Category Archives: Family

Booking it!

February 14, 2020book, Columns, Family, Farmingsusanmanzke

My 1980-1981 column collection is finished and is up on Kindle for purchase. The paperback will be in production as soon as I get my proof and check it over. I’m supposed to get my proof copy by next Tuesday.

Stories from these two years include three children: Robby, Becky, and Russell–Rachel came into the picture in 1982.

Here’s a romantic story form this book in honor of Valentine’s Day:

“Oh, Rats!” to those bats

August 5, 1981

He came out of the house. We sat by the picnic table, a full moon above our heads. It was so romantic, a fragile evening.

The work noises of the day had faded. I was no longer overpowered by the roar of the tractor being tuned up near the shop. It sat quietly nearby—in pieces—not to roar again until a needed part was shipped in.

Birds swooped about the yard in silent precision, eating hundreds of juicy insects. The sound of a muffled train whistle sounded in the distance.

It was an evening all the money in the world couldn’t buy. It was an evening worth waiting for, for weeks… for months.

He whispered into my ear, “You’re alone?”

I sighed, “Yes.” And thought, “Oh Boy! Here it comes. Here comes one of his priceless romantic statements.” (They are so priceless because they’re so rare. Anyway, it had to be one the evening called for one; it yelled for one. And so did I, silently, of course.)

So I waited and waited for the words that were sure to come from his lips—words I would cherish for another five years, until the next time, when he’d again stumble over another few.

“I’m surprised you’re sitting out here like this,” he said.

“The night was made for it… for us.” I thought a few words from me would help him spit out a good line.

“I’m just surprised. I know how much you hate them,” he said with a yawn.

Somehow it wasn’t quite what I expected him to say. I wanted romance. Instead I got a puzzle.

“What are you talking about? What do I hate?” I had to ask, knowing his answer was sure to blow the evening for good.

“Bats… you hate bats.”

“So?”

“Those happen to be bats flying around the yard,” he said, calmly.

“Bats? No…. BATS? Are you sure?” (Why I asked him if he was sure I don’t know. He’s always sure. And with one more look up so was I.).

“BATS!!! I thought they were birds.” I jumped up and ran to the house, my head tucked under my arms.

“Where are you going?” He remained sitting on the bench, in the moonlight.

“IN!”

“But it’s such a nice night…. I thought you knew they were bats. They weren’t hurting you.”

“They didn’t hurt me when I thought they were birds. They might now that I know they’re bats.”

For a man who claims to love me so much, he can be cruel. He stole away the night and the promise of romance, with one word – “BATS!” “Oh, RATS!”

I hope you enjoyed the story I shared.

I also hope that you would consider buying this kindle book or the paperback when it comes out.

In Rob’s words

February 10, 2020Bob, Family, Memoriessusanmanzke

I’ve shared the tributes from Rachel and Russell in my column. Today I’m working on a column with off-the-cuff stories from Rob and Rebecca. These will come out later this week in the newspapers.

Today, I have the written words of Rob about his dad. I want to share them here today. This is what Rob wrote, though he did go off-script at Bob’s memorial.

“My dad was a hardworking, compassionate, every-man farmer who had two priorities in his life. His family and his farm. And, as my mother often pointed out, they weren’t always in that order of importance for him. But, those two priorities were interdependent and intertwined. He worked tirelessly every single day of his life to provide for his family. When my siblings and I were still growing up and living at home, my dad worked two jobs to help put food on the table and keep the roof over our heads. The summers meant that Dad was working the night shift at the canning company. He’d leave for work at 6 pm, come home at 6 am (sometimes later if he fell asleep in his truck in the driveway), sleep until 10 am, work on the farm, and then head back to the canning company at 6. He worked so his family could live comfortably and happily on the farm on Gardner Road. That was my dad.

My dad was the ever-creative, self-taught engineer. The tools of his trade – tractors, trucks, plows, and other farm equipment – had frequently lived a long and productive life well before he purchased them. While I know he couldn’t have afforded to buy new, I also believe he thrived on the creative challenge of giving new life to old equipment. It was through dad’s example that I learned the values of ingenuity, grit, creative problem solving, and self-reliability. And, while I know absolutely nothing about the mechanical workings of a 1972 International Harvester, I do know how to face challenges in my life with the same level-headed determination as my dad.

“It would be a near impossibility to live your life as a farmer without possessing an unyielding sense of optimism. My dad was the epitome of optimism. Every spring, he took countless tiny seeds and planted them in the ground – knowing that much of the success or failure of the crop was out of his control. In the time between planting and harvest, my dad would manage his fields to give his livelihood the best chance to grow.

Together with my mother, my father the farmer raised his children with the same philosophy of patient optimism. Every day, he instilled in me and my siblings a strong work ethic, a passion for life, a steady disposition and eternal optimism. He planted those seeds within his children early in our lives, he tended to us throughout our childhood by living those ideals, and he waited (patiently) for us to reach our potential – knowing that much of our success or failure was out of his control. I for one think he and my mom did a darn good job with their crop of children.

“So, let us take the time this afternoon to celebrate my dad’s life and his accomplishments. Although we won’t have the opportunity to have new interactions and experiences with him, we have countless memories to cherish. But, more importantly, we help him live on through each of us. He lived his life true to his ideals – universal compassion, a steadfast commitment to his family, self-reliance, working hard for what you believe in, and eternal optimism. We all can take those ideas with us to honor him and keep him alive.”

I’m also sharing this photo of us with Rob when he got his Ph.D. A wonderful day Bob and I were so proud of our firstborn.

A helping family

February 8, 2020Family, petssusanmanzke

A prospective storm changed our family get-together. All our children were coming to help tomorrow, but a Sunday snowstorm changed plans.

Other commitments meant everyone couldn’t come this Saturday. Rebecca, Rachel, and Arianna made it here and helped with writing thank-you cards.

After spending hours together, writing, stamping, and addressing, Rebecca went home to do her own chores. Rachel and Arianna decided I needed more fish in my fish tank–I have one. So off we went to a pet store in Green Bay.

With Arianna’s help, I chose two guppies and then decided to get a beta to take up residence in his own bowl in the kitchen.

After choosing my new pets, Rachel asked if I needed anything else. We were near enough to Fleet Farm so I asked her to stop for water softener salt. “I don’t need anything else.”

After we got inside the store, I remembered I also needed cat food, wild bird food, cat litter, a trail mix and pecans for snacking.

With all the heavy bags, it was a good thing Rachel was there. She not only loaded her car with my purchases, but she also unloaded at home and carried everything everywhere from the basement to the front porch, to the upstairs.

The photos that follow were taken by Rachel as Arianna and I pushed our over-full cart out of Fleet Farm and to Rachel’s car.

It was a fun adventure and a relief from writing thank you cards.

Now everyone is on their way home. I’ll be alone on Sunday, but that’s okay. I’ll spend some time watching my new fish and then look out the window at the snow coming down outside–knowing not one of my family is trying to drive out to the farm on slippery roads.