Iowa, in the summertime

...can be a multitude of different things. after perusing a fantastic blog of a beautiful family, and then finding a parallel in my own life, i wanted to share this with you, dear reader.

backstory, stage one: for reasons i never fully understood when i was little, my dad had this habit of finding antique tractors -sometimes mostly buried in a farmer's grove- and restoring them to nearly-factory specifications. models we found, bought and restored included the John Deere models D (1930), A, B, and G.

eventually, the old man acquired several diesel Models, one of which he used to transport crops and produce into town from the Amish farms in the vicinity (no steel wheels).

okay, backstory stage two: when we had these tractors, and they were ready for show, we would travel across iowa and south dakota during the summertime as exhibitors in antique horsepower shows. these are some of the happiest memories i have of my childhood! Giant Case, Hart-Parr, and other steam engine tractors, beyond description unless you've seen one leave three-inch-deep tracks as it slowly rumbles by, would fire off their whistles at 0500.

the scent of hay and coal smoke in the crisp morning air. the ho-down jamborees in the church on saturday night. the continual pop-pop-pop of enormous two-cylinder engines idling on kerosene. the burrrrrrrrrrrrrr of a multitude of stationary kerosene and steam power engines. horses. quiet farmers in straw hats and overalls (that was really how they dressed daily, not simply for the benefit of the curious town people.) the chaff flying through the hot air while farmers worked, quite seriously, on antique threshing rigs powered by dad's D.

these things are amazing. monstrous feats of engineering. i remember a quote from one of my dad's steam engine books, concerning the question of water quality for your boiler:

"if you wouldn't drink it, don't you dare put it into your boiler."

separating wheat from chaff is an ages old endeavour, and in the very early 20th century, required an immense amount of effort, equipment, patience, and determination.

i would spend hours stone-grinding non-gmo corn (there were farmers who eschewed gmo's in the seventies too, people!) with the assistance of a kindly exhibitor and his legion of small, kerosene powered stationary power engines. i would come back to the camper covered in fresh corn flour, much to the chagrin of my poor mother. she would come after me with a washcloth, and i would then retreat to a steam-powered carousel for a diversion.

enter today. and here are some photographs of my family, dear reader, to celebrate the timelessness of both family and steam traction.

and this one is special, just for a little guy also named Scotty who also has a fascination with all things steam engine. you have no idea who i am, but you and your enthusiasm just made my day. thank you.

yeah, i come from pretty good stock. meet andrew and larry peterson. good coupla guys.

Church, V.2.0

i've been spending quite a bit of time in the car as of late. driving, circling the new city (sharking, as an old friend of mine called reconnoitering), looking for a place to put myself and the famille nouveau. that, plus my regular commute. don't get me wrong, i kind of like the commute... i've never had one before, and the stretch is straight, not too long, and offers quiet time with the mp3 player and my own brain for company.

i've discovered that moving into a college town at the beginning of semester can be:

1. expensive
2. irritating, as the availability/quality of housing can be really thin/picked over
3. exhausting.

i needed a break, with some real 'remove myself from it all' benefits. and the availability of a world city an hour away offered me exactly the suspension of disbelief that this old cynic required: an evening with Alan and Mimi.

i'm not quite sure where my fascination with Low came from. mostly, i'm thinking it has to do with the otherworldly vocal harmonies, used with surgical precision. if the surgeon was made of a misty cloud of water vapor. or something. this kind of music can only be authored and performed by people truly joined at the brain. Alan and Mimi have known each other since they were 9, were married, are raising (and i believe, home-schooling) their beautiful children, and throughout it all, have been making music together. for their whole lives.

a Low concert seems to be a nearly-spiritual event for those who attend. defying modern concert atmosphere conventions, there isn't any obnoxious behaviour. nobody's wasted. the audience is quiet, as to hear the music fully. enthusiastic, honest applause after songs. one could hear the bartenders, way at the back of the room, quietly talking to each other. this show was in an interesting club, very small, and i found that it was much more conducive to their alternately hushed and overdriven music. First Avenue in Minneapolis is big, fun, and loud, but it didn't seem like the kind of place that a band that regularly performs in church sanctuaries would fit best. from the softest harmonies to harsh and snarling overdriven guitars, the sound and atmosphere was perfect. thanks, Low.

when i was picking up some fresh schwag for the Beautiful Boy and The Fabulous Girlfriend, the merch guy saw my old twins cap, and quickly put his on as well. "even if the twins have given up, it doesn't mean that we have to, right?"

a twelve hour shift awaited me, after a 90 minute drive from portland to eugene. it didn't matter. i was, for lack of a better definition, spiritually recharged. now i'll find that house. and it will be.

a quick snapshot.

and, another surprise. well, not really.

although i've taken this test before, it was fun to refresh. if one will allow oneself a semi-safe-to-read-at-work between the lines, it's going to be reeeeeeeeally nice to see the Fabulous Girlfriend again. for more than you might want to know, read ahead, dear reader.














The Surprising Lover
(81% partner focus, 33% aggressiveness, 60% adventurousness)

"Based on the results of this test, it is highly likely that:

You prefer your romance and love to wild and daring rather than typical or boring, you would rather be pursued than do the pursuing and, when it comes to physical love, your satisfaction comes more from providing a wonderful time to your partner than simply seeking your own.

This places you in the Lover Style of: The Surprising Lover.

The Surprising Lover is a wonderful Lover Style, and, like the name implies, is often filled with hidden delights and talents that might not be apparent from a surface knowledge of the person. The Surprising Lover is rather like a geode--sometimes rough on the exterior, but filled with beauty and wonder. The Surprising Lover is thus a gem to find, though it can sometimes be difficult to do so because they often tend to be humble and unwilling to reveal their inner greatness unless they're in a rewarding relationship.

In terms of physical love, the Surprising Lover really shines, often highly imaginative and utterly devoted to bringing the heights of pleasure to the one that they truly love. Given a rewarding, reciprocative relationship, and the right lover, the Surprising Lover can be a delight in bed.

Best Compatibility can probably be found with: The Carnal Lover (most of all) or the Exotic Lover, or the Suave Lover. Or with Diana. Especially with Diana.

the left coast, in first-person.

Well, I’ve arrived in the beautiful PNW. I’ve spent a little more than a week here, and I have to say, the atmosphere is simply amazing. My arrival was sweet, and bitter. I hope to explore both aspects here, for your introspection, Dear Reader.

I’ll begin with documenting the trip. Money was always an issue, as I had only a few hundred dollars to survive on, and feed the Snarfler on the way. I didn’t rush, to conserve fuel. I didn’t eat fast food. I pre-purchased a case of bottled water at a tent sale. Partly because of laziness, partly out of a need for efficiency, I made the decision that it would be okay to smoke in the car (as long as the windows are open, as long as I’m by myself) for the duration of the trip. My voyage across the western U.S. (and my first into the Pacific Northwest) was wonderful. The drive across South Dakota gave me a chance to say goodbye to the familiar vast farmlands of my youth. The Black Hills were beautiful, as always. Instead of heading south into the hills, as was my usual voyage, I elected to head north into Spearfish, and leave I-90 behind as I headed into Montana.

With the exception of Alaska and Texas, there isn’t a state that’s longer from east to west. And I drove through every inch of it. Eastern Montana’s Indian reservations were bleak and saddening to drive through. Gasoline came at a premium, and burned quickly. After the jump on the two-lane, it was back to the highway, where I would spend the rest of the voyage. Coming through the mountains at night really was an experience to remember. Seeing a glittering city in the bowl of a huge valley was really awe-inspiring. The air, crystal-clear, only added to the gorgeous visage.

The first night was spent at the top of the Rockies, at a beautiful rest stop outside of Missoula, Montana. The next morning was a long trip down the Rockies. Coeur D’Alene is stunningly beautiful. Fires were prevalent in the Rocky Mountain range, and firefighting helicopters were a common sight. All of my butts went into a water bottle! Through the bottleneck of Idaho and into Washington, traversing Oregon along the majestic Columbia River, and then south on busy I-5 to the destination: Eugene. Checking into the local hotel that the station had set up for me was a wonderful relief. The hotel offered nice suites, and after some much needed sleep, I drove in concentric circles around the neighborhood, familiarizing myself with the area immediately surrounding the station. Good local restaurants. The people are friendly. Driving rules and patterns are new and confusing to the newcomer. Gas is pumped for you. I haven’t quite figured out if one is supposed to tip for this service.

I made multiple trips into Corvallis during my decompress time, making friends with the local community service office person and plotting potential rentals on a map of the area with sticky notes and addresses. The magic coffee shop Sunnyside Up made a perfect base from which to plan. It’s going to be a lot of work to find the perfect place for us, but The Fabulous Girlfriend insists that it’s the place that is going to find us, not the other way around. She’s awfully intelligent and has an awful lot of Faith, so again, I find myself trusting her inherently with our lives. The city is small, quaint, beautifully situated in a lovely valley, and relatively easy to navigate. Free downtown parking makes me smile. The giant John Deere traveling down 4^th street at noon brought me comfort.

On Friday morning I called and checked in with the Chief Engineer, and after a quick introduction, we were off to the station for a tour and orientation. The station is a technological marvel, with no Production Assistants in the house to edit video, run the cameras and audio board, advance graphics sequences, and the like. Here, all is run by non-linear video editing, computer sequencing and robotics-controlled cameras. There are no tapes to be rolled during the show, as all digital video is stored in a sequence on an in-house set of servers. Microphone queues are automatic. High tech, yo!

During this breaking in period, I’m working in Master Control, which is something new for me. I’m now being paid to watch and baby-sit the Saturday morning cartoons that I lamented missing out on while I was helping Dad clear the grove of deadfall for our family’s winter heating. Lots of learning is happening. Photoshop is a new ally and enemy, rolled into one. Graphics requests are fulfilled quickly, in an extensively pre-planned workflow. I find myself wishing I could bypass this learning portion and simply pass Go, collect $200, and inherently understand everything. It’s annoying to suck at one’s job at the beginning. I’m confident enough in my abilities, but everything is so very new.

Through all of this, I’m finding that flip side of my treasured isolation time: feeling terribly lonely. Although I have my new co-workers and TFG’s extensive network of friends to coax me through this incredible period of transition, I still find myself uncomfortably alone sometimes. Bear in mind, I’ve received nothing but support (free housing, emotional support, food, anything essential that I need) from TFG’s friends. Thank you to the amazing Jon, Mary, their beautiful kids and happy-go-lucky dog. Thank you to the wonderfully cerebral Donna, for hosting a stranger. Thank you to the entire state of Oregon, for allowing a outlander to wander unmolested through your fair clime.

Currently, the Beautiful Boy and The Fabulous Girlfriend have departed the Unschooling conference in North Carolina. And on their return trip, they will have picked up my family’s monster van (circa 1978?) in which to load our lives’ worth of stuff and lug it out to Corvallis. I miss them. I also miss my friends and my band and my music. I understand fully that this is a choice that I’ve made, and that to enable this new reality, sacrifices have had to be made. Although I was willing to make them, I now am faced with the daily sadness of leaving loved ones behind, and the comfortable familiarity of my former daily life. This feeling-sorry-for-myself funk leaves as quickly as it arrives, when I breathe the non-meatpacking-plant air here, flavored by fir, pine, and oak.

Roger Waters once exhorted to anyone who would listen that ‘kicking around on a piece of ground in your hometown, waiting for someone or something to show you the way’ is a wonderful, comfortable way of wasting one’s greatest gift: Time. Showing more maturity than a man his age should have shown in 1972, he continues: “And then, one day you find- ten years have got behind you, no one told you when to run. You missed the starting gun.”

It took a lot of faith (my own, private ‘f-word) in the unknown to overcome twenty years of convincing myself that “I’ll never be able to make it elsewhere”. And this is from someone who proudly declares to this day to be a Doubting Thomas. I’m still one who needs to see, to have tactile contact with something to believe in it, or the inherent truth contained therein. I’m starting to understand that Belief, and Faith, are learned skills.

The night Hannah died, a hospital chaplain handed out ‘worry stones’ to those in attendance. Some months ago, TFG gave me one, decorated simply with a painted dragonfly, and it’s been with me ever since. It helps me, knowing that I’m able to conjure strength, possibly from her, when I find it in my hand (which happens multiple times throughout the day). This stone gives me the contact that I need, the physical, tactile contact that I want when I think about a Daughter and her Father. I keep a photo of Mitch and Hannah in my wallet, and when I’m missing The Beautiful Boy and The Fabulous Girlfriend, I pull out the photo, study it, and confirm why I’m here. It’s for them, and me. It’s for us.

I talk to both of them now and again, explaining that I really want to build the best life I’m able to with your wife, mother, son, and brother. I guess I’m not really alone out here after all. Thanks, Hannah-Bear. Thanks, Mitch. You’ve both been of great assistance to me throughout this entire life-altering and affirming series of events. I owe you big. I pledge to take the very best care of your beautiful Brother, Son, inspiring Mom and Wife that I know how to. I really think we’re going to be okay. I’m actually bordering on believing that it will be so.

Now if I can only figure out how to hard-time these commercial breaks during the upcoming round of the PGA Fed-Ex tournament. Oh wait, I can’t hard-time them. It’s a live event.