meaning I am on it daily) I read a very inspiring post by Anita Morgan, a woman I don’t know. She posted this on August 30th of this year. I want to make sure she gets all the credit for what she wrote. I think you will find inspiring if not challenging. Here it is:
“The 92-year-old, petite, well-poised and proud lady, who is fully dressed each morning by eight o’clock, with her hair fashionably coifed and makeup perfectly applied, even though she is legally blind, moved to a nursing home today. Her husband of 70 years recently passed away, making the move necessary. After many hours of waiting patiently in the lobby of the nursing home, she smiled sweetly when told her room was ready. As she maneuvered her walker to the elevator, I provided a visual description of her tiny room, including the eyelet sheets that had been hung on her window. “I love it,” she stated with the enthusiasm of an eight-year-old having just been presented with a new puppy. “Mrs. Jones, you haven’t seen the room …. just wait.” “That doesn’t have anything to do with it,” she replied. “Happiness is something you decide on ahead of time. Whether I like my room or not doesn’t depend on how the furniture is arranged, it’s how I arrange my mind. I already decided to love it. It’s a decision I make every morning when I wake up. I have a choice; I can spend the day in bed recounting the difficulty I have with the parts of my body that no longer work, or get out of bed and be thankful for the ones that do. Each day is a gift, and as long as my eyes open I’ll focus on the new day and all the happy memories I’ve stored away, just for this time in my life.” She went on to explain, “Old age is like a bank account, you withdraw from what you’ve put in. So, my advice to you would be to deposit a lot of happiness in the bank account of memories Thank you for your part in filling my Memory bank. I am still depositing.” And with a smile, she said: “Remember the five simple rules to be happy: 1. Free your heart from hatred. 2. Free your mind from worries. 3. Live simply. 4. Give more. 5. Expect less.”
Wow!