Twenty-five Word Stories #3

Twenty-five Words 3

By John W. Vander Velden

 

Ooops!

Alex understood that there was too much money in the account, but had no idea where the $63,487.52 had come.  Headline…Bank Heist, $63,487.52 taken.                 (25 Words)

 

Predicament   

On that gray morning, Mike knew the road he traveled would lead to trouble.  But he had no choice, for it was, after all, Thanksgiving.                           (25 Words)

 

Evolution       

Professor Carl Anderson had searched diligently for the missing link.  When Charisa noticed his hopeless expression, smiling she informed him, there were no sausages today.           (25 Words)

 

Speeding

The policeman asked Albert exactly how fast he was moving.  Running slender fingers through his unruly hair the physicist answered, “Hummm, that would be relative.”              (25 Words)

 

 

 

Challenges

Challenges                     6-18-2014

By John W. Vander Velden

I finally finished planting Wednesday.  I would like to say I beat the afternoon’s rain, but that would not be true.  The rumbles heard as I loaded the last seed warned me the storm was on its way.  No real surprise.  Late last week rain had been predicted for Monday and Tuesday, yet by God’s grace no real rain materialized.  Only a light sprinkle as I finished Tuesday evening.  So today was what I call bonus time.  I had nearly finished when the first round of rain came, pelting me as I sat on the open tractor.  I kept going.  With the first drops the monitor told me that row four ceased functioning.  That row sensor has been troublesome all season.  It has been particularly sensitive to the low angle of sunlight when planting westward in the late afternoon.  I checked the row, once, in the rain, and felt confident the screaming electronics of no real concern as I moved back and forth across the field.  The wind came so strong I had to remove my hat.  Rain on dusty glasses did not make the task easier.

But the events of the afternoon reminded me of all the struggles this spring gave.  Each year there are different difficulties that rear their head, attempting to undue plans which in truth are always in flux.  The end desire is known -- to get the crop planted.  But each day -- what I am able to accomplish in order to move toward that goal remains a question, a question that rarely has an easy solution.

Yes, this spring has been a long hard battle.  And I would rather it wasn’t.   But in the end it was a battle I won -- or at least I think I have won.  Harvest will tell the truth of this victory.  Tilling the soil, preparing the seedbed, and planting have been a challenge.  But isn’t life in general a challenge?  It is our nature to wish that all things move along easily.  That we pass through days – weeks -- even years with things going “our way”.  Not to be friends -- not to be.  Challenges are part of life -- period!

A friend of mine understands this concept too well.  She has been at the brunt of challenges for more than half a year.  Perhaps facing a series of the most difficult times of her life.  I am certain she would have rather not have been forced to face this maelstrom.  I am certain that there have been moments when she considered throwing her hands in the air and fleeing the storm.  But the tempest came upon her and her family suddenly.  They may have felt unprepared for that storm.  But she has faced it and shown that deep within, she was made of metal -- tougher stuff than any knew.  Has it made enduring easy?  No!  But to this point, it has made enduring possible. 

I understand that I too will one day face a turbulent time.  I only hope that having faced these challenges -- all the years of planting and harvest -- of torrential rains and times of intense drought -- are training me -- strengthening me -- preparing me.  For each will likely be “cast into the tempest” -- and there we will find just what kind of material God has provided.  I do not look forward to the possibility, but trust that God has made me tough enough.

For now the seed is in the ground.  I have done my best but from this point onward, the bulk of what the crop becomes is out of my hands.  It will grow, be healthy, stand tall, and yield -- or it will not.  I can not will a soybean to sprout.  I can not order a stalk of corn to give an ear.  Preparation helps, the better the preparation the more likely the success.  But farming’s challenges do not cease with planting’s completion.  Nor do life’s with any set birth date.  Rather I face the days ahead, scratch my head as I find a new problem that needs solving, know that each day offers grand wonders, but also its own challenges.  That is the adventure of it.  Isn’t life grand?

(707 Words)

 

Dad's Tractor

Dad’s Tractor                         

By John W. Vander Velden

 

It seems too often a man is measured by his tools.  And among a farmer’s tools are those roaring wheeled monsters called tractors.

Dad raised in Europe within a farm family, where all the work demanded a strong back and willing hands.  There was no mechanization of vegetable farming in Holland at the time.  Turning every inch of soil over by shovel was only the beginning of a season’s toil.

The work built a family of strong men, but also wore at their body’s abilities.  I do not know dad’s first thought about the thundering machines that drew the plows through acre after acre.  He showed me the goggles he had worn, which failed to protect his eyes from the dust raised by the tracks of the Cletrack Crawler he drove to plow Scholl’s muck land in the late 40’s.

Things changed in 1951 when dad became his own man.  No longer a laborer, he farmed what was called 50/50.  Putting up half the cash, all the equipment, and most of the labor on William Coughenour’s dairy farm.  The job required tractors.

Over his career my father owned many tractors, tractors of every color.  Machines built by John Deere, Minneapolis Moline, Oliver and Cockshut.  But the first new tractor he ever purchased was an Allis-Chalmers Model C.  That C was among the tractors of my earliest memories. 

Those with any familiarity with the equipment manufactured by Allis-Chalmers know that the C was a small tractor.  Most that have survived now mow people’s yards.  But in the early 50’s they found themselves at work on many farms.  However the work demanded more than the willing tractor could handle.  The wagons it was meant to pull grew larger becoming too heavy and that tractor’s small tires were unable to find traction sufficient.  Dad changed the Chalmers’ clutch beneath a tree in our yard.  Perhaps that was the sign that convinced him that a change was needed, for that little orange tractor vanished, replaced by an old Oliver 77.

But I remember that C, and Dad reminding us that it had been his first new tractor.  It had a bench seat wide enough for me to sit at dad’s side as he drove it home after milking.  Once he allowed me to take the wheel.  How fortunate his strong hands remained near to correct my poor attempt as the Chalmers meandered down the road on that morning so long ago.

There is much we can learn from that Allis-Chalmers tractor and more from the man who first purchased it for his farm.  For success demands dogged determination.  But though that little C never gave up the fight – sometimes the fight is on its own not enough.  And my father knew that life is a state of flux – the world continually changing.  It is important to know when to continue as we have and when a new tact is needed.  Perhaps that is the hardest lesson we have to learn.  A lesson taught by dad’s first new tractor.

(504 Words) 

 

Blue?

Blue?                     

By John W. Vander Velden

 

A rose is a rose is a rose, but not all violets are blue…

 

It occurred to me one day as I was mowing one of the lawns in my care.  While I worked on one particular section that was simply bursting with the small purple wildflowers.  The small blossoms revealing that spring had indeed come.  Jackie says it is only because the yard does not have thick grass and needs to be treated.  I on the other hand enjoy seeing the small purple smiling pansy-like faces, as I hew them off in my quest for green of a consistent depth….  But not all violets are blue.  There are violets with yellow blooms…others with white…and a few that have blossoms of purple mixed with white…Hmmmm….

Now, I considered, was the plant named after the color of the flower…or did the color derive its name from the common wildflower.  It becomes a “Chicken and the egg” kind of conundrum.

Violet, the plant…violet the color…and what has any of this to do with the price of cheese at “Sam’s Club”…not much actually.  But about blue…which is the point of this essay…perhaps a great deal.

Blue…to many a favorite color, the color of a crystal clear sky, the color of mirror smooth deep water, the color placed carefully on nearly half the newborns, a color found all around us, found on bicycles, cars, clothing is a very pleasing color.  Yet blue is also associated with sadness…depression…despair…and other “d” words that at the moment I cannot remember.  How can this be?  How can the color of the ribbon lovingly placed on a bouncing baby boy be depressing?  Unless of course you happen to be longing for a daughter.

Over the years “Blue” has become synonymous with sadness…the word not the color.  The sad blue has an entirely different root going back hundreds of years.  It is not the color’s fault that it shares its name with a particular mental state.  Society has often attached a new meaning to an existing word, just as using the name of a rectangle with equal sides is to describe individuals that are un-refrigerated, or an altitude term is used to indicate chemical inebriation.  The word “blue” and the color “blue” are not the same thing.

However, as writers, we might “multitask” words…allowing more than one meaning with the words we choose.  Colors often fit into that category…a writer might use, say, red as a color but also to indicate anger or white to express purity.  How words are “double-used” can be as subtle or obvious as the writer wishes.  But certain words…just by their use bring immediate concepts to the reader’s mind.  So perhaps it is for us to choose the word…rather than the color…for “blue” doesn’t have to be “blue”…. 

(463 Words)