Echoes From the Loafers’ Club Meeting:

Do you want to go to a Twins game?

When?

I don’t know.

Who are they playing?

No idea.

Who else is going?

I’m not sure.

I think I’ll pass.

Oh, great! And after I’d made all the arrangements.

Driving by the Bruces

I have two wonderful neighbors — both named Bruce — who live across the road from each other. Whenever I pass their driveways, thoughts occur to me, such as: Road construction crews work in mysterious ways. If you think that air is free, you haven’t bought a bag of salty snacks lately.

The cafe chronicles

“Where the swine come to dine,” he said with a smile. Like many people, his attitude matched the weather. He called others “pal” and “buddy.” He was on a forgotten-name basis with many people. He said that the waitress had given him some herbal tea yesterday that was supposed to bring stress relief. He burned his tongue on it. No more tea for him. The waitress came for his order.

“I’d like a venti, skinny soy, half-sweet, one–pump, caramel, macchiato, half–caff, extra whip, with a peppermint stick,” he said.

“Is a regular coffee OK?” the waitress replied.

It was.

NFO, YES or NO

I grew up in a wonderful rural neighborhood. Great people. They were different as we all are. Lots of great makers of pies. I’d eat a piece of pie and feel like upper crust. I’m not sure how the upper crust feels, but I imagine they feel just as I do when I eat a piece of good pie. One of the neighbors, Joe Holland, was a member of the NFO — the National Farmers Organization. He proudly displayed a sign at the end of his driveway proclaiming his membership. The NFO was a populist agrarian movement begun in 1955 in Iowa. It advocated collective bargaining via holding actions. They did this by such measures as withholding milk from the market in order to improve the prices paid to producers. Two of my former neighbors and classmates, Keith Wakefield of Burnsville and Tom Miller of Green Bay, took the sign from Joe Holland’s drive and put it in place at the end of the driveway of Karl Pedersen’s farm. Karl would have been the last guy who would have been a member of the NFO. Joe and Karl had different ideas about such things. I can reveal the shenanigans of Keith and Tom now only because the statue of limitations has run out. Besides, everyone thought it was funny. Everyone except Karl and Joe.

Temperature cricket

I listened to the pastor’s sermon. It was on the importance and the power of prayer. It was a hot summer day and the church windows were cracked open slightly. A fall field cricket chirped loudly and constantly just outside the end of the pew where I sat. The cricket was an obvious believer in the importance and the power of chirping. I don’t think it was broadcasting the temperature. The chirping thermometer that I’m familiar with is the snowy tree cricket that sounds like sleigh bells. If you count the number of chirps in 13 seconds and add 40, you’ll have a fair approximation of the temperature. I suppose all crickets could be thermometers, but the snowy tree crickets are more accurate.

This week’s travelogue

Virgelle, Montana, has a population of three, down from a high of 25, which once supported a post office, lumberyard, grain elevator and bank. Big sky. Small Virgelle. It’s located in the midst of the Upper Missouri River Breaks National Monument. I stayed in a century-old, 8-by-10 homestead cabin featuring period furniture and lacking electricity. I traveled on the Virgelle Ferry, a flat-bottomed, 50-foot long ferry pulled by cables and winches. It took 1 1/2 minutes to get a vehicle across the Missouri River. I visited Virgelle Mercantile. Everything was for sale. The owner promised not to sell my chair while I sat in it. I enjoyed waffles made from locally grown wheat with chokecherry syrup made from berries handpicked along the Missouri River. I was there for work and canoeing. It was a quiet place. The owner threatened to move somewhere quieter.

Meeting adjourned

I attended the funeral of Betty Miller of Kasson. Betty believed that every day was a blessing. She made it clear that after her death, there would be no visitation on the day before her funeral. She didn’t want people to spend extra money on gas. Her final and thoughtfully prepared words were, “Thanks to everyone in my life for your overwhelming kindness.”