People and Places
13/11/12 04:41
After the Second World War, our parents settled in Big Timber, Montana. After my father was discharged from the service, he attended school to earn his airframe and powerplant certification for aircraft maintenance. Then they went in search of an airport where they could establish a fixed base operation and open a flying service. They looked at Rock Springs, Wyoming and several other places. Big Timber Montana had the advantages of a reasonable field to establish an airport, a beacon that had been part of the intercontinental airways system developed during the war, and quite a bit of wind. The wind was a challenge in terms of operating planes, but it helped to keep the airfield clear. So Big Timber it was. They settled there in 1947.
For 65 years our family has owned property in Big Timber. The house in town where we grew up has been sold. The buildings at the airport have been sold. The Big Timber Farm Supply has been sold. Houses once occupied by my brother and my Uncle Ted had been sold. The only property still in our family in our home town is our summer property. And that property is for sale.
Selling the cabin is not something about which all of my sisters and brothers are in agreement. Since my parents had seven children, each of us owns one seventh of the property. Some think that we ought to keep the property. They reason that one-seventh of the proceeds isn’t enough to purchase property, so we go from owning real-estate to not owning real estate. They also feel that the property is a good investment that will grow in value over the long run.
But there are problems with join ownership. We have different expectations in terms of maintenance. We have different abilities to contribute to the costs of insurance, taxes and maintenance. The thought of having to obtain agreement from seven stakeholders for each decision isn’t particularly appealing.
It was about a year ago that we decided to put the property on the market. The place, however, is a unique property and we knew that it likely wouldn’t sell quickly. So while we wait for an offer, we have responsibilities. So I set of early yesterday morning to check out the place, blow out the water system and get everything winterized. It is a quick trip. I was on the road before 5 a.m., dodging two deer that were standing on the Interstate before I got to Sturgis.
Sunrise was gorgeous behind me as I encountered ribbon ice that quickly turned into completely icy roads by Alzeda. Before Broadus, a truck has spun out trying to climb a hill and there was an officer slowing down traffic and issuing warnings. I proceeded without any trouble in my sure-footed Subaru, but was slowed significantly by the ice. Before I got to the Interstate at Crow Agency, I had passed three accidents, including one that looked very serious, where two cars had impacted head-on. There were officers and an ambulance at the scene. Once on the Interstate, where the road was good, I saw two more ambulances heading towards the icy section of highway. It wasn’t a good day for some drivers.
The ice slowed me by only about an hour and by 1 p.m. I was draining the hot water heater and blowing out water lines at the cabin. The work took a little over an hour and by 3 p.m. I was sipping coffee at my sister’s home 20 miles back towards our home. The combination of slippery roads and early sunset meant that I decided early on not to drive all the way home. I’m in Sheridan, Wyoming, this morning, having decided to come home via the Interstate. I’ll be back in the office in the afternoon tomorrow.
I have been thinking as I drive about the concept of home place. From early in our history, our people have weighed the life of being settled against the life of wandering. In one of our stories, God favors the offerings of the shepherd over those of the farmer. The story doesn’t explain the preference, only the tragic and violent reaction of the farmer. Our people find favor living as wanderers in the desert, but their existence is inspired by the promise of a land. When we came into possession of that land, we seemed to have a tendency toward corruption and injustice. The greatest of our kings tended towards excess. David couldn’t control his passions. Solomon tried to consolidate all of the wealth, power and knowledge only to see the injustices of our people mount until a time of defeat, destruction and exile. The prophets warned us, be we didn’t heed the warning.
The lesson of all of this is that we have had a strong and passionate belief that God is not contained in any single place. Ours, we say, is the God of all places. Theologians have said that God is best revealed in history not in place. Still, there are places that are sacred to our people. Jacob named the place where he wrestled with his conscience and an angel, “Peniel.” The mountain where Moses received the commandments, Horeb, has always held special meaning for us. Mount Nebo, from which Moses glimpsed the promised land before he died is said to be holy.
In the stories of my small family, there are places that have meaning for us. We tell the stories of Grandpa Walt being born in the soddy on the homestead near Minnewaukan, ND, near Spirit Lake, also known as Devil’s Lake. Most of us can still find the place where grandmother Eva spent the winter in the claim shack to prove up the homestead that became part of what today we call the River Ranch. There is a kind of nostalgia for me when I walk across the ramp at the airport in Big Timber. And I indulged in a few quiet moments to walk along the river after I locked up the cabin yesterday. Place is important to us.
But it is not our whole story. And as the time comes to leave one place and head out for another, we are reminded of the stories of Abram and Sarai and how our people have a long tradition of going forth to a place yet to be revealed. God calls us onward.
As I watched the sunset last night near Lodge Grass, south of the Greasy Grass, in the land of the Crow people, I couldn’t help but notice the promise of new beauty in new places as we journey together as the people of God.
For 65 years our family has owned property in Big Timber. The house in town where we grew up has been sold. The buildings at the airport have been sold. The Big Timber Farm Supply has been sold. Houses once occupied by my brother and my Uncle Ted had been sold. The only property still in our family in our home town is our summer property. And that property is for sale.
Selling the cabin is not something about which all of my sisters and brothers are in agreement. Since my parents had seven children, each of us owns one seventh of the property. Some think that we ought to keep the property. They reason that one-seventh of the proceeds isn’t enough to purchase property, so we go from owning real-estate to not owning real estate. They also feel that the property is a good investment that will grow in value over the long run.
But there are problems with join ownership. We have different expectations in terms of maintenance. We have different abilities to contribute to the costs of insurance, taxes and maintenance. The thought of having to obtain agreement from seven stakeholders for each decision isn’t particularly appealing.
It was about a year ago that we decided to put the property on the market. The place, however, is a unique property and we knew that it likely wouldn’t sell quickly. So while we wait for an offer, we have responsibilities. So I set of early yesterday morning to check out the place, blow out the water system and get everything winterized. It is a quick trip. I was on the road before 5 a.m., dodging two deer that were standing on the Interstate before I got to Sturgis.
Sunrise was gorgeous behind me as I encountered ribbon ice that quickly turned into completely icy roads by Alzeda. Before Broadus, a truck has spun out trying to climb a hill and there was an officer slowing down traffic and issuing warnings. I proceeded without any trouble in my sure-footed Subaru, but was slowed significantly by the ice. Before I got to the Interstate at Crow Agency, I had passed three accidents, including one that looked very serious, where two cars had impacted head-on. There were officers and an ambulance at the scene. Once on the Interstate, where the road was good, I saw two more ambulances heading towards the icy section of highway. It wasn’t a good day for some drivers.
The ice slowed me by only about an hour and by 1 p.m. I was draining the hot water heater and blowing out water lines at the cabin. The work took a little over an hour and by 3 p.m. I was sipping coffee at my sister’s home 20 miles back towards our home. The combination of slippery roads and early sunset meant that I decided early on not to drive all the way home. I’m in Sheridan, Wyoming, this morning, having decided to come home via the Interstate. I’ll be back in the office in the afternoon tomorrow.
I have been thinking as I drive about the concept of home place. From early in our history, our people have weighed the life of being settled against the life of wandering. In one of our stories, God favors the offerings of the shepherd over those of the farmer. The story doesn’t explain the preference, only the tragic and violent reaction of the farmer. Our people find favor living as wanderers in the desert, but their existence is inspired by the promise of a land. When we came into possession of that land, we seemed to have a tendency toward corruption and injustice. The greatest of our kings tended towards excess. David couldn’t control his passions. Solomon tried to consolidate all of the wealth, power and knowledge only to see the injustices of our people mount until a time of defeat, destruction and exile. The prophets warned us, be we didn’t heed the warning.
The lesson of all of this is that we have had a strong and passionate belief that God is not contained in any single place. Ours, we say, is the God of all places. Theologians have said that God is best revealed in history not in place. Still, there are places that are sacred to our people. Jacob named the place where he wrestled with his conscience and an angel, “Peniel.” The mountain where Moses received the commandments, Horeb, has always held special meaning for us. Mount Nebo, from which Moses glimpsed the promised land before he died is said to be holy.
In the stories of my small family, there are places that have meaning for us. We tell the stories of Grandpa Walt being born in the soddy on the homestead near Minnewaukan, ND, near Spirit Lake, also known as Devil’s Lake. Most of us can still find the place where grandmother Eva spent the winter in the claim shack to prove up the homestead that became part of what today we call the River Ranch. There is a kind of nostalgia for me when I walk across the ramp at the airport in Big Timber. And I indulged in a few quiet moments to walk along the river after I locked up the cabin yesterday. Place is important to us.
But it is not our whole story. And as the time comes to leave one place and head out for another, we are reminded of the stories of Abram and Sarai and how our people have a long tradition of going forth to a place yet to be revealed. God calls us onward.
As I watched the sunset last night near Lodge Grass, south of the Greasy Grass, in the land of the Crow people, I couldn’t help but notice the promise of new beauty in new places as we journey together as the people of God.