Chris Loehmer Kincaid's Blog, page 104

The Beauty in a Cloudy Day

I’ve told you about our fall vacation the middle of September, the whirlwind trip through Minnesota, Iowa and Illinois. After a day home to rest up, we took off again on the Friday of that week, for a ride up to our favorite spot. The forecast was for sunny skies and highs in the sixties. It had been an unseasonably warm week for the rest of our travels, so we jumped in the SUV with high hopes of another beautiful day.   Roadside Park along the Ontonagon River. The skies don’t look too promising, but all will be fine once we reach Lake Superior. 
 No matter how dreary the weather, a single daisy still looks like a bouquet to me. 
 Driving down the hill into Houghton/Hancock, the Franklin mine on the opposite hill. Coming down this hill still gives me the same thrill it always did when I was a kid.  
 Got to our beach at Calumet Waterworks Park. I was okay with the lower than expected temperatures and the clouds. 
 Even a few drops of rain wouldn’t keep us from letting Dino have his swim. Then some lightning struck. We decided it was time to head back to the SUV and up the road. 
 Jacob Falls. Our goal for the day being the Jampot just down the road.
  Once again bought way too many baked goods from the monks. But they make some good cookies and muffins. Brownies too. 
 A few of the times we stopped along Lake Superior, we could see this boat barreling along. 
  Don’t know what kind of ship it was – much smaller than the frequent freighters we see far out in the lake. But it was really booking. 
 I’ve always loved the shore of Lake Superior along this stretch of road.
Don’t know if Dino appreciated it, but he did appreciate spending the day with us. 
 One of our last stops was at Lake Medora. The ducks came quacking up to us begging for a handout. 
 Apparently, there is no hunting breed in Dino, as I had always thought. He couldn’t care less about those ducks; he just wanted to swim.   
Despite the cloudy skies, it was a beautiful day, because remember, beauty isn’t just what’s on the outside. It’s what’s on the inside.

When Plans Change

“What we plan for ourselves isn't always what life has planned for us”. (Unknown, but I really did try tracking down who first said this.)
A month or so ago, I signed up for a one-day medical assistant conference. I had never been to this one before, but it was inexpensive, I knew some women who were going, it wasn’t much of a drive and in fact I could ride with one of these women. And at the time, I had nothing else going on that day.
Last week, my niece called to say she was planning a surprise birthday party for my sister the same day. The conference would get over at 3:30 and the party was starting at 2, a few miles down the road. I figured, I could either go late, or skip the last speaker. Also, my husband was scheduled to work, so I would go by myself and everything would be good.
Then Hubby’s back went out and he’ll be off work for a couple weeks. Friday morning, we were trying to figure out the logistics of both of us getting to the party on time, when one of my cousins called. Another cousin from out of state, who I haven’t seen in forever, was going to be in town on Saturday. They were all meeting at his house in the morning and did I have any plans for the day? Other than my sister’s party, which he was going to as well?
It only took a nano-second to say, “nope, no plans for me. I will be there.” I called the woman I was going to be riding with and cancelled on her, then emailed the conference planner and cancelled on her. (Bonus – they’re going to refund my money.)
Had a wonderful day. Lots of visiting and catching up with lots of relatives, some long lost and some regulars. 
Moral of this story – sometimes plans change and you have to go with it, no looking back, no second-guessing yourself. Life is short and family always trumps everything else.
"The Cousins." Fred and Georgia (on the left) are first cousins to my mom. Me and Don (on the right) are first cousins and second cousins to the other two.
Not the best picture, but whatcha gonna do. 

Fall Vacation Blog Entry #5

This will be my last entry from our short vacation this fall when we visited Minnesota, Iowa and Illinois. I could spend much more time in any of these states. Of course, as you know, it takes very little to amuse me.
 Driving home from Iowa, we detoured through Illinois, stopping at Galena. We’ve been here several times before, but I think it was always with our son Nick, while he was in college, so it seems our motives didn’t revolve around me wandering about taking pictures.   Can you read this sign? It says that one family lived in this cabin from 1921 to 1970 and raised six children there. 1970? Is that right?
 I remember where I was living in 1970, and though it wasn’t a palace, it was far from a log cabin. 
 Ok, the house I grew up in was a two-room log cabin in its infancy, but that’s a story for another time.
 Just up the hill from the cabin is the Ulysses S Grant home. Built in 1860 and presented to the Grant family in 1865, they only spent a few years in the house and Ulysses never really lived there.
In fact, from what I found on the internet, he didn’t spend a whole lot of time in Galena at all, traveling for either work or with the military.
 There is a beautiful view of Galena from the house. I’d live there if I could. 
 Just a little way up the street from the Grant House . . .
 I discovered this much more fascinating home. The elegant redbrick mansion was built in 1858 and most recently was the Stillman Inn bed-and-breakfast, with an adjacent wedding chapel on its two acres.
 I wish I could have discovered more about this home, but maybe on my next trip.
 It appears that quite recently it was sold to the Galena-Jo Daviess County Historical Society, so I will have to check it out more closely next time.
 Yup, next time.

The Great Wait

You may have heard much of this story before, but now that it has come to completion, I can see that this was how it was supposed to turn out. I found a lot of humor in it at the end.
“Where the Sky Meets the Sand”, my first novel, my fondest baby, was released as an ebook on July 12. The print version was released on September 1. People who ordered it on-line began receiving their copies in the mail soon after that.
When I signed the contract with my publisher nearly a year ago, I ordered 300 copies to sell myself. Silly me thought that I would receive mine early, or at least as others were getting theirs. In retrospect, it makes sense that mine would take a while to print and be delivered because it was such a large order.
Back in the day, printers had to run off that many copies or more at one time to make it worth their while. Now, with on-demand printing, they roll out only the copies they need at any one time. Printing my copies would be a slow process, and in the meantime, I imagine they were sending out one copy here or two copies there.
My catch phrase is “Words Written in God’s Time”, but perhaps it is a reminder that everything else happens in God’s time as well.
On September 20, I finally got an email from my publisher that the books were ready to be shipped and asking what number the shipper could reach me at if they needed to contact me. I thought that was an odd request – just drop the books off on my doorstep, right?
But who cares? The books were on their way, right?
A few more days went by and I had to continually tell myself to turn it over to God. Everything was going to be all right.
I got a message from R&L Carriers on September 28 that the books were ready to be delivered and would someone be available the next day to sign for them.
“Just let me know what time, and I will be there.” Because I wasn’t working that day. If they would have tried delivering them the week before, when Hubby and I were out of town, those books would have been sitting in a warehouse all week.
At 12:59 Friday afternoon the phone rang. “This is R&L Carriers. I’m at the end of your driveway with your delivery, but I can’t make it up your driveway with my semi-truck.”
Semi-truck? I asked myself. I just hadn’t pictured my 300 books needing to arrive by semi-truck.
I jumped in Hubby’s Santa Fe and drove to the end of our one-tenth of a mile long driveway.
Sure enough, there was the semi-truck and trailer. Taking up half of our country road. Better yet was when the driver opened the back of the trailer and there was my little pallet of seven boxes of books, along with two other items in the cavernous space. Wish I would have thought to take my camera with me. The driver would have thought I was nuts for sure. As it was, when he asked what was in the boxes and I told him “books I had written”, he appeared impressed, but was probably really thinking, “that explains it, she’s an eccentric writer.”
He and I loaded the boxes in to the back of the Santa Fe, I bid him a fond farewell (ok, I said, “thanks so much and have a great weekend”).
With minimal help from the Hubby (as his back was out), we hauled the books into the house and into the spare bedroom. I cracked open the first box.
“Do you feel better now?” Hubby asked.
“Yea, I guess I do. It all worked out the way it was meant to.”
And right now, there are only four books left in that first box. Yep, things worked out the way God meant them to.   At a Maasai village when I was in Kenya two years ago. One of the visions I had for the book's cover.The Maasai boys who were the inspiration for the boy in the book, from my first trip to Kenya in 2006. 
The Maasai village of Saikeri, where my daughter stayed in 2010 and which I visited twice since, which was the village in the book.
In my impatience, I ordered a copy for myself from Amazon.  The back cover of that first book.
Those seven boxes in the back of the Santa Fe. 
Those seven boxes in my spare bedroom. 
Cracking the first box, the one that wasn't quite full. 
The first book is birthed. 

To Submit or Not Submit

Wives, submit yourselves to your husbands, for that is what you should do as Christians. Colossians 3:18 (Good News Translation)
As a writer, I am always on the lookout for places to send my work to. When I find such a place – a magazine, a blog, a contest – I copy the link to their website into a file titled “to submit”. When I write a story, poem or article that fits their needs, I polish my work with that market in mind. I submit my very best.
According to Webster’s, the verb “submit” has two definitions. 1) To accept or yield to a superior force or to the authority or will of another person. 2) To present (a proposal, application, or other document) to a person or body for consideration or judgment.
I know that when the Bible tells wives that they should submit to their husbands, that the action asked for is the first definition. But maybe, just maybe, us wives could apply the second definition. Offer our husbands our very best, our finely tuned work. Not think about yielding to their authority. Instead, present them with our best efforts and best intentions. Our deepest love, affection, devotion. 
And here’s how I know this is God’s wish for us. The idea for this post came to me a few days ago. After I started putting it together in my head, it dawned on me that our 20th wedding anniversary is in just a few days. 
No, over the last twenty years I have not always submitted to my husband’s authority. And I haven’t even always submitted to him my very finest achievements. But now, thinking about this, I know that I can at least work on that much.
Happy Anniversary, Hubby. I’m there for you.
Lord, God, thank You so much for giving me Your very best when You sent my husband to me. Between You and he, I will always be taken care of. Amen
October 4, 1997 September 22, 2017
Man, are we getting old!

Fall Vacation Entry # 4

Last Wednesday, we headed home after a few days of visiting with the Hubby’s brother and sister-in-law in Iowa. I seem to have lost track of how many times I have driven around in Iowa and I always find new and interesting things to see. So, I’m tellin’ ya – don’t knock Iowa.  A person could take a week’s vacation there and not see it all.   Anyway, we only had those few days there this year and it was time to head home. We drove north along the Mississippi River crossing into Illinois at Savanna.
 Following highway 84, a small sign for a scenic overlook caught my eye and I hollered at the Hubby to turn west down Army Depot Road. Little did I know where that was going to lead!
This place was totally fascinating to me.  This sign alone wouldn’t have kept me from wandering off into the restricted areas. I had my responsible Hubby driving the car, so there would be no wandering, no arrests and no explosions this day.
 The only sign of life we saw, other than a few flocks of birds.

  The Savanna Army Depot was a 13,000-acre site on the east bank of the Mississippi River just north of Savanna.  Opened in 1917, first as a weapons testing facility, it later became an ammunition depot. After WWI, warehouses were built to store ammunition. The base really boomed during WWII, when employment there jumped from 143 to 7,195. A construction boom built several new warehouses, a new power plant and 407 “igloos” to store ammo and other volatile weapons like mustard gas.


 The base went through several changes over the years, but by 1995, the writing was on the wall. Five years later, the Depot officially shut down, transferring 9,400 acres of land to the Upper Mississippi River National Wildlife and Fish Refuge.
 Made it to the scenic overlook.
My imagination could still just go wild in a place like this. 

Fall Vacation Day 3

Twenty years ago, I was working with a nurse practitioner who told me about the Amana Colonies of Iowa, which she had frequently visited. I knew that someday I wanted to visit it as well.  You would think, since the place is only a six hour drive from where I live, that I would get there some day. Well that someday finally happened last week.
Listed as a National Historic Landmark and one of America’s longest-lived communal societies, the story of the colonies began in 1714 in Germany, with a group of believers searching to renew their faith through reflection, prayer and Bible study. Though they sought to avoid conflict, they were persecuted for their beliefs.
This persecution, as well as an economic depression in Germany, forced the community to search for a new home. They left Germany in 1843-44, and the group, numbering 1,200 people, first settled near Buffalo, New York.
When it became apparent that they needed more farmland, the religious group bought 26,000 acres in a river valley of eastern Iowa. The land they moved to in 1855 supplied fertile soil, stone, wood and water enough to build the community of their dreams.
In all their endeavors, they wanted to remain faithful, so the name they chose for their new colony was Amana which means remain true. Six villages were eventually established, each a mile or two apart – Amana, East Amana, West Amana, South Amana, High Amana, Middle Amana and Homestead.
The residents received housing, medical care, meals, all household necessities, and schooling for their children. Adults were assigned jobs, but no one received a wage, or needed to, as all property and resources were shared. Farming, production of wool and calico, clock making, and brewing, along with other well-crafted products, supported the community.
In 1932, Amana was forced to abandon its strictly communal way of life. To keep up with the changing times, they created the Amana Society, Inc. a profit-sharing corporation to manage the farmland, the mills and the larger enterprises. Private enterprise was encouraged and the Amana Church continued.
“‘Today the seven villages of the Amana Colonies represent an American dream come true; a thriving community founded by religious faith and community spirit. Declared a National Historic Landmark in 1965, the Amana Colonies attract hundreds of thousands of visitors annually all of whom come to see and enjoy a place where the past is cherished and where hospitality is a way of life.
“Evocative of another age, the streets of the Amana Colonies with their historic brick, stone and clapboard homes, their flower and vegetable gardens, their lanterns and walkways recall Amana yesterday. But a vibrant community, celebrating both its past and its future, is here today for you to experience.” (taken from http://www.amanacolonies.com/history-of-amana)
I really didn’t spend nearly enough time there that one day last week. I am sure I will go back again, and this time won’t wait twenty years.  






At Amana Woolen Mills

My husband and his brother, walking the streets 

Fall Vacation Day 2

Whenever we leave the Renaissance Festival, tradition dictates that we stop at Jim’s Apple Farm (aka Minnesota’s Largest Candy Store) before we head to wherever we are going for the night. Last Sunday was no different.  Unbelievably, they added on since last year.  But even with all that stuff – aisles and aisles of candy and other treats – driving down the roads of America’s heartland is still more mouth-watering to me.  St Mary’s Catholic Church in New Trier.  We spent Sunday night in Red Wing and the next morning, explored Corvill Park before heading down along the Mississippi River.  Seems like these Fairy Houses can be found everywhere. I need to get some for my yard.  The historic Anderson house in Wabasha. The whole town was filled with scarecrows and pumpkins for the fall. We drove around checking them out, but it was starting to rain. Then we ended up going the wrong way down a one-way street, so I just wanted to get out of town
There was just as much to see in Winona, but we were feeling pressed for time. A quick drive through town and a walk through Windom Park.This dad zipping his son’s jacket was too adorable to pass up. 
Further down the Mighty Mississippi, we crossed the bridge back into Wisconsin as we came to La Crosse. I went to college here for one year back in my foolish youth. And unbelievably, never went to up to Granddad Bluff, overlooking the city.  Beautiful views.  And I made another friend. Ellen Pennell Hixon. In the early 1900s, the bluffs overlooking La Crosse were being whittled away, the stone being used for home foundations and roadways in the developing river town. Mrs. Hixon couldn’t stand to have the beautiful Grandad Bluff destroyed. She started a fund to buy the piece of land and donated $12,00 to get the ball rolling. Only another $5,000 was needed to purchase the property and build a road to the top of the bluff. The funds were all raised by 1909 and in 1912, the bluff and surrounding land were turned over to the city of La Crosse.  I’m looking at the map now, trying to figure out where we went next, how many times did we cross the Mississippi. And how many times we went back and forth between Minnesota and Wisconsin and then Iowa. (We hit Illinois before we came home, but that’s for another day.)  At Marquette, Iowa, before crossing back into Wisconsin.  No matter what, I still love the symmetric beauty of the farm fields the best.    It's been suggested that I write a book of all my travels across America. If you saw the files on my computer, you would realize that I already have.

Fall Vacation, Day 1

I’m so sorry that I haven’t blogged in so long. Other times, when I’ve been on vacation or out of town for more than a day or two, I plan ahead – and write ahead – so that my blogs can post even when I don’t have internet. This time, I even had internet access (most of the time at least), but I just didn’t get my act together before we left home last Saturday. I had decided that I was going to have an actual vacation for the first time in I don’t know how long and spend four days unconnected. It didn’t really turn out that way, but oh, well, some of me unconnected.
The good news is now I have lots of material to share. (Good for me at least, you will have to let me know if it works out for you or not.)
Saturday, Hubby and I headed off to Minnesota to attend the Renaissance Festival for the umpteenth time. I was going to look back through my records and see just how many times I’ve been there, but you’ll have to trust me – it’s somewhere between seven and twelve. I think I am going to have to keep going to it and continue writing about it until I remember how to spell it. Renasaince? No. Reneasunce? No. Renasanince? No. Didn’t you already try it that way? Don’t know what I would do without spell check.
Sunday morning we woke up bright and early in our dumpy hotel room in Chaska, Minnesota, jumped in the car and off we went. We hadn’t come up on the Festival Grounds from Chaska before, so as we were heading to the usual route a sign popped up pointing us in a different direction. I was naturally nervous, coz that’s what I do – fret over everything.
We ended up at the Queen’s Gate instead of the King’s Gate. Worked out all right I guess, as we parked three rows from the gate and there were easily a thousand less people waiting to get in this gate as opposed to the main gate.  I love all the buildings throughout the grounds. So cool. 
 Here are the King and the Queen, with their random servants. A little different from kings and queens of today, except maybe for the entourage.
 I love this picture of the Queen with this adorable little girl.  
 These guys are the Danger Committee. Reynaldo, Bald Guy and Other Guy. Hysterical.
 And talented.
 Crazy guys too.
 More of the fascinating buildings.
 Met a new friend. He is a native of Minnesota and quite a sweetie.
 The full-armor joust is always cool, even if it is totally staged.
 Whatcha gonna do. Try to get the best pictures you can, I guess.
 Like this one. Look at those horses’s hooves off the ground. Thank you again to the Hubby for my camera.
 Last thing before we left, we went through the Fairy Garden.
  A calming place. 
 But didn’t relax me quite this much. But close.
Next time, I’ll be posting here about our trip down the road from there. 

When Life is Good

Since I didn’t post yesterday (I’ve been shooting for blogging on Wednesday, Friday and Sunday), I thought I would offer you a blog today and then skip tomorrow. As you can imagine, posting here three times a week is quite a commitment, and as much as I enjoy writing these posts and rarely run out of things to say, it still does cut into my day.
Over the last two months, I’ve been sharing here mostly anything I come up with in regards to my latest book, “Where the Sky Meets the Sand”. And I suppose that’s what I should be doing, but you might be getting sick of hearing about it. And I know it is stressing me out. Time to step away from the pressure.
Which is why the first picture I came across on my camera that I knew would be perfect is the Weiner Mobile. It was in my town a couple weeks ago. I snatched a picture as I was driving by on my way back to work.  Anyway, other than promoting the book, I’ve been writing away on my second novel, working on stuff for the nonprofit, slaving away at the clinic a little under forty hours a week, and trying desperately to soak up the warm weather we have had the last week. Winter is barreling towards us, and I need to stock up on my vitamin D before that.
Oh, yes, and my other main activity has been passing that kidney stone. It has felt like it is just hanging out in my right kidney, playing a little kickball once in a while, in case I forgot it was there, but in general not misbehaving too much.
I saw a provider in urology today, who took an x-ray of my bladder and kidneys. She told me that both kidneys have lots of little stones, all of which should pass without incident, and that the large bugger which had been causing the pain has moved into my bladder. And that it should be able to pass on out my urinary track from there.
Yeah! Coz I’ve been planning in my head when I could go in and have it zapped or snagged or eradicated in whatever why the urologist thought would be the best. I am totally okay with all the fretting having been for nothing.
The only thing left to do is to try to catch the bugger when I pee it out. Then work on this never happening again.
Other than that, life is good. Hope it’s going good for you too.