The Lil' Nordstrom Gal Home for the Holidays Christmas is the time for family and friends. We just can’t wait to get home and start eating all that good food and sit around talk and catch up. But Christmas can be a time of sadness for loss of a loved one or someone that can’t be home or the holidays. I can remember one Christmas that really brought the meaning of Christmas home. My sister and I came home from school and Dad wasn’t there. There was someone else milking the cows. Mom told us that Dad was in the hospital. Winter or not things had to get done. Dad was in the grove pulling off some parts from a car and he went to lift a rear end and hurt his back. My brother was home and Dad managed to crawl to the house, bang on the storm door and get in the house. Shannon helped call the ambulance and he went to the hospital. We were so worried and right before Christmas. We wanted to go see him. That night we were supposed to go Caroling with the church. We went from house to house and sang for people. But deep in my heart, it just wasn’t the same without Dad singing weird and trying to get me to sing. The last stop on our tour was the hospital. I can never forget going to Dad’s room. There he was in an iron bed with devices to help his back. There laid my Dad. The guy that when all he had to do was give us girls “the look” and we stopped immediately what we were doing and apparently something not good. The guy that could throw a cow around when she wouldn’t get in her stantion in the barn and put her in her place. My Dad, that man in control and in charge in his Levis and cowboy boots was now in a gown and in bed. My sister started to cry, but I tried to be tough, the big sister. But between the singing and looking at Dad it finally brought tears to my eyes. We couldn’t wait till he came home. It just wasn’t the same without him eating his split pea soup in the morning in long johns after milking cows, seeing him working outside and in his recliner at night, relaxing after a hard days work. Finally Mom brought him home, just shy of Christmas. He was so pale, thin and his crew-cut was tall and stood up like grass that needed to be mowed. And he had wiskers! No matter how he looked, he was home. It was the best gift that we could get for Christmas that year. We were all back together-Home. Some people aren’t as fortunate to get their family, loved ones back home for Christmas. They may be in the service, working, another part of the country and some may have had someone that passed away. My husband’s brother died of cancer this Halloween, 5 years to the date of his diagnosis. Mike loved Christmas. He loved to give gifts and getting them just as much. Most of all, he liked to have his whole family together. It will be hard not seeing him opening presents and turning the TV to football, following his be-loved Vikings. This year, Mike will be having the best Christmas of all, in heaven with Jesus. In heaven, it’s a birthday party, a celebration of Jesus’s birth and the guest of honor will be there! How exciting. My husband and I were sure that Mike was putting on the candles on the cake. We were thinking of other relatives that would be there, joining the party. Steve was sure that his Gramma Bosch was buttering buns for ham sandwiches. I thought of other relatives that would be around singing Happy Birthday and celebrating- Christmas. They were home-really home. It seemed to make things easier. It made my husband smile and laugh thinking of his Gramma Bosch giving cooking instructions to one of the Apostles.They just weren’t doing it right. I thought of my Grampa Johnson in his Key overalls and was he playing accordian and a bowl of orange slice candies. Grampa Nordstrom playing with my Dad’s dog Junior and talking politics with Angels, and other friends and relatives and what they would be doing. In the bible it says that “He has prepared a place for us.” an eternal home for those that have accepted Jesus as their savior. My husband’s brother was ready. He wanted to make sure we knew that and everyone around him. For Christians, we have that hope. Promise of eternal life and seeing our friends and family again that have passed away that are Christians. This Christmas – come home- answer that party invitation and put Christ back in your Christmas. Then someday when you get home- home to heaven- Jesus will be saving a ham sandwich and that corner piece of Birthday Cake for you that Christmas. Merry Christmas!! Yvette VanDerBrink The Lil’ Nordstrom’s Gal The Arty Gun Course It’s that time of the year again, Hunting season. Everywhere you look, the fields are ablaze with orange. Testosterone pumping through men’s veins in hot pursuit of that Elusive 30 point Buck.. Well hunting isn’t only for men, my sister and I were quite the little hunters. With BB guns in hands, there wasn’t a swallow or sparrow safe on our Farm. My sister and I were pretty good shots. Suzie was a dead-eye shot. Mom made it a rule that we couldn’t shoot the “colored” birds. This was only after Mom found her “kill” log. Suzie was putting “X”’s on the birds she was shooting in the North American Bird Book. And she was shoot’in lots of colored-pretty birds. No wonder why she didn’t have any pretty birds around till us gun-tote’in kids were gone. Whenever Suzie went out into the grove, armed with her BB gun, there was always a train of cats following her. They weren’t dumb, they knew when supper was coming. Those little birds were like cat horde’vores. She did miss once in a while and the barn was off limits. My sister got this great idea she’d just pick off one of those plump, little swallows always sitting on the “glass” pipeline. Sorry to say, her aim was a bit off that day and Dad had to make a quick trip to Doppenbergs so he could milk that evening. Suzie’s gun privlages were revoked for a few days. Guns are just an essential part of growing up on a farm. You never knew when some rabid skunk, raccoon, or stray dog came creeping around. My dad was quite the hunter, too. When I was about my daughter’s age, I can remember a few deer hanging from the loader in front of the old garage. Dad had quite a few guns and one of them was a pistol. He liked shoot’in carp down at Uncle Irvin’s by Corson, South Dakota. Those huge fish were just sunning themselves, floating on the surface, basking in the hot, South Dakota Summer’s sun. They didn’t even have a clue they were target practice for a pistol-toting Daddy, showing his kids his Clint Eastwood manuveres. I’de always heard hunting stories about my dad, I knew he was a good shot and how’d he ever get the name “Jack Rabbit Arty”? In the winter, Dad had more time to take us kids out to the K-Cinema to see the new Disney show, since there weren’t any races at Husets. On the way home he’d check out the fields and see how many Jackrabbits there were. Us kids would peered over the front seat, looking anxiously out the windshield. Dad would turn into the field, turning his Chevy Impala into a snowplow cutting through the snow. He’d turn his lights off and when turn the lights back on there were hundreds of long-eared rabbits, trying to escape the headlights. They were everywhere and boy could they jump. Dad told us a story about the time, he and some guys were hunting Jackrabbits. One of those long-eared marvels turned around and took after his pursurers, and jumped right over the car. I don’t know, but them big, rabbits could sure jump. Dad would talk about hunting Jackrabbits over by Parker, South Dakota with his big Hagen Uncles. I couldn’t wait for the time when I could go hunting for JackRabbits. When we got older, Dad thought we had graduated from the BB guns and came home a 410 and a 20 gauge single-shot shotgun. But before we could use them we had to pass the “Arty Gun Course”. Dad took Suzie and me out in the grove and told us all about gun safety, gun handling, aiming, shooting and leading your target. Especially those Jack rabbits, they’re fast buggers and you got to lead’em to hit’em. He had my sister and I crawling over and under barbwire fence, shooting at targets, and even shooting at old car hoods to show us the scatter pattern. After our little boot-camp, Dad graduated us and let us go gunning with him for Jack-Rabbits by Parker, South Dakota. Suzie and I thought we were real pitsol-pack’in mammas with the shotgun. We were both nervous as cats. We had a reputation to live up to going shooting with dad and of course we were graduates of the “Arty Gun Course”. Dad, Suzie, me and, the Uncles all lined up straight across a section and we’d work our way across. We made sure to shoot in front of us and drop the Jackrabbits we shot off at the next section road. When you shot one, you tied it with baling twine and carried it and your gun to the next mile-road to the pickup. Those rabbits got heavy trucking throught all that snow. We wanted to be careful not to drag them because we were working for money and bunnies were our quarry. WE would get 25 or 50 cents each from the fur traders, depending on if their fur got ruined from a bad shot or dragging them. The money went for treats for the family reunion in the summer. It was cold walking in that snow, but Suzie and I were ready. We had a system worked out, WE would take turns with the shotgun and alternate with the 410. We would hand off the shotgun and a shell, so we were always ready for that Giant Rabbit Dad always told us about. It was my turn with the shotgun and Suzie handed me the gun. We had just come over the hill when we both saw the ears peaking over a huge snowdrift. He was huge. The Mother of all Jack rabbits looking at us two. I aimed, pulled the trigger and click. No Shell! I heard laughing and looked over at my sister holding the shell and it was her turn next! She didn’t hold up her end of the deal. I guess in hunt’in Jack rabbits there is no fair play. Talk about sisterly love! We got lots of JackRabbits that day and made a lot of money for treat for the family reunion. It was a blast! You don’t see that many Jack rabbits anymore, that’s too bad, I’d like my kids to see all those Jackrabbits. I still can remember hundreds of those long-eared Rabbits jumping in the headlights, kicking snow with those powerful back legs. Just like they were burning out. I still love to shoot, and I still shoot occasionally with that same 20 gauge we had as kids. You know, living on a farm you never know when you need a gun. There’s been quite a few varmits that have found there way into my sights. I even shot a pair of my husband’s underwear, there were so many holes, what’s a few more. I took and put them on the clothesline and shot them with a 12 gauge. Practically blew them apart, and he still wore them! I still love to shoot and am looking forward to teaching my kids. It’ll be my turn to put them through the “Arty Gun Course”. Yvette VanDerBrink The Lil’ Nordstrom’s Gal Page 1

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