Release the Beasts

original run date May 15th
Chariton Valley News Press

Ahhhhhh – the sounds of summer. The voices of kids set free started ringing through our open office windows last week. More voices will be added this week as all the Salisbury schools “release the beasts” for some summer fun.

As a kid growing up, my favorite thing about summer vacation was the fact that once school was out I could officially ditch shoes. We didn’t have flip flops and socks were hot so the shoes were thrown in the back of the closet.

By the end of the first week out of school, I could walk across the gravel driveway without flinching. After week two, running was a breeze as the bottoms of my feet had developed into soft, leathery soles that rocks couldn’t penetrate. The only thing that ever seemed to penetrate my feet was an occasional nail, which is why Mom never let our tetanus shots go overdue. As I grew older it also meant the chore list grew longer. There were more animals to feed, hog waterers and feeders to keep clean daily and at least one building was due for a fresh coat of paint.

It’s no wonder I was in such good shape as a kid. I was moving from sun up ‘til sundown. If I wasn’t trying to cross chores off my list, I was usually on my bike headed to Grandma Bixenman’s to mow her yard. I wonder how many miles I put on that three-speed bike over the summers before I turned 16?

Graduation came and went and summer vacation disappeared – the joy of growing up right?  The hardest part about summer after I had kids of my own was keeping them out of trouble while Larry and I were at work. If you have read any of my previous columns, you know we weren’t always successful at that parental duty.

I’ll never forget the first summer we let them stay home by themselves. It was nerve racking! Thankfully I had an understanding boss during that first week or I would have probably been home with them permanently. They were only supposed to call in case of an emergency. My biggest mistake was not immediately defining emergency.

We had a rotating list of chores on the refrigerator door. Every day, each kid had a list of age appropriate tasks to complete before lunch. If I came home at lunch and everything was finished to my satisfaction, then all three kids could go to the pool that afternoon. If any of the three messed up, they all stayed home. Yes, I used the “everybody pays if you screw up” approach.

The first question all three asked was “who’s in charge”. I wasn’t stupid – NOBODY had control over anybody else. And then the phone calls began. Since no one had control, they all thought tattling was appropriate.

By the end of the week, we had a family sit-down complete with a list of good reasons to call Mom at work. The only “good” reason to call was if there was bloodshed – why oh why did I jinx myself?

When the phone call came in, I wasn’t the one to answer it. One of the guys in the office had a concerned look on his face when he told me that Joni was on the phone and had assured him there was blood involved. I took a deep breath and picked up the phone. Joni wasn’t in a state of panic, which surprised me. Joni panicked over hangnails.

She tried to calmly explain to me that Jake was okay – she thought. Her explanation of the injury completely confused me. Apparently, it was Jake’s day to sweep the kitchen and dining room floors. For whatever reason, a fight had broken out between him and Jeana. As he was yelling at her, he bent down to pick up a rug in front of the refrigerator. His mouth was running - his brain was not. He ran the handle of the broom down his throat and as Joni calmly put it “scratched that thing that dangles back there and the back of his throat and it was bleeding.”

I couldn’t quite wrap my brain around the fact that a six year old that was barely four foot tall could scratch his tonsils with a broom handle. I was still confused as I told my boss that I needed to make an unexpected trip home. They all looked at me in total confusion as I tried to tell them what happened. It didn’t make sense to them either.

I got home and Joni had Jake sitting on the couch eating ice cubes. The bleeding had stopped but he was still mad at Jeana for whatever reason. The big scrape across his tonsils didn’t even need a flashlight to be seen. It was a “slap my head” moment. Okay, maybe it was an “only in my house” moment.

I decided leaving the warring tribes together the rest of the afternoon was not going to be conducive to him healing. As long as he was yelling at his sister, that scrape was never going to get any rest. I made him grab some busy work and we headed back to my office. After proudly showing the men his battle wound, he settled in for an afternoon nap.

As I brace myself for Jake to spend some time with kids this summer, as their parents are off to work, I pray – a lot. I have already given him a list of “do NOT let them do” activities. All items off the list of “activities” my own kids decided to try while Larry and I were at work. As I was making that list, Jake and Joni added a few more things to the list. Apparently, they could get along once in a while since they made a few pacts over the summers of things not to tell Mom and Dad they had done. 

As they share some of those stories now (long after they can get in trouble) I keep telling myself, they are only young once.  I’m glad they developed a sense of fun that does not take a big bank account or fancy equipment.  All they seem to need is a sense of adventure and good friends that can keep a secret.  It’s nice to know that one of those friends is their sibling.

The games must go on

original run date May 8th
Chariton Valley News Press

Do guys ever really grow up?  I ask myself that almost daily now that Joni has moved into her own home and left me alone with her father and brother.

Larry and the kids have always enjoyed competitive activities of any kind. It seems games with any kind of ball involved has always attracted them like mosquitoes to a bug zapper. I have tons of pictures from when the kids were little of impromptu basketball games, softball in the front yard, and games without a name involving the extra large balls from the dollar store and a plastic bat. I even have pictures of badminton in the pasture using the horses as a net.

We always kept a bat and ball of some kind in the horse trailer for campouts. It usually started out pretty simple and before you knew it, all the adults had been suckered into a game of baseball. When the adults hit the ball too hard and broke the bat and deflated the ball, the kids would quickly scramble to make a ball out of the tin foil from the grill. It was easy to find a bat with all the manure forks hanging out in trailers. Paper plates always made the perfect base.

As the kids have grown, the games aren’t near as abundant in our house. My décor is thankful for that. Larry and the kids used to play “football” in my living room. Larry would sit in the recliner on one side of the living room and one of the girls would become the marker on the other side about five feet away. Jake started at the fireplace with helmet secured to his head and football tucked under his arm. If he could make it to the couch on the wall behind the chairs, it was a touchdown.

This was all fine and dandy until the pass play came into effect. Larry would launch the ball at Jake in hopes that he would catch it. Since the ball was bigger than Jake for the first few years, the pass usually went right through his hands. Jake eventually grew big enough to catch it but in the mean time, the décor in my living room suffered. I have a two-foot tall defenseless cowboy these days because his arm holding his rifle is broken at the elbow. Another cowboy riding his horse has been decapitated and his horse has two broken ears and a docked tail.

The Indian figurines Larry collected over the years paid a price as well. The hunting warrior’s bow was left hanging by the bow string, the majestic deer became a unicorn, the proud and powerful chief is missing more than one feather from his headdress, and the canoeing squaw has a hole in her boat and a headless dog in tow.

Although it was usually the guys in the house who got the blame for the broken décor, the girls had to take the blame for the most expensive living room loss. The first summer the kids were allowed to stay home on their own, we lost a tv. Larry and I didn’t realize the extent of the damage until late into the evening. As a matter of fact, the tv looked fine until we turned it on. That is when the hissing and popping followed by sparks and smoke caught our attention.

Apparently, the girls were quite intrigued by one of the carnival games at the Steak Festival earlier that summer. We never allowed them to play many of those games so they decided to recreate the “shoot the parading duck” game on their own one day.

The couch served as a large armrest and their super soaker water guns had enough power to reach all the way across the living room and meet the target. The target was, of course, their gullible little brother running back and forth across the room – in front of the tv. I probably never would have known about their wonderful game had they not gotten water into the vents on the front of the tv and fried all the circuitry. The beauty of that incident was I didn’t have to think of an appropriate punishment. They were home all morning for a good part of the summer with no tv since we just decided not to replace it for about a month.

The games eventually were banned from the living room and moved to the front yard where they belonged. Our dog Gus loved the move since he could join in. He loved to catch Jake not paying attention as he pursued whichever girl had the football under her arm. Gus became a master at tripping Jake then laying on top of him while the girls ran for safety. Yes, I have pictures!

My outdoor décor did not fair any better than the indoor. I now have a concrete St. Francis statue holding a beheaded child and several one-winged angels. My hanging baskets seldom lasted an entire summer. I wonder if any company has ever truly made a child/husband proof accessory for the home or garden?

Jake had a rare evening at home the other night and the thump of the oversized tennis ball he won at the after-prom party almost lulled me to sleep. He and his dad were casually bouncing it back and forth across the living room. I could have sworn I had two six year olds in the house as they laughed at each other each time the ball hit the bulls eye they were aiming for on the other’s body.

I didn’t even bother to yell at them when it took a couple leaves off the plant or bounced through the window and hit the computer monitor. I gave up on them growing up years ago. Besides, we had just gotten home from a college visit in Iowa and a reality check for Mom. Nothing like driving three and half hours and seeing the gleam in my son’s eyes as he checked out the college campus and everything it had to offer to make me realize he really is going to leave home next year.

Larry has long quit playing football against Jake – he says Jake’s tackles hurt too much these days. They still cannot resist a game of horse every now and then even though it always leads to good-hearted arguments. I have no doubt I’ll hear that silly tennis ball bounce across the living room several more times over the course of the next year.

As I face Jake blazing forward into preparations for his senior year of high school, I’m a little thankful for all the broken décor. The one-armed cowboy still stands proudly in my living room, situated strategically behind a plant stand. The earless horse still carries his cowboy with the glue mark around his neck. Although the home décor will never be the same, the memories attached to those broken pieces of art will remain priceless.

Every cleaning day I’m reminded of the laughter that rolled through my house as those games unfolded through the years. I’ll miss those sounds as the quietness of the empty nest settles in but I have no doubt - no doubt whatsoever there will be more games over the course of the next year and more broken décor. It’s a small price to pay for the memories I’ll hold on to and treasure for a lifetime.

The family that rides together

original run date April 24th
Chariton Valley News Press

 The house is almost finished! The carpenters should be able to finish up the outside this week. Larry and I took a break from it all this weekend and had a little fun. Although we did do some cleaning up around the yard and barn on Saturday, most of the afternoon was spent getting tack checked and cleaned.

Sunday afternoon we loaded up the bruts and headed south. One of our favorite places to ride is Rudolf Bennett Conservation Area. We joined my brother, my nephew and his family and a few friends for a long, lazy Sunday afternoon ride. Life is good again.

As we were riding along, enjoying the cackles from my almost two year old great-nephew as he “drove” the horse he was riding with his mom, Doug reminded Larry and I how he got started riding in the first place. Back in the day, Jeana and Jake tended to get into all kinds of trouble. Most was dealt with quickly and we moved on. There was occasionally an incident though that the punishment lasted long term. Like the time they got caught trying cigars in Jake’s bedroom and then snuffing them out on the woodwork.

I don’t know why there were cigars in the house but those two managed to find them and get into a HEAP of trouble. Between them lighting up in Jake’s disaster of a bedroom and then not thinking before they spoke when confronted about the butts left lying around, they were doomed. The punishment lasted far longer than usual and both kids lost privileges to ride anything – horse, bike, little tykes car, scooters, roller blades – you name it, we took it away.

In order to get our point across even better, we decided one Sunday afternoon to invite my niece and nephew along on a trail ride. Jeana and Jake’s horses were free to use. They were not happy about staying at Grandma’s while we all went riding. It served as the exclamation point at the end of the “you messed up big this time” message we were trying to get across.

Doug and Heather fell deeply in love with our favorite pastime that day. Larry and I chuckled all the way home as Doug sat in our truck plotting how he was going to talk his dad into letting him buy a horse. My favorite scheme was his plan to not say anything right away. Doug planned on “casually” mentioning it sometime in the next week at the dinner table. His plan didn’t make it to the back door.

Doug hit the back door screaming, “Dad, I want a horse”!  Larry and I couldn’t decide what was funnier – Doug’s impatience or the look on John Darold’s face. He was doomed!

Before that summer was over, John Darold and his family were all riding with us. Jeana and Jake eventually got their “rides” back and our families have spent many weekends riding together since. We’ve even managed to bring a few more family members into the group of riders.

As we were reminiscing Sunday afternoon, we had to chuckle. Jeana and Jake’s cigar encounter had them in hot water for a while but what a great ending. Doug is now married and our families still love to get together every chance we get to go riding. Doug is also a ferrier by trade and provides for his family based on that love of horses we found in him that sunny afternoon.

When many families find the generations spending less time together, ours is usually on the phone every Friday night deciding if we can find a time we can all go riding. Whether we head south to the wooded trails that Rudolf Bennett provide or stay close to home, we love to get together for a casual afternoon of riding and yes, there is usually a whole lot of babbling going on as well.

I have heard the quote by Winston Churchhill many times, “there is something about the outside of a horse that is good for the inside of a man.”  In our case, that horse is also good for our family as a whole.

 

Give the gift of life long after you are gone.

original run date April 17, 2012
Chariton Valley News Press

My column is usually pretty laid back and meant to  beentertaining but this week I would like to take the opportunity to reach out to all the readers of CVNP and ask a big favor.
This week’s feature story is a topic that is near to my heart. As I did the interviews for the piece, the conversations certainly took a very personal turn. In June 2004, my family went through a deeply emotional loss. Our daughter (and sister, granddaughter, niece, cousin, and friend) Jeana, died from head trauma following a fall. We were able to hold onto her for a little while with assistance from modern medicine (machines) but brain trauma was more than her body could compensate for and we were forced to make the decision no family ever wants to make.
For reasons none of us know or understand, our family was not approached about Jeana being an organ donor. Later in the evening, we received a phone call asking for a tissue donation, which we quickly agreed to. Although the life saving donation of vital organs could no longer be made, we chose to make the life-enhancing donation of corneal and heart valve tissue. It is a decision we will never forget or regret.
Early in our marriage, Larry and I had discussed organ donation and how far we wanted life saving measures to be carried through in the case of a medical emergency. It was never a conversation we ever dreamed of having with or about our children. As we were faced with the decisions we had to make in the hours after Jeana’s accident, it was not a topic that crossed our minds. As I said before, we don’t know why we were not approached about the possibility of Jeana being an organ donor. She would have been a perfect candidate to save the lives of many.
As I was doing research earlier this year trying to find ideas for stories to write, I looked up all the “national month” designations online. The April designation of “Donate Life” screamed at me to do something in honor of my daughter’s 19th birthday on the 21st of this month. After the shock of her death wore off and we were left to accept our life without her, I vowed to do the best I could every year on her birthday to celebrate the gift of her life just as we always had. This year, that “celebration” is by getting as many people as I can to sit down with their families and talk about organ and tissue donation and become a registered donor.
It is not a topic most parents want to talk about with their children but the importance of the conversation is many fold. If something happened to you today, would your children know what your wishes are in regards to organ and tissue donation?  Would you as parents, if you were faced with that decision, think about reaching out to another family with this life saving gesture?
As your kids reach the age of taking that wonderful driver’s exam and test, please use it as an opportunity to talk to them about organ donation. Set an example by becoming an organ donor yourself. If you are not already a registered donor via the driver’s license renewal process – jump online and register. Make sure your family, closest friends and minister all know your wishes in case of death.
Pull that driver’s license out of your billfold and sign it!  If you need a permanent marker that won’t smear or fade, feel free to stop by the CVNP office. We have fine point sharpies ready to legalize a gift that money cannot buy. We will even be a witness if you need one. If you think you are registered but not sure, we’ll help you look it up.
Even if you think you are not eligible to be a donor because of current health or past illnesses, please sign it anyway. Tissue donations of skin, corneas, bone, and tendons could be possible. It may not save a life but think of the ways it can enhance the life of a burn victim or someone suffering from limited mobility. I often wonder about the recipient of Jeana’s corneas. If any of her outlook on life transferred – oh what an outlook they have now!  There is truly some solace for me in knowing her death was not completely without meaning. Someone, somewhere is able to live a better life because of the gift she was able to give.
My family all know my wishes to be an organ and tissue donor. As a matter of fact, my two kids serve as the witnesses on my driver’s license. Larry had the insignia put on his license at his last renewal date.  Should the time come for our registry to actually be used, it won’t make it any easier on the family to say good-bye but at least they won’t have to worry about making that decision in a time of stress, sorrow and hardship. Maybe someday, after I leave this world behind and join my daughter, someone will benefit from my heart, lungs, kidney, pancreas, intestine, and liver as well as all the tissue I have left to someone still living life to the fullest.
As Jeana’s birthday rolls around this year, we’ll find some way as a family to pull together and “celebrate” her life. As hard as we try every year to keep the tears from flowing, they will still fall. Because my eyes are still in good shape, I’ll still be able to see her image in pictures. I know somewhere someone can also now see their family and friends because of Jeana. Maybe that thought will help absorb a few of the tears. In the meantime, please “show me your heart” and join me on the Missouri registry for organ and tissue donation. Give the gift of life long after you are gone.


www.missouriorgandonor.com   Please register with your state organ/tissue donor registry wherever you are from!!

Fixing government woes with chickens

original run date April 10, 2012
Chariton Valley News Press

I don’t follow a lot of politics, but the recent laws wanting to restrict farm kids from being able to work on the family farm really baffles me. Some of the most important lessons I ever learned were as a farm kid. I would think since the government is looking to hire the next generation at some point, they would want employees that have learned the lessons farm kids learn by working on the family farm.
Doing chores everyday instilled work ethic into my young mind. I didn’t mind most chores except for those stupid chickens. I hated the laying hens with a passion. I couldn’t leave eggs lying under the roost just because I didn’t want to crawl through the droppings. Not to mention, if you left to many eggs behind, other critters would come eat both the eggs and chickens. I didn’t mind so much when chickens became dinner for other creatures but it tended to upset Mom.
I despised having to get the “sitting” hens off the nest of eggs they were so closely guarding. They were determined to turn that egg into a baby - I was determined to turn it into either breakfast or noodles. I had a special stick that I kept at the door of the chicken coop that was tailor made for those feathered beasts. I’d poke at them and they would peck at me everyday.
I always won the initial battle. They usually won the war though since they would attack me as I was leaving. I did get the last laugh though. Since we never kept roosters around, they were never going to get that baby anyway.
My family will vouch for the fact that I loved all animals except for those stupid chickens. I got in trouble more than once for finding the barn cats new litter of kittens and taming them down. I was notorious for picking either a fat hog or a calf out of the lot as a pet. Then I would bawl hysterically when they were hauled off to the packing plant. But when it came to the chickens, I could care less. That attitude led me to one of the worst butt whippings of my life. The physical pain was no big deal. The pain of knowing who administered it left a lasting impression.
After one particularly brutal attack, I decided the chickens had to go. I devised a brilliant plan to get rid of all of them so I would never again have to collect another egg from a psychopathic chicken. I was going to kill them. I was probably about eight years old and in my mind, my plan was brilliant.
I decided if the chickens didn’t eat, they would die. That should fix the problem. Yes, looking back, I realize this was a cruel way to end my misery but don’t panic - it didn’t take long for my plan to backfire.
 Apparently, the day I decided to put my plan into action, I was a little to enthusiastic. My oldest brother, John Darold, noticed my enthusiasm as I grabbed the feed bucket and headed out to do chores. Since the whole family knew how much I hated those chickens, he decided to stalk me to find out why I was uncharacteristically happy about gathering eggs.
I made my way to the bin  for the mandatory bucket of corn. I thought I was putting on an Oscar worthy performance. I ran my hands through the corn as if filling the bucket to the rim. I failed to factor in the lack of sound effects confirming the corn actually going into the bucket. Add to that my trip to the coop with the bucking swinging like an Easter basket full of fake grass and my Oscar performance took a nosedive.
I picked up my chicken poking, get even stick as I opened the door and made my way in. I thought I was home free. A few days of no food and those chickens would be coyote bait and I would never again feel the pain of a beak in my hand.
John Darold caught me coming out the door of the coop, singing a happy song. He turned me around and pointed out the lack of corn in the feeders. Let’s just say, my tall tale that followed convinced him not to waste his time delivering me to Mom. He took care of the situation himself. The pain I felt had nothing to do with his hand connecting with my butt cheeks. It did break my heart that my best friend in the world decided it was something he had to do.
The lessons I learned that day still carry with me both in my personal life and at work. First, most of the time it is faster and less painful to just do those daily chores whether at home or on the job and get them over with quickly. It takes a lot more time and effort to concoct plans to get out of something than it does to just do it.
Second, starving the enemy never works. Interacting with the people you live and work with everyday is critical to good relationships. Administering the silent treatment just comes back to haunt you in the end. Maintaining good relationships takes effort but the rewards are great.
The most important lesson I learned that day was to not do things that will disappoint those you “live” with on a daily basis. Respect is a powerful emotion, even if it is for nothing more than a chicken. I didn’t have to like the chickens to respect them and the power their beaks carried. I didn’t want to respect John Darold for doing what he did but as I grew up and entered the world of work and had kids of my own, I knew he did me a favor that day.
 Maybe our current government officials looking to restrict farm kids from working on the family farm need a chicken coop in their backyard. Instilling a little work ethic in their daily grind and getting holes pecked in their hands as they gather breakfast might just put some common sense back into the laws they make. If that doesn’t work, I vote we send John Darold to Washington to straighten them out!

Man's best friend lends a helping hand.

original run date April 3, 2012
Chariton Valley News Press

Memories come flooding back to me at some of the weirdest times.
 I can’t seem to get any of my “city” friends to come walking with me of an evening at my house. They all seem to have an aversion to walking on gravel. The other night in my quest to get some kind of workout in, I resorted to taking the bird dog walking with me. It turned out to be a good move.
Not only did I turn the mile and a half trip into closer to two miles, I got some resistance training in as well.  Mattie was convinced that the road ditches were full of quail and was enthusiastically going from side to side to check every inch for birds.  My normal trek was easily extended and she unknowingly powered it up even more.
Mattie spent at least at least 25 minutes of the 30 pulling me down the road. I had the brakes on most of the trip so I had built in resistance training. I’m sure I looked like a carton character at more than one point as I was bracing myself at the end of the leash to hold on. The brakes were applied and my heels were dug in for traction. Our gravel road has a couple of pretty big washboards in it. There is probably a start for two or three more to form from the divots I left as Mattie continued her mission of finding every bird in the county in that short section of road.
As we reached the stop sign at the highway I tried to turn around to head back home. Mattie in her excitement made the turn and headed back to the house via the tunnel created by my legs bracing for her to hit the end of the leash. The leash formed a firm grasp on my ankles and I realized things were about to get really ugly. I managed to catch myself on her back and maintain my upright position – barely. I’m pretty sure the trucker that passed by about that time is still laughing.
I stopped for a minute to catch my breath and calm Mattie. As I was looking around, a memory hit. I’m not sure why this particular event came flooding back but it made me chuckle all the way home.
There used to be a mobile home across the highway from where we turn onto Hwy 24. I never really knew a lot of the people that lived there since it was a rental.  I don’t even remember the name of the last people that lived there but I do remember doing them a big favor when they were preparing to move.
These particular renters had a lot of “critters” around. Dogs, cats, ducks, chickens, geese, and emus come to mind. Mainly because we received a phone call one evening from them asking if we could help them move to their new place at Excello. They had lots of critters and no way to move them, especially the emus.  They knew we had a stock trailer for our horses and wondered if we could haul the emus for them.
Larry was a little reluctant to take on this venture but being the neighborly sort of guy he is, he agreed to help out the following Saturday afternoon. All three of the kids jumped in the truck with enthusiasm. They had seen the big, ugly birds from the highway and were excited to get to meet them up close.
Getting the birds into the trailer was nothing short of challenging. I won’t lie – the kids and I were hiding behind the trailer at one point so Larry couldn’t see us laugh at him. The birds would not voluntarily step into the trailer. They wouldn’t even volunteer to look at it. When Larry brought out the lariat from behind the seat of his truck to lasso them, we hid our enjoyment.
He was not impressed with the job he was about to undertake. He managed to catch one of the birds and ran his end of the lasso through the side slats and coaxed/pulled the first bird in and closed the middle gate. One bird loaded - one to go.
Long story short, emu number two escaped its confinement and the last time we saw it, she was headed over the hill and through the woods. I don’t think they ever did catch it. There is either a very old emu still roaming the countryside or the coyotes had a very large chicken dinner one evening.
The ride to Excello was no less exciting. This was before Hwy 63 went to four lanes all the way into Macon. We were cruising down 63 on the two-lane portion following the couple to their new farm when Larry audibly gasped. The image in his rear view mirror and the vision of the oncoming traffic created a terrifying vision.
Apparently our friendly passenger decided it needed to see where it was going. The openings on the sides of the livestock trailer were just wide enough for it to stick its head through and enjoy the rush of air much like a dog with his head out an open car window.
This probably wouldn’t have been to bad if the emu had chosen the passenger side versus the driver’s side. The oncoming semi and that birds head stuck out what looked like about 15 feet spelled disaster in our minds.
Thank goodness the shoulder of the road was paved enough Larry could move over and save our passenger from a very ugly beheading. The girls didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Jake didn’t hesitate. He was still laughing so hard when we got to the farm he couldn’t even tell the emu owners what was so funny.
Larry did manage to hold it together until the bird was unloaded and we were back on the road towards home. At that point, he vowed to never again put any kind of animal other than a horse in any trailer he owned. He has stuck to that vow.
The trailer is filled every year with camping equipment for the family float trip/fishing adventure; it has been filled with furniture and belongings from family and friends when they moved; and it has carried building material for home improvement projects but it has never carried any critter besides our horses.
The older I get, the harder it is to remember all the funny things that have happened through the years. I wish many times I had started a journal when my kids were young and kept track of all the memorable things they said and did. Maybe I just need to take the dog walking with me of an evening more often. Who knows what memory she may jar out of me the next time.

So many reasons to be proud of the boys!!

original run date March 27
Chariton Valley News Press

I think I am suffering from withdrawal.  I checked my calendar this week and there were no basketball games to attend or take pictures at.  I wasn’t sure what to do with my time.  I did manage to keep myself from shaking and crying too much by working on cleaning up some of the mess in my house but that wasn’t near as exciting as games.
I have to say I’m proud of the Salisbury boys basketball team for many reasons this year.  Of course, I’m especially proud of the second place state finish.  WOW!  District tournament began the last week of February and fielded 122 Class 2 boys teams.  What an amazing accomplishment to play through the season and finish as one of the four premiere teams in the state.
With that being said, there is a much more important reason to be proud of this group of young men other than their state finish.  I have been a part of the excitement surrounding this group of junior guys since Jake joined their class as a seventh grader.  I have watched some of the juniors and seniors since they were in the second and third grade when they started playing football.  Needless to say, I have a case of bleacher behind from all the hours spent watching them in various sports over the course of the years.
This entire group of young men has always been a great example of sportsmanship and composure both on and off the field.  Yes, they have been “boys” at times, that’s what makes them all loveable and fun to be around.  But as they have entered high school and the spectrum of people watching them have expanded, they have always tried to set an example of what high school sports is all about.  As some of the younger boys meld into the team, it isn’t hard to see they are following the example set by the older guys.
They have won with grace and humility.  They have lost with poise and dignity.  Their composure on the court when down by what seemed like insurmountable odds could teach some adults a few things.  The boys on the bench are some of the most enthusiastic supporters of the guys on the floor.  They win as a “family” and lose as a “family” and I couldn’t be prouder of them if they won a world title.
I was honored to be at the t-shirt signing at the high school a few days before their final four games.  As the elementary students poured through the high school cafeteria, it was hard to tell who was the most excited – the little kids or the team members.  The elementary kids were ecstatic to meet some of the guys they had been watching on the court all year.  The team members were amazed at how many of the younger kids knew them by name.
I found myself chuckling at some of the reactions of both age groups.  Some of the young ladies coming through the line seemed a little awestruck.  The boys were equally impressed with meeting the guys they emulate during pickup games.  Some of the team members recalled the Panther final four appearance in 2005 and being on the t-shirt side of the autograph session.  What a testament to the positive influence high school sports can have on kids these days. 
I know some people think we put to much emphasis on high school sports but this past season highlights why they are so important to small communities.  Even before the state run, the town united in support of both the boys’ and girls’ teams.  That excitement carried to the district tournament in Sturgeon and beyond.  I was so impressed with the sea of purple in Sturgeon when Salisbury brought more fans than the hometown team did. 
The support never faltered as the boys team traveled to Sedalia, back to Moberly and finally to Columbia.  One of the security officers at Mizzou Arena was overheard talking about the show of support for the team on Thursday evening.  He commented that if burglars wanted an easy hit, Salisbury would be the place to be because he was certain most homes were empty.
I was so happy to be the primary photographer for Salisbury teams this season.  Because I have a son on the team, it seemed logical for me to photograph their games.  Man was it fun.  I found myself taking way more pictures than really necessary.  It is hard to put the camera down when four boys on the team can dunk with ease.  I might miss that perfect shot if I wasn’t ready.  I certainly hope to follow both teams from behind a camera in years to come.
Jake has given us a break from sports for a few months.  I won’t lie, as much as I enjoy watching him play sports, I’m happy for the break.  Our house project could use a few evenings of attention to finally wrap things up. 
As this school year rolls to an end, I have to brace myself for the inevitable.  I have to face my youngest becoming a senior and my last year of organized high school sports.  I’m already excited about football season come fall and basketball next year could prove to be just as exciting as this year. 
In the end, I’m grateful for the coaches and supporters that have been a part of Joni and Jake’s lives through the years.  The lessons they have learned, both good and bad, will serve them well throughout life.  They have learned to deal with the heartache of loss, enjoy the ecstasy of winning, how to deal with people and learned the importance of integrity and honesty. 
If you happen to meet up with me around town and I’m shaking a little bit, don’t fear.  The withdrawal symptoms have been easing through the week.  By the time summer basketball rolls around, my backside will be ready for my last year of bleacher residence.  The sports mom in me will be pumped and ready by football season to support our team as I’m sure the community will be also.
Congratulations Salisbury boys basketball, Coach Wyatt, and Coach Green.  It was a thrilling ride.  The community was proud of you every step of the way.