It has come to my attention that the column called “Weeds” has been showing up in the Marshall Independent. This is a large increase in exposure for my humble column. It is exactly double, from one newspaper to two.
The Journal of New Ulm and Independent of Marshall are brother newspapers. Or sisters. I’m not sure the gender of newspapers. Like other siblings, they borrow stuff back and forth. Columns from the Independent have been appearing in The Journal. I’m not sure it has come to those writers’ attentions.
There was no preparation for Independent readers for “Weeds.” It just showed up there one day unannounced, taking up space that had gone to George Will or Cal Thomas. If you are missing George and Cal, don’t blame me. I didn’t mean to disrupt your morning read over the cereal bowl.
I thought I should give a proper introduction. I began writing “Weeds” thirty years ago. I took a hiatus to chase our kids around and cranked it back up ten years ago. “Weeds” comes from words that knock around in my head. Sometimes they build up to a point where they spill out on to paper. Or they used to. Now they splash onto a keyboard. It can be an unsightly mess, but I always try to clean it up.
This column is achingly local. It is usually about things in front of me, things I can see, if not touch. That means it’s often about things here on our farm. I live on the home place. Outside of a few years in college entertaining possible futures, I’ve been here. I have moved from the small bedroom to the large bedroom, so you can’t say I haven’t gotten anywhere in life.
Longtime partner and wife Pam makes regular appearances. She’d rather read a good novel than a newspaper, so I don’t think she knows about that. I’d appreciate you not telling her.
At times, we raised pigs, chickens, and three children. Along with the kids came a lengthy parade of pets. They were buried in the Pet Cemetery in the grove after an appropriate service. The kids are gone, scattered about this hemisphere. We do have two cats my wife saved when their feral cat mom was killed. The cats take us for granted like all members of that furry species do.
I don’t get off the farm much: church and supplies a couple times a year. Sleepy Eye is the town where we go for rations. You can see Sleepy Eye from our farm. Sometimes you can hear it if it is still out. You used to be able to smell it when the Del Monte plant was operating.
We occasionally trek to New Ulm. When I was a kid, New Ulm was the big city. I heard of bigger cities like Minneapolis and New York, but they were hard to imagine. They may as well have been the Emerald City.
New Ulm is a fun place to visit. They have lots of bars. A guy can get in trouble there, especially an innocent from the country. So far, I’ve always gotten out of there unharmed.
Sometimes I write about that other nearby city located at the confluence of two great waterways, the Minnesota River and Ruheheim Creek. New Wallum was founded by members of the Burner Society. The Burners were free thinkers. They were said to be agnostic, but it was more a case that they didn’t want to get up for church.
New Wallum is home to Mel’s Beer. Mel’s Brewery is the oldest brewery owned by guys named Mel in the country. Mel Sr. recently turned the reins over to Mel Jr. Granddaughter Melanie has begun to have a role. Towering over New Wallum is the imposing statue of Bauer the Sauer. It is a tribute to the most important figure in German history, Bauer, the inventor of sauerkraut.
When I first wrote about New Wallum, I received an angry letter from a civic leader in New Ulm. He said I wasn’t fooling anyone; he knew I was making fun of his city. I’m not sure where that kind of paranoia comes from.
“Weeds” occasionally gets into the tall weeds and touches on religion and politics. We’ve all been admonished to not bring up religion and politics in civil company. That’s generally a good idea. But such thoughts sometime escape my brain, kind of like when the cows got out when I was young. They’d run around the yard, kicking up their legs, and finally go back to their pen. My thoughts are like that.
I’ve been Catholic my whole life. I’ve been both parties at various times. I admit a bias toward kindness, respectfulness, and empathy. I’m not a fan of rigid, close-minded, rule-centric practitioners of any religion or political party. I tend to take that stuff Jesus said about loving your neighbor literally. I also don’t think “neighbor” means just people who look like us. I already look and act like me. I don’t need to be surrounded by others.
Baseball makes regular appearances in this space. I played long ago, not very well. Regardless, I love the game. The creation and promulgation of baseball is the highest achievement of our species. Being on a ball field is as close to Heaven as we get on this side of the grave. The touch and smell of ball and glove, the sound of bat hitting ball, I’m not going to compare those to sex, but you know what I mean.
I’d like to see a lot more baseball and a lot less warfare. Like we used to say back in the Sixties: make baseball, not war. Or something like that.
Finally, I feel a warning is due. Someone told me once that they liked my writing, but I really didn’t have a point. I had to admit that a lot of times I don’t have a point. There are many writers more than willing to share points about lots of things. George Will and Cal Thomas certainly do. Having to have a point is a lot of pressure that I choose to forgo.
So, if you’re looking for meandering writing that doesn’t really go anywhere, this column’s for you. Thank you for reading. If you’re not, thank you for not reading, I guess.
