Chris Loehmer Kincaid's Blog, page 91
October 11, 2018
Another Random Stop, of sorts
I have written about this place many times over the past eight years. I’m not sure why the Green Lake Conference Center in Green Lake, Wisconsin has such a hold on me. Sure, there are the memories from my childhood, driving through the beautiful grounds, all the more fascinating because my mom’s cousin kept whispering, “It’s run by the Baptists, so we can’t stop because we are Lutherans.” Because, you know, us Lutherans are such rebels. Then there were those Green Lake Christian Writers Conferences that I attended for several years in a row. When I was “legal” and was welcomed to wander the grounds and buildings.
Or maybe it is the sense of peace from nature, trees, the flowers. The man-made structures that seem to blend in seamlessly. God whispering in the breezes off the lake.
This past June, on our way to our son’s house for the night, I talked Hubby into detouring, so I could take a quick wander through the grounds.
I had already been planning on writing this blog post, when I got a letter in the mail yesterday from two writer-friends from those Writers Conferences, asking if I would be interested in a reunion of sorts next August at Green Lake. God smiling down on me. Again, no coincidences. 
October 10, 2018
A Random Stop Along the Road
I feel like I was all over the map this past summer, but probably not physically as much as mentally. Here we are, over a week into October, and I am still trying to chronicle the past four months. I finally finished writing about my camping trip in July, and was ready to move into August, when I realized there was more left of June. Maybe it’s a good thing that summer isn’t longer for me. I would never get caught up.
The end of June, Hubby and I drove down to our son’s for an overnighter. Quite a while back I blogged some about the day we spent with Nick, but nothing about the ride down there. Any trip should be about the journey and not just the destination.
Nine miles east of Redgranite and seven miles north of Berlin, is a blip in the road called Auroraville. I had to have driven through here before, because many years ago, I photographed this near Poy Sippi, just up the road.
Auroraville, in Waushara County just south and east of the center of the state, has a negligible population. The only businesses we saw are Mimi’s on Route 49 restaurant and Olsen’s Feed Mill. (Neither of which warranted a picture, by the way.)
But I did find something of interest.
“The Auroraville Fountain has been providing water to this community since just after the Civil War. The land surrounding Auroraville is abundant in natural springs called artesian wells. In 1867, John Keneister of Auroraville bored this natural spring well in the center of town. Heading north or south, many travelers and their teams of horses refreshed themselves at this location in the 19th century. Originally, the fountain was built as a wooden trough, but by 1927, it had deteriorated and was replaced with a copper vat from a local burned-out cheese factory. In 1936, the Works Project Administration (WPA) built the ornate stone enclosure around the copper tank. The Auroraville Fountain, now part of the Waushara County Parks System, remains as it looked in the 1930s, and still stand as a unique stopping place at the center of town.” (taken from Wisconsin Historical Markers on Waymarking.com)
And, yes, I did try the water. It was cold and clear and excellent.
The end of June, Hubby and I drove down to our son’s for an overnighter. Quite a while back I blogged some about the day we spent with Nick, but nothing about the ride down there. Any trip should be about the journey and not just the destination.
Nine miles east of Redgranite and seven miles north of Berlin, is a blip in the road called Auroraville. I had to have driven through here before, because many years ago, I photographed this near Poy Sippi, just up the road.
Auroraville, in Waushara County just south and east of the center of the state, has a negligible population. The only businesses we saw are Mimi’s on Route 49 restaurant and Olsen’s Feed Mill. (Neither of which warranted a picture, by the way.)
But I did find something of interest.
“The Auroraville Fountain has been providing water to this community since just after the Civil War. The land surrounding Auroraville is abundant in natural springs called artesian wells. In 1867, John Keneister of Auroraville bored this natural spring well in the center of town. Heading north or south, many travelers and their teams of horses refreshed themselves at this location in the 19th century. Originally, the fountain was built as a wooden trough, but by 1927, it had deteriorated and was replaced with a copper vat from a local burned-out cheese factory. In 1936, the Works Project Administration (WPA) built the ornate stone enclosure around the copper tank. The Auroraville Fountain, now part of the Waushara County Parks System, remains as it looked in the 1930s, and still stand as a unique stopping place at the center of town.” (taken from Wisconsin Historical Markers on Waymarking.com)
And, yes, I did try the water. It was cold and clear and excellent. 
October 7, 2018
Another non-coincidence
And we know that God causes everything to work together for the good of those who love God and are called according to his purpose for them. (Romans 8:28 New Living Translation)My husband and I celebrated our 21st wedding anniversary this past Thursday. The same as with our birthdays, we view it as just another day. We treat each other with the same love and respect no matter what the date is on the calendar. Isn’t that how it should be?
On Friday, I cleaned out one of my file cabinet drawers. It has been a very long time since I went through it. Probably, eighteen years, actually.
Not quite a month ago, I wrote a post about not believing in coincidences. And I still don’t. Somewhere in the back of that file drawer, when I pulled out the “Happy 3rdAnniversary” banner which my kids made that long ago, I didn’t think it was by chance that it was the day after our anniversary.
Maybe God wants me to celebrate the special days, whether the anniversary of marrying the man He chose for me or a random date when I get to spend the day with that man.
Thank You God for each new day. Whether special or not, each day is a gift.
(And thank you, Himey, for putting up with my many quirks.)
We still take the worst selfies October 4, 2018
At It Again
Six months ago, I met with these women and promised them that I would help them. One of the things they asked for was that they and their children would no longer go to bed hungry. How many of you reading this have asked for that?These women realize they need to become more self-sufficient, but struggle with how to make that happen. They make amazing jewelry and intricate beaded crafts and know that if they had a better way to sell it, they could make more money.
Right now, they mostly sell these items by harassing tourists in safari vans as they are entering the game park. The safari camp we have been staying at also offers tourists a tour of their village so that they can experience what it is like to live like the Maasai. After the tour, the women offer their crafts for sale, but it is again under sub-optimal conditions and some what daunting when encountered for the first time. The organization we work with in Kenya, Marafiki Community, proposes creating a Community Center for these Maasai, where they can not only sell their crafts, but also run a café for tourists heading out to safari. There would also be an area for vocational training for the women.
I know I have posted about this before. And you may be sick of hearing it. I hope to make this my last plea, definitely my most blatant plea for money.
I implore you to do two things for this village:
1) Share this with as many people as you can. Either share it on your Facebook page or share it on several other people’s. Post it on your other social media. Email it to your family and friends. Print it out and hand it to people you know. If each person reading this contacts five other people, the number of people reached would grow exponentially.
2) Make a donation to Tumaini Volunteers. You can mail your check to Tumaini Volunteers, Inc., PO Box 537, Wausau, WI 54402 or directly to me, if you rather, to Chris Kincaid, W5343 Koth Road, Tomahawk, WI 54487. You can also click on this link to send your donation electronically and securely. If everyone reading this sends just $10, we would be able to make a difference in the lives of these Maasai.
Thank you to everyone who has already supported us in this project. I really appreciate every donation we have received. Also thank you to everyone who has bought the Kenyan merchandise we have had for sale. And finally thank you to anyone who has purchased from our Schwan’s Care campaigns. A new one just started this week, so you’ll want to check it out here. Thank you for taking the time to read this. I look forward to seeing this message spread like wildfire. Or at least grow larger than our bonfire at the safari camp last spring.
October 3, 2018
Getting to be about that time
I haven’t slept well the last couple of nights. I realize it is a cyclic thing – can’t figure out the cycle, but I’ll sleep well for a few nights and then lay awake the next three or four. Anyway, so I was pretty foggy-headed all day yesterday, and as I started writing this last night, I just wanted to go to bed. Then I realized, I might not sleep again, so why waste my time.
So that’s what I was thinking about on my way home from work and also that I needed to write something to post to my blog. Or not. Maybe I should stop wasting my time and watch TV at night like so many other people. Shoot, it’s a new season, isn’t it? There should be something on TV worth watching.
The whole “I’m going to stop writing thing” is cyclic too. Someday I will figure myself out.
As tired as I was when I got home last night, and as chilly and dreary as it was outside, I still took Dino for a walk down the trails in the woods around our house. Then, when I realized how blessed I am to have this little patch of woods, I grabbed my camera and walked my trails again.
I said to myself, “if any of these pictures turn out in this dim light, then that’s what I’ll put on my blog for Wednesday.” Then I added, “and I won’t quit writing.”
The pictures are okay. Then I had to play with the editing features.
But I don’t know. It’s not about writing or taking pictures or getting enough sleep, maybe not even about taking a walk in search of peace. Maybe it’s just about being. Just being.
Which reminds me of a quote from my sister Pat. “There’s something I want, but I don’t know what it is yet. I just feel restless. I’m not unhappy, it’s just getting to be about that time.”
So that’s what I was thinking about on my way home from work and also that I needed to write something to post to my blog. Or not. Maybe I should stop wasting my time and watch TV at night like so many other people. Shoot, it’s a new season, isn’t it? There should be something on TV worth watching.
The whole “I’m going to stop writing thing” is cyclic too. Someday I will figure myself out.
As tired as I was when I got home last night, and as chilly and dreary as it was outside, I still took Dino for a walk down the trails in the woods around our house. Then, when I realized how blessed I am to have this little patch of woods, I grabbed my camera and walked my trails again.
I said to myself, “if any of these pictures turn out in this dim light, then that’s what I’ll put on my blog for Wednesday.” Then I added, “and I won’t quit writing.”
The pictures are okay. Then I had to play with the editing features.
But I don’t know. It’s not about writing or taking pictures or getting enough sleep, maybe not even about taking a walk in search of peace. Maybe it’s just about being. Just being.Which reminds me of a quote from my sister Pat. “There’s something I want, but I don’t know what it is yet. I just feel restless. I’m not unhappy, it’s just getting to be about that time.”
September 30, 2018
Be What?
“Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the Lord your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.” Deuteronomy 31:6
I’m not a Bible scholar. Far from it. I’ve only read the Bible, cover-to-cover, twice and am a third the way through my third time. But even I can see a theme when it jumps out in front of me.
“Be strong and courageous,” Deuteronomy 31:7
“Be strong and courageous,” Deuteronomy 31:23
“Be strong and courageous,” Joshua 1:6
“Be strong and very courageous.” Joshua 1:7
“Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous.” Joshua 1:9 (I think you most certainly have commanded us.)
“Only be strong and courageous!” Joshua 1:18 (Only? Only be strong and courageous?)
“Be strong and courageous.” Joshua 10:25
“Be strong and courageous.” 1 Chronicles 22:13
But, how Lord, do we remain strong and courageous when we are bombarded with so much in our daily lives – stress, fatigue, bad news, illness, disease, war and threats of war, death? This is how we remain strong and courageous: we look to You, our Lord God, our Rock, our Strength and Courage.
David also said to Solomon his son, “Be strong and courageous, and do the work. Do not be afraid or discouraged, for the Lord God, my God, is with you. He will not fail you or forsake you until all the work for the service of the temple of the Lord is finished.” 1 Chronicles 28:20
And one last time:
“Be strong and courageous.” 2 Chronicles 32:7
(This picture, which of course, God chose for this post and not me, reminds me of a long stretch of strength and courage in my life. I’ve blogged about it before, and I’m sure I will again. One day.)
September 28, 2018
The Field - Flashback Friday
I’ve been sitting here all night, doing random things on the computer, some productive, some mind-numbingly wasteful, telling myself the entire time, “I have to write a blog post for tomorrow”. Here it is, 8:30 Thursday night, and I still haven’t quite decided what to write about. I didn’t write anything for Wednesday’s blog, so I really feel the pressure to share something – anything – on Friday.
I guess Flashback Friday is as good as it’s going to get.
I went through my old pictures, looking for one with beautifully colored trees in the fall. This is the one which surfaced. It was taken in 1976 in the field across the road from the house where I grew up.
Back around the time I was born, after Grandpa was gone and there would be no more farming to be done in the field, Mom and Dad planted Norway pines. One day, these trees would provide a little income. But no matter how tall those trees grew, that 20 acre patch would always be the “field.”
When my sister Pat and I were little, we had all sorts of adventures in the field, under the growing pine trees. We gathered hay to use as bedding for our rabbits. We sled down this hill in the winter. It doesn’t look like much in the picture taken last year. How can a hill shrink in forty years?
Then there was the rock pile, all those boulders gathered from the field so Grandpa could use the land. I sat on the round rock on the right, while Pat straddled the one on the left, and we’d do something – funny how I can’t remember what we did perched on those rocks. I tell my husband if we ever sell that land, that I want to find someone to move those two boulders to our yard. The problem with that is what will I do if we sell our house and move. Of course, I’d want to take those rocks with me. How much do you think they weigh?
This year, our logger has been harvesting the timber from the field. So much has changed and so much has stayed the same.
And because every girl needs a dog to share her adventures. . . .
I guess Flashback Friday is as good as it’s going to get.
I went through my old pictures, looking for one with beautifully colored trees in the fall. This is the one which surfaced. It was taken in 1976 in the field across the road from the house where I grew up.
Back around the time I was born, after Grandpa was gone and there would be no more farming to be done in the field, Mom and Dad planted Norway pines. One day, these trees would provide a little income. But no matter how tall those trees grew, that 20 acre patch would always be the “field.”
When my sister Pat and I were little, we had all sorts of adventures in the field, under the growing pine trees. We gathered hay to use as bedding for our rabbits. We sled down this hill in the winter. It doesn’t look like much in the picture taken last year. How can a hill shrink in forty years?
Then there was the rock pile, all those boulders gathered from the field so Grandpa could use the land. I sat on the round rock on the right, while Pat straddled the one on the left, and we’d do something – funny how I can’t remember what we did perched on those rocks. I tell my husband if we ever sell that land, that I want to find someone to move those two boulders to our yard. The problem with that is what will I do if we sell our house and move. Of course, I’d want to take those rocks with me. How much do you think they weigh?
This year, our logger has been harvesting the timber from the field. So much has changed and so much has stayed the same. 
And because every girl needs a dog to share her adventures. . . .
September 23, 2018
Ah-ha Moments
2a Lord, I have heard of your fame; I stand in awe of your deeds, Lord.4 His splendor was like the sunrise; rays flashed from his hand, where his power was hidden.19 The Sovereign Lord is my strength; he makes my feet like the feet of a deer, he enables me to tread on the heights.
(Habakkuk, chapter 3, verses 2a, 4 and 19, New International Version)
Last weekend, as you may already know, I was at a writer’s retreat for Christian women. I felt so blessed, surrounded by caring, like-minded women, enveloped in their love and encouragement, filled with God’s peace. I finished editing one novel, wrote two chapters on a new novel, and received invaluable advice.
I had hoped to write here today about my aha moment from the retreat. That single defining moment when something amazing clicked for me, I had an epiphany or felt the Hand of God typing my words. Was there that one single aha moment? No, of course not.
Instead there were the ah moments.
Lots of them.
And the ha moments.
I’m so blessed. The aha moments fill my every waking moment. Whether at a serene Bible Camp living for three days in a bubble or stumbling through the thousand and one mundane minutes which make up my life, I am blanketed by God’s grace.
Lord, Father God, thank You so very much for everything You have put on this earth for us to enjoy. All glory goes to You. Amen.
(Habakkuk, chapter 3, verses 2a, 4 and 19, New International Version)
Last weekend, as you may already know, I was at a writer’s retreat for Christian women. I felt so blessed, surrounded by caring, like-minded women, enveloped in their love and encouragement, filled with God’s peace. I finished editing one novel, wrote two chapters on a new novel, and received invaluable advice.
I had hoped to write here today about my aha moment from the retreat. That single defining moment when something amazing clicked for me, I had an epiphany or felt the Hand of God typing my words. Was there that one single aha moment? No, of course not.
Instead there were the ah moments.
Lots of them.
And the ha moments.
I’m so blessed. The aha moments fill my every waking moment. Whether at a serene Bible Camp living for three days in a bubble or stumbling through the thousand and one mundane minutes which make up my life, I am blanketed by God’s grace. Lord, Father God, thank You so very much for everything You have put on this earth for us to enjoy. All glory goes to You. Amen.
September 21, 2018
2018 Camping Post #5 - A Short Day and a Memory
I am finally posting about the last full day of our camping trip in July. It was a slow leisurely day. Not usual for us, but maybe we are finally realizing that vacation should be about sitting around the camp fire instead of running around as much as we do at home.
After lunch, we took a ride to find some waterfalls. All we did find were rapids and dams. But they are still fun to visit.
But here’s the thing, heading to each of these three spots, we discovered something else new and note-worthy.
On the way to the first one, we saw what I thought was a beautiful, clear-cut field, with just enough lone trees to make it picturesque.
On the highway just above where the second falls was supposed to be was a sign about the location where Father Menard was killed.
And along the road to the third, we found a monument to the men who were killed in the worst mining accident in Michigan history as well as the church and remains of the town of Mansfield.
See what you find when you get off the beaten path.
After we got back to camp, I headed out to walk around the entire campground. I found the site where my sister Pat and I camped back in 1980, site number 65. I think it was, anyway, because I remember debating about that site or the one across the road and the one across the road actually looked more familiar, but I am positive ours was on the right side of the road. That was 38 years ago, so how much are these trees really going to look the same? But whatever the case, wherever we were, I sat down on the picnic table and tried talking to her. I think because she is in heaven, with Mom, Dad, Aunt Helen and everyone else, she can’t communicate with us. I think that only non-believers really think they can talk to the dead. If you are in heaven you are in such a good place – I can’t think of a way of saying it without sounding like people are jerks once they get to heaven. But really, I don’t think they have any connection anymore with us left down here on earth alive. I think once you are in the arms of Jesus, everything you left behind on earth, all your loved ones, maybe even all your memories evaporate. I think it is all a fresh start in heaven. But we will still all be there together one day. But sometimes it would be nice to just be able to be with Pat, feel her presence, hear her voice, sense that attitude, that grit, that spunk. But I do feel it all the time. It is still what keeps me going a lot of the time, in times when I just want to give up and I think to myself, “what would Pat do?”
I returned to our campsite, and the next morning, by six am to beat the rain, we packed up camp and headed home.
After lunch, we took a ride to find some waterfalls. All we did find were rapids and dams. But they are still fun to visit.
But here’s the thing, heading to each of these three spots, we discovered something else new and note-worthy.
On the way to the first one, we saw what I thought was a beautiful, clear-cut field, with just enough lone trees to make it picturesque.
On the highway just above where the second falls was supposed to be was a sign about the location where Father Menard was killed.
And along the road to the third, we found a monument to the men who were killed in the worst mining accident in Michigan history as well as the church and remains of the town of Mansfield.
See what you find when you get off the beaten path.
After we got back to camp, I headed out to walk around the entire campground. I found the site where my sister Pat and I camped back in 1980, site number 65. I think it was, anyway, because I remember debating about that site or the one across the road and the one across the road actually looked more familiar, but I am positive ours was on the right side of the road. That was 38 years ago, so how much are these trees really going to look the same? But whatever the case, wherever we were, I sat down on the picnic table and tried talking to her. I think because she is in heaven, with Mom, Dad, Aunt Helen and everyone else, she can’t communicate with us. I think that only non-believers really think they can talk to the dead. If you are in heaven you are in such a good place – I can’t think of a way of saying it without sounding like people are jerks once they get to heaven. But really, I don’t think they have any connection anymore with us left down here on earth alive. I think once you are in the arms of Jesus, everything you left behind on earth, all your loved ones, maybe even all your memories evaporate. I think it is all a fresh start in heaven. But we will still all be there together one day. But sometimes it would be nice to just be able to be with Pat, feel her presence, hear her voice, sense that attitude, that grit, that spunk. But I do feel it all the time. It is still what keeps me going a lot of the time, in times when I just want to give up and I think to myself, “what would Pat do?”I returned to our campsite, and the next morning, by six am to beat the rain, we packed up camp and headed home.
2019 Camping Post #5 - A Short Day and a Memory
I am finally posting about the last full day of our camping trip in July. It was a slow leisurely day. Not usual for us, but maybe we are finally realizing that vacation should be about sitting around the camp fire instead of running around as much as we do at home.
After lunch, we took a ride to find some waterfalls. All we did find were rapids and dams. But they are still fun to visit.
But here’s the thing, heading to each of these three spots, we discovered something else new and note-worthy.
On the way to the first one, we saw what I thought was a beautiful, clear-cut field, with just enough lone trees to make it picturesque.
On the highway just above where the second falls was supposed to be was a sign about the location where Father Menard was killed.
And along the road to the third, we found a monument to the men who were killed in the worst mining accident in Michigan history as well as the church and remains of the town of Mansfield.
See what you find when you get off the beaten path.
After we got back to camp, I headed out to walk around the entire campground. I found the site where my sister Pat and I camped back in 1980, site number 65. I think it was, anyway, because I remember debating about that site or the one across the road and the one across the road actually looked more familiar, but I am positive ours was on the right side of the road. That was 38 years ago, so how much are these trees really going to look the same? But whatever the case, wherever we were, I sat down on the picnic table and tried talking to her. I think because she is in heaven, with Mom, Dad, Aunt Helen and everyone else, she can’t communicate with us. I think that only non-believers really think they can talk to the dead. If you are in heaven you are in such a good place – I can’t think of a way of saying it without sounding like people are jerks once they get to heaven. But really, I don’t think they have any connection anymore with us left down here on earth alive. I think once you are in the arms of Jesus, everything you left behind on earth, all your loved ones, maybe even all your memories evaporate. I think it is all a fresh start in heaven. But we will still all be there together one day. But sometimes it would be nice to just be able to be with Pat, feel her presence, hear her voice, sense that attitude, that grit, that spunk. But I do feel it all the time. It is still what keeps me going a lot of the time, in times when I just want to give up and I think to myself, “what would Pat do?”
I returned to our campsite, and the next morning, by six am to beat the rain, we packed up camp and headed home.
After lunch, we took a ride to find some waterfalls. All we did find were rapids and dams. But they are still fun to visit.
But here’s the thing, heading to each of these three spots, we discovered something else new and note-worthy.
On the way to the first one, we saw what I thought was a beautiful, clear-cut field, with just enough lone trees to make it picturesque.
On the highway just above where the second falls was supposed to be was a sign about the location where Father Menard was killed.
And along the road to the third, we found a monument to the men who were killed in the worst mining accident in Michigan history as well as the church and remains of the town of Mansfield.
See what you find when you get off the beaten path.
After we got back to camp, I headed out to walk around the entire campground. I found the site where my sister Pat and I camped back in 1980, site number 65. I think it was, anyway, because I remember debating about that site or the one across the road and the one across the road actually looked more familiar, but I am positive ours was on the right side of the road. That was 38 years ago, so how much are these trees really going to look the same? But whatever the case, wherever we were, I sat down on the picnic table and tried talking to her. I think because she is in heaven, with Mom, Dad, Aunt Helen and everyone else, she can’t communicate with us. I think that only non-believers really think they can talk to the dead. If you are in heaven you are in such a good place – I can’t think of a way of saying it without sounding like people are jerks once they get to heaven. But really, I don’t think they have any connection anymore with us left down here on earth alive. I think once you are in the arms of Jesus, everything you left behind on earth, all your loved ones, maybe even all your memories evaporate. I think it is all a fresh start in heaven. But we will still all be there together one day. But sometimes it would be nice to just be able to be with Pat, feel her presence, hear her voice, sense that attitude, that grit, that spunk. But I do feel it all the time. It is still what keeps me going a lot of the time, in times when I just want to give up and I think to myself, “what would Pat do?”I returned to our campsite, and the next morning, by six am to beat the rain, we packed up camp and headed home.
