No Taco Bell or Target but....

This blog got a huge thumbs up from our talented and charming ACDC Director. I think you'll find that she is right. I was so pleased when Ginny Smith agreed to write. I am just getting to know Ginny. From what I've observed so far, she has the highest admiration from her husband and children and is cherished by her friends. I am thrilled that she makes Atchison County her home and look forward to spending many an evening in gyms and at ball fields as we watch our children grow together.

The Blessings of Raising a Family in Atchison County

When I think about all the benefits of living in Atchison County, it is easy to count my blessings. I grew up in Columbia, Missouri, which is a major metropolitan area compared to here. It seemed that every minute was soaked up with some hectic, hurry-up activity. There were always more than enough things to do and places to go. Ironically, one of the best things about Atchison County is the noticeably finite number of things to do and places to go. In one respect, a lack of a prolific number of eateries and events is a blessing: without a million things to do, I find myself spending more quality time at home with my family, instead of running here or there. A noticeable characteristic of the people here in Atchison County is the solid foundation of family, which undoubtedly is the product of increased amount of time spent together as a family.

The pace of life is certainly slower here, quite a blessing in itself. Although the pace is slower, it is amazing how much gets accomplished. Everything gets taken care of in due course, from the crops to the cows to school to sports. Hard work is engrained in the landscape and lines on the men and women’s faces; passed down from generation to generation. We are a shining example that a strong work ethic makes up for an over-revved pace. While Atchison County may not have all the bells and whistles, I have come to realize that nearly everything we need is right here. We have a couple of nice grocery stores and general stores. The lumber yards and hardware stores seem to have almost everything we need. We are blessed with local utility providers and home-town pharmacies and professional services. Nowhere have I experienced better health care than Atchison County. The reason is quite simple: our medical care providers care about us; a concept that seems to be missing elsewhere. It is such a blessing to have doctors and nurses who know us personally, know and love our children, and want the best for us.

Speaking of the tradition of hard work, it is an impressive testimony to Atchison County that families can traces their roots back generations here. I first thought that it was a joke when Dan, my husband, said he was related to half the people in Fairfax, but he was not exaggerating too much. I have come to find out that the people here have incredible ties to this place, and families seem to grow and grow. It sometimes seems as if Atchison County is an integral part of the families here. I know that Dan truly believes this is God’s country, he complains any time he has to leave the county. Many others are the same way, dedicating their lives to Atchison County. I respect everyone who supports the efforts in this county through money, time and prayers.

Folks around here are friendly, almost to a fault. I have felt at home here from the first time I visited. The first time I went to town with Dan, it seemed that everyone knew him, had a funny story about him and generally cared for him. Living here I have found that I was right, the people of Atchison County care for their own, and everyone is our neighbor. Whether they know you well or not the people here are looking out for the best interests of others. Surely, tight-knit churches and small class sizes at school yield solid relationships. The community of Atchison County is like one big family. We all love each other although we do not always get along. This county and its people never fail to come together when needed. It seems there are no strangers living in Atchison County; I can be comfortable with my children playing in the park or in the yard. We all keep a watchful eye on each other’s children, in reality they are all our children.

Growing up in Columbia, I never would have dreamed of living on a farm in the middle of the country; no Taco Bell, no Target. It is funny to look back on my life in the past and compare it with my life today. I know that God has led me here; he has blessed me with my life here. We encourage our children to use the skills and blessings that God has given them to give back to their community. It is my hope that after they have explored and fine-tuned the gifts that God has given them that they may bring those gifts back home. Atchison County is my husband’s home, it is my home, it is my children’s home; Atchison County is our family’s home.

-Ginny Smith, Stay-at-home mom of four (Oliver 8, Charlie 5, Mack 2, and Henry 2)

New Years Challenge - a little early

According to my calculations, we’re almost 6 months into this blog dedicated to sharing stories about our corner of Missouri, stories that celebrate the awesomeness of living in Atchison County.

Ann & I have enjoyed coordinating and writing so far, and we look forward to many, many more months. As rewarding and worthwhile the process is for us as regular contributors, sometimes we struggle because ideas that seem great to us feel a little clichéd. Small town customer service is the best, harvest is beautiful, neighbors are friends…many of the topics we’ve posted so far could be fodder for the next cheesy wonderful Hallmark movie. But while every day isn’t sunshine and puppies around here, and while we are aware of our challenges, the fact is that the positive spin on our stories isn’t spin at all – it’s the truth. There is good to be found in Atchison County, and by purposefully focusing on what’s worth celebrating, we find ourselves celebrating more.

There’s a lot of love and encouragement ‘round these parts. We get positive feedback about this blog from church ladies, family friends we bump into in the grocery store, buddies who live states away, and, of course, parents and siblings, the most biased of all readers. We appreciate every response, and we are touched when something that comes from our collective ‘pen’ resonates with you.

Recently someone said that the blog inspires her, a comment that has come to my mind numerous times as I’ve read back through our conversation. I thought about it when I read Ann’s post the other week about the women who taught her how to be a leader. I thought about it when I read comments about Doug Summa and the impact he’s had on our community and county. I thought about it when I read the posts by a couple of beloved pastors. I thought about it when I read the stories of professionals returning home to live and work and lead. I thought about it again when I read a recent post from Julie Hurst’s blog about church ladies, and her critically important question: who will replace them?

Things are good here because of the people we are surrounded by, those who lead groups and model values and actively participate in this county. I’m asking myself this question even as I am asking you: what are you doing to contribute to the good of Atchison County? How are you passing on what you learned from your grandparents, parents, Sunday School teachers and Scout leaders about integrity and leadership and kindness to the next generation?

One of the benefits of living in such a small county is that it's not difficult to find an opportunity to do good or leave a legacy. So, go enjoy everything this most wonderful time of the year has to offer, but in the meantime, spend some time considering what you love most here or what you'd like to see made better.

And in January, rather than swearing to eat celery and grapefruits the rest of your life, make a commitment that will last longer, maybe even a generation or two. Get involved. Do something. Ready, set....go!

~MMB

Time to Dance

Miss Josie Crow reminds me of so many of us small town kids. As High School Seniors, we appreciated our experience growing up in our respective hometowns, but could not wait to move on! Many of us realized 5, 10 or 15 years down the road that this county offered us a wonderful life, and still does, and we chose to come back. (Don’t tell Josie, but we secretly hope that she [and many others!] will leave Atchison County, spend several glorious years in the hallowed halls of Mizzou [I mean, wherever they choose to go :)], gain some experience in her field, and bring her awesomeness right back home!) Without further ado, here’s a little peek into the life of one dynamic Atchison County Senior…

Rock Port was not my first home, nor will it be my last. I have lived here for around five years, now, and by the time I leave for college at Mizzou next fall, it’ll be six years. I loved Rock Port at first—the idea of a safe, friendly, small town was appealing to me at twelve years old. I still loved it for a long time. However, I have grown to realize that the small town life just isn’t for me. This does not, by any means, mean that small towns aren’t great!

First of all, since Thanksgiving is nearly upon us, I would like to start by saying thank you: for graham crackers and frosting, for Ibuprofen, for boys, and for all the opportunities I’ve been given here (among other things).

For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Josie Crow. I’m a senior at Rock Port High School. I’m Student Body President, I was captain of the Flag Corps, I am currently captain of our minute dance team…and I just cut my hair because after five years of growing it out, I needed a change! So, I would like to start off with my newspaper story, to illustrate what I currently love about this small town, and all towns in Atchison County, that is. Opportunities. Oh, I mentioned that earlier? Well, I’m mentioning it again, now.

I lived in Kirksville, Missouri, until seventh grade, which is a fair-sized town. If you wanted to play sports in high school, you picked one and you focused on it. Maybe two if the seasons weren’t too close together. If you played basketball, you couldn’t be a cheerleader. If you played football, there was no way you ran cross country! I am so thankful we moved to Rock Port, though, because if we hadn’t, there is no way I could do as many things as I do here! The sky is the limit!

If you can’t tell, I also love to write. I would write all day if I could! When I was five, I would read Nancy Drew books and dream about being a famous author. At five, I could just see it: the mystery novel would have a heroine, and she would be beautiful and smart and funny and have the cutest boyfriend…

Well, I’m no award-winning novelist, yet, but I’m getting there! I work at the Atchison County Mail office at the front desk. I do odd work; a cut-line here, an article there, and a lot of filing and answering phones…and I’m totally okay with it. I love that job. I would love to work at a small paper forever. Why? Because you get to dabble in a little bit of everything. You want to make an ad? Go for it! You want to learn a new picture program? Go for it! And on and on like that. It’s awesome.

Moving back to the school aspect of this little writing bit I’m making for you to read, I love that I get to dance every day during my study hall. I get to be creative and show my stuff. I get to get my groove on! I’m considering taking a Zumba class in St. Joseph, actually, and I’m very excited about it. Dancing has always come naturally to me. No, I can’t do the splits (not even close!), but I can keep time with music and my body just follows where my heart wants it to go. So, anyway, before I got side-tracked, I was going to touch on how, had I grown up in Kirksville, I would never have known I loved to dance. I hate basketball. I didn’t know this until my freshman year, but I really do. I have no passion for the game. This strikes most people as unusual because my mother is a coach and played basketball at KU and UMKC for a time. I hate it. As hard as I try, I just can’t get the danged thing in the hoop (it’s smaller than it looks). I don’t have the weight to throw around as a post, and I’m not fast. At all. Like, put me in a race with a snail and the snail would win nine times out of ten.

Okay, so, if I had stayed in Kirksville, I would have probably tried out for the basketball team. I probably wouldn’t have made it, been crushed, and continued on about my miserable life with no sports to throw myself into. Besides that humiliating fact would have been that my mother was the assistant coach! Can you say ouch? And I definitely would never have even considered trying out for the dance team. It would never have been on my radar. Now, of course, I realize how happy dancing makes me. It lifts me up. I get the chance to express myself!

So, there is a plethora of opportunities in small towns. Everything is open to everyone. If you have some talent with graphic design, go to the yearbook. Heck, while you’re in the yearbook, if you want to, you can go out for track. It all works in harmony. And maybe that’s what I’m getting at. Harmony. Small towns make schedules flow. Less stress, maybe.

So, yes, I see why parents willingly raise families here. It’s safe and there is no door closed to their children without another one opening. Here’s to opened doors and beautiful scenery!

A Bit Frayed Around the Edges

My husband’s relatives visited this summer. Between our two families, we can’t travel in one vehicle so they followed us home from our evening destination. I chose the route carefully. Down this street, turn this way, then that way. I looked in the rearview mirror. Darn it. I lost them.

Left on their own in Tarkio, they could easily find their way back. But what they might see of our little town….well let’s just say we don’t always put our best foot forward.

Before

Tarkio has had a rough 30 years. The beef packing plant which hired in the thousands closed first, followed closely by the burning of the Mule Barn (our own historic and theatrical landmark). Just a few years later, Tarkio College, a small liberal arts college, closed its doors taking with it several hundred students and its highly educated staff. Just when things seemed to have stabilized, Tarkio Academy, the youth correctional facility that made its home in the empty campus, pulled up stakes in 2005. An economy built around these mainstays crumbled. The aftermath…an empty college campus, empty stores on Mainstreet and close to 100 empty houses in our city streets.

Missouri winters and summers didn’t take long to do their work on those abandoned properties. Paint peeled, shingles blew away and weeds grew. Soon our little Mayberry started looking a bit frayed around the edges. The hardships of the last 30 years could no longer be hidden. We had a problem on our hands.

In some areas of the world, tickets are written, court appearances made, contractors called and buildings demolished. There are rules about house color, dumpster spacing, bush planting and parking. A quick call to the zoning board, homeowners association or city council will take care of your wayward neighbor. Soon your problem will be fixed and your property value protected.

Small towns are often labeled as being intolerant. Slow to change. Yes. Intolerant? Hardly! You see, we can’t ticket that house. She just lost her job. He is disabled and they won’t be able to paint. He’s owned that business for 30 years. She is storing her late Grandma’s antiques in that old family home. They are working on that house, but there’s no money. His house is a mess, but he is a member of my church….like family.

Don’t get me wrong, we take pride in our town, but we also take pride in our neighborhood. Being a neighbor means sacrificing your own wants for the needs of others and putting yourself in their shoes before passing judgment or writing tickets. As a result, we look a little shabby and we might for quite a while. But I’ll take a dose of neighborly compassion sprinkled with some tolerance any day over privacy fences and 5 colors of beige.

We are dealing with our issues in the most neighborly fashion we can. We’ve started a non-profit which collects donations for the removal of dilapidated and dangerous buildings and sponsors beautification projects. We move painfully slow waiting for someone to volunteer their property and ask us to help, but we have been successful. Over 25 properties have been cleaned up. New land has been added to the City Park and we started a program where we offer FREE LOTS for stick built homes.

After

We have a long way to go, but we are proud of the progress we have made. A few new businesses have located here in the last 6 years and a few new coats of paint have made their appearances. We move slowly, we consider the person first and we work as team to make our community a better place. It’s not quick and we may never be Mayberry again, but where we fall short in perfection we make up for with compassion and tolerance.

So if you are a local, make a donation to Tarkio Renewal and help us make a difference. You can read how to do that in the Tarkio Avalanche this week and next. If you aren’t, the next time you drive through my small town, put a name and story to each one of those homes with or without the picket fence or paint job. You can be assured that we have.

Shepherds and their Sheep, Part 2 of 2

This second post in our pastoral series comes from another of Atchison County's beloved Shepherds: Pastor Rusty Smith. Rusty is the kind of person and leader we like to celebrate around here. His demeanor (and his commentary, as you'll see below) demonstrates the fact that he always looks for the Good. We are thankful for him, his family, and all others in our county who share their unique, challenging, and critical calling. Thank you for all you do!!!

Serving God in Atchison County is a blessing I have fun friendships, a dear church family, awesome colleagues in ministry, kind neighbors and schools filled with community servants who provide my children with a quality education. I am grateful that my family and I are able to love and be loved here. Since coming to pastor in Tarkio and Westboro nearly five years ago, I have said a statement time and again: “for such a small community, there sure are a lot of people.” What I mean by saying that is it seems I am always meeting people I have not met before. I also recognize there are those in my midst whom I find myself knowing by sight but not by name. I have noticed when local people wave at me, greet me, smile at me, or even simply acknowledge me, it does not necessarily indicate they know me. It is simply a manner and grace interwoven in the fabric of our community. I am always humored by the reaction Carla and I get when we share this relational hospitality in some other communities. Most people love and welcome it. Some are surprised by it…and, well, a few times I feared we had triggered some gang violence…it is still worth sharing.

Too often I hear our community defined by what it is not, or by what it used to be. The greatness of our past is honored best when it leads to the greatness of our today and to the hope of our tomorrows. It is the heart of my hope that the character and strengths of our community can be recognized more and more. If we look around and grab hold of the greatness of our midst, we will be the better for it. I know that such forward-thinking is envisioned by the two founders of this blog, and many others all around us. Being a pastor in our community gives me the opportunity to encourage others to learn from and cherish one’s past. For our past made us who we are today, to make the most of today as a gift from God, and to hope for the best that is yet to come! That is my hope for our community as well.

Striving to make the most of it,
Pastor Rusty Smith
Tarkio AND Westboro United Methodist Church

Shepherds and their Sheep: Part 1 of 2

October is pastoral appreciation month. At my church, its a month long celebration. As we have expressed gratitude for our special pastor this month, I've thought often about the unique role a pastor plays in a small town.  Counselor, social worker, spiritual guide, friend, adopted parent or grandparent, advocate, sports fan, volunteer chaplain, coffee drinker.....the list goes on and on. We have pastors in our community that have served their congregation for generations, attending births, deaths and marriages over the span of their parishoners' lives. And we have had those that have spent just a few years in service to our churches and yet they have left a lasting impression on the church and community.


Over the next few weeks, we thank the pastors that have served in the most specialized of fields, the small town. Whether you are a believer or not a believer, I think we can all agree that pastors of small towns serve in what I suspect is a pretty challenging role and SUCCEED in modeling a true heart of service. Thank you!


Thank you to Rachel Lancey, Pastor of Tarkio's Presbyterian Church for her special contribution this month to the blog and her greater contribution to our community.


          My friends warned me.  “Small towns don’t do women pastors,” they told me.  “They will not welcome you,” they said.  They were scared for my life.  Of course, I found this ironic since many of them lived in places that showed up on the list of the most violent places to live.  But, still, they warned me.  I have to say, they got to me just a little bit.

            “Don’t go to a small town,” they warned.  “It will be too hard there.”  They were worried.  They had heard the horror stories.  Of course, I have heard them, too.  The young pastor moves to the small town and suddenly the fishbowl is brought out.  There were stories where people just wandered in and out of the pastor’s home without knocking or caring, even, if the pastor was dressed.  These, in case you do not get to hear the stories I hear, are tame compared to some of the others.  On top of all that, throw into the mix the idea that I was going to this small rural town as a single, young, female pastor. 

            I truly expected the worst.  I grew up in a small town.  I expected the snide remarks and the sideways glances.  I expected that people would watch my every move and things like social boundaries would be hard to instill and maintain.  But, when a pastor is called (as we say) to a ministry, they go.  There is no questioning (okay... well... there are some questions, but God always wins in the end), you just go. 

            What I did not expect... was the love.  Even from those who are open about the fact that they do not approve of a woman minister, there is something there.  I truly believe that I can call up any of the people I have met since moving to this small community and ask for just about anything and I would get it.  I believe that the hearts of this community are larger than life.  Sure, there are still a few small-town stereotypes that are very much a part of living in Tarkio.  But, nothing compares to the experience of walking through the grocery store and being able to talk to people in every aisle.  Nothing beats walking down Main Street and waving at the passers-by.

            Not everyone in Tarkio likes the fact that I am a pastor.  Most of those who do not like this woman pastor being in town think they are hiding it fairly well.  Some are not trying to hide it at all.  But, generally, people are respectful anyway.  This, I believe, is the difference between life in the city and life in the small town. 

In the city, people do not care who you are if you do something with which they do not agree.  In the city, people get into your face and sometimes things can get ugly.  In Tarkio, people look first at the person.  In Tarkio, I have found that even those who believe and think completely different than I do are still able to see me for who I am.  In Tarkio, we find commonalities first and learn to disagree politely. 

            I am not naive.  I know that the sideways glances and some of the remarks are still out there.  I have heard a few and I have seen the looks.  But, this town supported me during a very rough first year when I faced a challenge much deeper than whether or not someone agreed with my theology.  People reached out to me and hugged me in a way that I never expected. 

            I may always be the “new girl”.  I may always be the “woman pastor”.  Even with all of that, I have found a home here.  I have found a family here.  The best part of serving a wonderful congregation in the middle of rural America is that I can love these people for everything they are and for everything God created each of us to be.  And I know that this community really cares about each other.  It is the greatest blessing we have.  

Friday Night Lights

Its Sept. 1, I have to write about football. so whether you are an Indian, Bulldog, Hornet, Rocket, Panther or Bluejay, our story is all the same....those of us who stuck around..we're the lucky ones.

If you find yourself on the top of a hill somewhere in Northwest Missouri on a Friday night, you will notice the very dark fall sky, the harvest moon and the glow of Friday night football lights from the surrounding little towns. From my house in Tarkio I can’t see the lights, but I can hear the announcer as he opens each game with the National Anthem and “Here Comes Your Tarkio Indians!” 

I’ve been climbing the bleachers at Kyle Field in Tarkio for 25 plus years. First it was in the mid-80s to watch my Grandma dress as an Indian and to ride a golf cart on the field when my uncle was the homecoming king candidate. As a little girl, I lived to catch the rubber red coin purses thrown by the cheerleaders and the baton twirlers as they marched around the track in their sparkling red and white.

In the 90s, I went up and down, down and up, in and out, out and in the bleachers as a jr. high kid. When I sat still, I watched our team as we won game after game all the way to the state championship. My family followed the team all the way to Columbia. Our sea of red, so mighty in Tarkio, looked tiny in the chasms of Faurot Field.

By the end of the 90s, I was playing in the pep band first quarter, working the concession stand in the second and doing the Macarena with the cheerleaders in the 4^th. I sported my letter jacket to each game and huddled in the bleachers with my friends, family and community as my classmates punted, hiked and kicked their way through the football season.

Ten years ago, I returned to Kyle Field as a mother and a sister. I chased my young son up and down the bleachers and watched my brother as he lead the team in blocked field goals. Today, I watch again as all three of my children wear red and white, my husband officiates and my high school classmates coach instead of play.

High school football is glorified wherever you live. There is something about the atmosphere; the community and the home town spirit that makes the football field a destination not just for that Friday’s game, but season after season, year after year.

But football is a little different in small town America. A little better you know. You see there are 29 boys on the Indian squad this year. There are 8 guys on offense, 8 on defense and a “host of Tarkio Indians” needed on kickoff returns.

So you see, 6 years from now, I’ll have a boy on that team. It won’t matter if he is 5 8” or 6 4” and no one will care if he weighs 130 or 175. He might not be the fastest or headed for college level football, but he’ll be needed, he’ll be an important part of the team and he’ll get to wear that jersey just like his grandparents, cousins and uncles before him.

He’ll be an Indian too.  And you can bet I’ll be right there in the bleachers…..

Everything I needed to know about small town living, I learned from my car.

I tend to drive cars with personality…as in cars with lots of dents, dings and odometers in the six figures. Not surprisingly I often have car issues….they just don’t tend to be the kind of car issues you would expect! I thought I might share some of the things I’ve learned by small town driving.

1.      When you first get your driver’s license, look both ways at the 3-way stop before pulling out. Otherwise, you might run into your principal’s son. Awkward.

2.      Scrape your windows. Otherwise, you might back into a school bus in your own driveway and all the kids will know about it before the bell rings for first period.

3.      Pay for your gas. Otherwise, the gas station owner will recognize you by the cashier’s description of a woman driving a red mini-van with a baby seat and find your husband on his cell, who will tease you mercilessly.

4.      Check your purse for money. Otherwise, you will have to go borrow money from your friend on Main Street and then go back and pay while the cashiers giggle.

5.      Do use local service stations. I once took my car in for an oil change. The owner refused to give me my car back with the tires that were on it. They were worn beyond belief and he was concerned for my safety. He put on a pair of loaners and ordered me some new tires. A month later I got a bill for the new tires. I called the service station, ready to accuse them of billing me without putting on the new tires. Come to find out, they had come up to work, taken my car and put the new tires on two weeks ago.

6.      Do not drive up big icy hills with 2-wheel drive. Otherwise you will have to call your boss to rescue you with a chain and a pickup while you stand watching…embarrassed.

7.      Do have quarters laying around. Washing the bugs off in the summer, the salt in the winter, the sap in the summer and the “good luck at districts” paint can be a full-time job.

8.      Do give your cars nicknames. If you own a catering business, expect to have the local youth call your car a baked bean mobile for the interesting aroma that develops after 5 years of spillage.

9.      Do drive vehicles with many seats. Otherwise, your kids’ friends, their toys, six Happy Meals, all the supplies you need for the baseball game, swimming pool and bible school and your dog won’t fit.

10.   Do get a bumper sticker that says where you are from….cause you know you can leave your keys in the car, get 9 warnings before a ticket, have bald tires, get stuck on an icy road and forget to pay for gas and they still love you anyway!

Baseball and Bathroom Breaks

It was recently noted by one of our readers, that we needed a male voice. Apparently, men are harder to talk into things then women because the only man I could talk into doing this was the one I'm married too! Speaking of talking him into things, I asked him to write about something that I talked him in to doing several years ago-----coaching Aaron's baseball team. I have fond memories of the parents who invested their time in my teams and in my own growth  through the years. Here in our corner of the world, it is common to be coached by the same parents and play with the same kids from age 3 until 18. You can't help but know every child and parent in your kids' class. I love the comfort of knowing exactly who my kid comes home talking about and knowing that child also knows me (and adores my husband)!  Thanks to "coach" for writing this week! 


Wife: “Coaches meeting for baseball is this week.”

Husband:  “Oh, I didn’t realize it was here already.”

Wife: “Yup, I signed you up to coach again.”

Thanks goodness that coach’s wife remembered to do that.  In a small town, there’s plenty of ways to spend your time.  I’m fortunate that I get to spend my summer coaching my son’s baseball team.

This was my third year coaching my son, Aaron’s team.  His teammates haven’t changed all that much, which is great.  They look forward to seeing each other on the field every year.  When the first practice rolls around, if someone isn’t there, they all need to be assured that D. is out of town and K is at a birthday party, but yes, they will be playing.

To the boys, baseball wouldn’t be the same without all of their friends involved… and I agree.  In fact, this year I called two sets of parents whose kids missed the sign-up.  The boys had been talking at school and a couple of them didn’t know about this year’s schedule.  Of course, I know all the parents of the kids my son goes to school with so they were just a phone call away.

Officially, I have one other coach, but I really have more.  The same group of Dad’s helps each year.  I organize the practice schedules, make sure to send text reminders out about games and answer parent’s questions.  But after that, we all make it happen, in fact, our third base coach changes almost every game.

Here are a few things I’ve come to expect from coaching at this level:

1)    At any given time, someone is going to be digging in the dirt, watching and airplane or waving to someone in the stands.  So, a hit by the other team, will be a surprise to one of our players. I guess that adds to the excitement of the game…

2)    D. will ask me before every game, “Can I pitch today coach?”  I respond the same way very game, “Not today.”  Then I turn I smile.  I would miss it if he didn’t ask.  D., by the way, is an excellent third baseman.  He rarely misses the ball and he tags the base every time… I mean every time… even if there isn’t a base runner.  By the way, D. has never practiced pitching.

3)    H. will, while pitching, have a conversation with himself.  We are not sure what he is saying or who he is saying it to.  He will nod and shake his head in the direction of the catcher as appearing as if he is selecting his pitches.  Never mind that the catcher has no idea this selection process is occurring and has no intention of retrieving H.'s pitch if it doesn’t some directly to him.

4)    A lot of boys will be on the ground as a part of catching or stopping the ball.  And they most likely will not be in a hurry to get up.

5)    The dugout, while we are batting, is like a Jr. High track meet.  Unless they are up to bat or ‘on deck,” they are busy filling their water cups, going to the concession stand, running to talk to their parents or discussing the newest Transformers movie.  We try, but they have their own agendas.

6)    Aaron will field the ball and occasionally make a smart play.  It won’t always turn out like he envisioned it, but it’s great to see him play.  His understanding of the game, in this case, is ahead of his physical ability.  He tries hard and though he makes mistakes, I’m always proud of him.

This past year, in the middle of the inning, an opposing team’s player walked off the field announcing that he needed to use the bathroom.  Typically a pitcher is relieved, but in this case, the shortstop was relieved, literally.

Coaching has been a blessing.  We don’t seem to win often, but the boys tend to forget that by the next game.  We hold practices, try to instill fundamentals, encourage them often and watch them grow.  I can see the potential in each of the boys, so I know next year will be even better.

Being in a small town may mean that we don’t have an ex-college player or ex-semi pro coaching our teams.  It does, however, mean that there is someone like me coaching.  Someone who is doing it for his son.  Someone who respects each boy on that team like they are his son.  Someone who cares less about winning, and more about playing with character.  Someone who will be there for them, beyond baseball.  Now that’s a small town, and that’s what’s great ‘out here.”

My Fair Lady

Ever grown weary of beige? I did. About 9 years ago, I was tired of beige. Beige siding, beige carpet, beige furniture.  Beige defined the world of rentals and subdivisions. Miles and miles of beige vinyl siding with two car garages plopped down in a world of concrete with a cute name like Stoney Brook or Silver Lane. 

After five years of beige rentals, I knew I could not raise my children in a home devoid of personality and charm. I could not commit to another lease agreement in a world where my home was only distinguishable from the surrounding fleet by the number outside the door.

Instead, I envisioned a future where my children could claim a yard, a house and a whole town as their home and it mean more than just an address. I wanted to find that house that my children would identify with happiness, safety, comfort and uniqueness in town where they could be “from.” 

My Fair Lady

On a fall day in 2002, my husband and I trotted across the yard of a home for sale in my home town of Tarkio. The leaves had turned gorgeous shades of yellow and orange and were ankle deep in the yard of this house that had been on the market for over a year. Matt hoisted me up on his shoulders so I could peak in the window of this 100 year old Victorian. Original woodwork, high ceilings and a turret…this was no beige.

In December of 2002, we made this house our home for a mortgage payment hundreds of dollars less than our rent in Kansas City. In the years that followed, we added gutters, storm windows, paint, gardens and a drive way. We added a baby boy in 2003, a little girl in 2007 and filled the last bedroom in 2010 with another sweet little boy. Over time, we have stained the carpet, put dents in the walls and had to break down the bathroom door after my son locked himself in.  We’ve  laughed in times of joy and cried in sorrow with our neighbors. 

                                                            

Best part of this home is not just its charm, its uniqueness and its history. Best part of this home is that everyone knows that’s where the Schlueters live. That’s Aaron’s house. That’s Josh’s baby swing. Look, Lizzie left her bike in the driveway. Matt must be home early tonight. His pickup is in the driveway. Call Ann. She left the van lights on again.

What we are lacking in concrete and beige, we make up for in identity. That’s Ann’s house. That’s my home. Friends, that’s where WE are from.

                                                                    

No offense intended to those beige loving folks...there's enough love for us all!