Gone Fishin': Lyle Fritzemeier, 1958-2020

Warm Lake, Cascade, Idaho, taken in 2011

"Gone fishin'." 

Lyle Fritzemeier passed away during the early morning hours September 17, 2020, in Rapid City, South Dakota.

Warm Lake, Cascade, Idaho, taken in 2011

When Randy visited Lyle last week in the hospice, Lyle asked if Randy and I had gone fishing in South Dakota. He recommended it. No, we didn't have a chance. 

Payette River, south of Cascade, Idaho, 2011

But it made me think about going to some of Lyle's favorite fishing holes when we visited him in Cascade, Idaho, back in 2011.

At the time, he owned and operated the Pinewood Lodge Motel there.  (Click here to read about that trip and see more photos.)

When I was sorting photos, I also found a photo Lyle had taken at the Peace Creek pasture, which shows the bridge I mentioned earlier this week. It was the site of many childhood expeditions. Randy now has the photo over his desk.

When I posted the Peace Creek photo on Facebook this morning, one of those Hornbaker cousins (Pam) shared this memory:

Oh the stories to tell of deeds done here! The famous rocket tree, picking leeches from between our toes, the nest of owlets beneath the bridge, fishing with string and a safety pin and never understanding why we were such unlucky fishermen, and the hundreds of miles racing our bikes down those sandy roads.

Pam Hornbaker Turner

I thanked Pam for the word picture she painted - a glimpse at my husband's childhood. He's a man of few words. Even though he mentioned Peace Creek as a favorite memory, he didn't provide such vivid details as Pam. She also made this observation:

I was thinking that if we were kids today, we’d have a million selfies of all those deeds, but I don’t think I have even one photo of the 5 of us together (6 with Kathy, but she was never in on the bridge escapades)!

It's true. I couldn't find one photo of the neighborhood hooligans who visited the Peace Creek bridge. But I did find a few more photos from their childhood tucked into the pages of scrapbooks compiled by Marie, their mom. 

Lyle, 3 years old

Big helpers - Randy & Lyle, undated photo

Randy & Lyle, undated Christmas

Lyle & Randy - They've always loved animals. Undated photo

Randy, Lyle, Kathy - Christmas 1969

Lyle - Stafford High School Senior - 1976

 

Thank you for your care and concern for Randy and their sister, Kathy. It is truly a blessing to have such wonderful friends and family.

Sibling Trip - 2015

Lyle Ray Fritzemeier 

Gone fishin': April 12, 1958 - September 17, 2020

You'll Never Walk Alone

I was tempted to just delete the daily devotional from the Great Plains UMC Conference without opening it or reading it. After all, I was trying to cram four days of work into one day, while also ferrying Randy to the field three different times and trying to pack and plan for a 10-hour-plus road trip. 

The reason I was trying to hurry was so we could leave to travel to South Dakota to be with Randy's brother, Lyle. Randy and his sister, Kathy, were informed that Lyle would enter hospice in Rapid City, South Dakota, on Tuesday, September 8.

But I clicked the devotional open midway through the day. 

And, interestingly, the author of this particular devotional talked about one of my favorite songs, "You'll Never Walk Alone" from the musical, "Carousel." 

 

Through the years, I've copied down some of the words on cards I've sent to those who'd lost loved ones or were in the hospital. I often used the lyrics with a couple of different cards created from photos I took a few years ago during a fall walk at Dillon Nature Center.

 

When you walk through a storm

Hold your head up high
And don't be afraid of the dark
At the end of a storm
There's a golden sky
And the sweet silver song of a lark
Walk on through the wind
Walk on through the rain
Though your dreams be tossed and blown
Walk on, walk on
With hope in your heart
And you'll never walk alone

 

Isn't it interesting how we get these unexpected "God winks," as one of my friends calls these "coincidences?" On Sunday, September 6 at Jill's and Eric's church in Topeka - just a couple of days before our unplanned departure - Pastor Andrew called it a "nurge," an amalgamation of "nudge" and "urge." 

Randy finished up corn harvest and worked some ground on Labor Day, Monday, September 7, so that we could leave after an appointment on Tuesday morning. 

Randy, Kathy & Lyle - Sibling trip, 2015

 

 

In May 2015, Randy and Kathy, plus Kathy's two girls, traveled to South Dakota to visit. I had other obligations, so I stayed home, but I was "ghostwriter" for their journey. 

Lyle, Kathy & Randy - Sibling trip, May 2015

 

This time, Randy and Kathy didn't want Lyle to have to "walk alone" through what we assume will be a final journey, if the doctors are right.

Two years ago, we made a similar journey when Lyle was in the hospital. At that time, another song became my theme song. "Hills and Valleys" sung by Christian recording artist Tauren Wells also talks about God being there through it all - from the highs to the lows. The photo below was one I took on an unplanned detour. It was a wrong turn that ended up being right.

 

When we stepped into the stillness of the pine trees, it was quiet. Just the rush of water flowing over a small waterfall hidden in the trees marred the silence. The water was enough to mask any sounds from the highway, though it wasn't busy anyway.

There's beauty everywhere, even when your mind is swirling with other things.

For more photos from that 2018 trip, click here.

 

The first day of this 2020 trip was drizzly and overcast. It rained most of the way, so the scenery was kind of like God pushed the "mute" button. 

I dodged raindrops on a brief stop at a lookout spot at the Valentine National Wildlife Refuge nestled in the Nebraska sandhills. It was the only photo I took all day. The rolling prairie, wetlands, and meadows provide habitat for the same species of wildlife that have been part of the region's history for thousands of years.

It made me think of a quote from a book I finished the night before we left. This was near the end of the book, "The Ones We Choose" by Julie Clark. (I recommend the book, by the way.)

When someone dies, you can't help but think in terms of last times. The last time you talked with them, the last time you held their hand, the last time you kissed them. But we're learning that we never really lose those last times. They embed themselves in our genes to be carried forward, a quiet memory of people long since forgotten. ... They are there, in the silent rush of blood through veins, telling us what we need to know.

From the conclusion to the novel, "The Ones We Choose" by Julie Clark

Undated photos from Randy's scrapbook

On the way to Rapid City, I asked Randy about some of his favorite memories of Lyle. As adults, they ended up making very different choices in life. So Randy's favorite memories are from childhood.  He says he and Lyle spent hours using toy road equipment to make roads in a small sand pile between their home and the wash house. 

He also remembers going to the Peace Creek bridge to meet their Hornbaker cousins who lived just a half mile away. There, they played in the creek and fished. 

Both Randy and Kathy were able to visit Lyle and said their "last goodbyes" at the hospice in Rapid City, which is in a nice facility with a caring staff. We are thankful for their care in what we assume will be Lyle's last days here on earth.

I'll have more from the trip at some point. But, for now, thank you for your prayers for Lyle, Randy and Kathy as they make this journey. We know we don't walk alone.  

Dear Lord, sometimes we need to be reminded in the darkness of our lives that we never walk alone as long as You are with us, guiding our steps into the uncertainty. Amen.

 Prayer for Reflection (also from the same Great Plains Devotional)

The Hard Stuff

Everyone loves a happy ending.

We go to romantic comedies, knowing that the boy and girl eventually will find true love after a series of comical mishaps. We root for the hero during action movies. We hold our breath as we turn pages of an engrossing book, anticipating an ending that ties up all the loose ends.

But sometimes, no matter our best efforts, the ending isn't one you'd choose. People die too young. A potential job falls through. An accident happens and changes life forever.

And, sometimes, a baby calf dies.

Such was the case with the seventh calf of our Class of 2017.  Heifer No. 581 gave birth in a mud puddle. The mama didn't take advantage of a generous amount of straw spread out in the corrals.

The calf couldn't have been there all that long, probably less than an hour. But, by the time, Randy was back out in the lots, he found a shivering black calf. He and Ricky hauled it into the calving shed and tried to warm it up. Then, they left it alone with the mama for awhile, hoping she'd get it up and nursing.

But, after checking it again, Randy decided to milk out the mama. Baby calves can't nurse if they don't stand up, and this little calf wasn't strong enough.

Just like with humans, a mama's first milk is full of important colostrum for its offspring. We got the heifer in the head gate and Randy milked her.

We use an esophageal feeder to feed the calf.

It uses a tube and gravity to get the milk into the calf's stomach.

Some gentle rubs from a farmer were part of the after-feeding ritual.

But, a few hours later, the calf died. No one ever likes losing calves. We do our very best to be good stewards of the animals in our care. But, despite our best efforts, Old Man Winter can be a hard opponent to battle. Death is a fact of life. It's hard on the emotions and the pocketbook. (New calves would sell for about $200 in the sale barn this year.) And it's not a fun thing to share on a blog about a farm. But it is truth.

We celebrate when Cinderella's foot slips effortlessly into the glass slipper and she gets her prince. We cheer loudly when the underdog triumphs over the bigger, stronger opponent. And we mourn when things don't have a fairytale ending.

Our first calf of the season is doing great.

But the journey continues. We have a total of 113 heifers and cows to calve out. Here's hoping for more happy endings.

Everyone Likes a Happy Ending, But ...

Everyone loves a happy ending. We celebrate when Cinderella's foot slips effortlessly into the glass slipper and she gets her prince. We cheer loudly when the underdog triumphs over the bigger, stronger opponent.

But not every story has a happy ending, even when we do everything in our power to influence the outcome. Such was the case for a baby calf born on Sunday. Randy checked heifers before we left for church. He didn't see any eminent births, so off we went.

After we got home from Sunday School, he checked them again. And he discovered a baby had been born while we were in town. The mama had cleaned it off, but the winter wind was blowing hard from the north, creating a wicked, below-zero wind chill, and the new baby was cold.

So he picked it up and put it in the pickup, leaving the heater on high. It felt like a sauna in there after a few minutes. He tried giving it some warm milk replacer in a bottle while it warmed up beneath an old blue blanket. He tried to stimulate the calf's throat to swallow the milk, but it wasn't getting much down.

After 45 minutes or so in the pickup, we moved it back to the barn. 

Randy gave it more milk replacer via an esophageal feeder.

 

He put the baby in a calf blanket and left it in the fresh, dry straw.

Then it was time to move the heifer back in with its baby. It was anxious, and it took awhile to get her to go into the calving pen. But they were reunited.

Unfortunately, even though we'd invested quite a bit of time and effort, the calf didn't survive. It was the first calf loss for 2015.

Randy went out to the heifer lot frequently to check and see if others looked ready to calve. Thankfully, no others were born on that frigidly-cold day.

And even though we never like losing calves, there were some faces out in the corral that cheered us up.  These guys enjoyed the dry straw, too.

We also had our first three calves from cows on Monday, well before their February 10 due dates. Thankfully, they all survived, despite frigid temperatures.

No one ever likes losing calves. But, despite our best efforts, Old Man Winter can be a hard opponent to battle. Death is a fact of life.

Beauty Will Rise

(The flag at Stafford High School has flown at half mast this week in Melody's honor.)

Today is Melody's memorial service.

Last night, I was in the kitchen working and listening to music.

I'm helping with food and with serving the church's dinner to the family at noon. And then I'm providing a couple of salads as my Beta Sigma Phi group shares supper with the family.

It's a practical way to deal with grief.

When there are no words, you "do."

You look through recipe books. You stir together ingredients.

And then you realize it's not really about the food.

It's about loving the family and serving them.

While I worked, I listened to Steve Curtis Chapman's "Beauty Will Rise." It is a powerful CD. He wrote it after his daughter, Maria, died in an accident. She died only 10 days after her 5th birthday. The Chapman family was only hours away from hosting a high school graduation party for their son Caleb when the accident occurred.

There are so many correlations. Melody had celebrated her 17th birthday only two days before her death. She was looking forward to going to a prom at another high school, only a week after Stafford High School's prom. They were both taken from this world too soon by our human standards.

The whole album,"Beauty Will Rise," is raw emotion. I got shivers as I listened to the words and music sung by this faithful father who suffered such a loss. He put together this album to work through his own grief. And, in the process, he speaks for others who are mourning and searching for answers.



In his album notes, Chapman says: "Beauty Will Rise is one of the declaration songs that I wrote on one of those days when I desperately needed to say/sing again what God has promised ... that as our Redeemer, He will bring beauty and 'good' out of what appears so terribly wrong at the moment."

I also love the song, "See" from the album. What a beautiful message of hope! (I recommend the whole album. I've bought two of them already, one to give as a gift.)



Music tells the story of our lives. It reflects the joy and pain, the triumphs and tragedies, the times of peace and the storms of turmoil.

It speaks to us on days like today when the rain showers that are forecast almost seem appropriate - the tears of a community saying goodbye.

Remembering Moments

We do not remember days, we remember moments.
Cesare Pavese

When I first found this quote a couple of days ago, I was thinking about springtime flowers. Springtime in Kansas this year has been a riot of color and fragrance.

I'm no botanist, so I don't know the "whys" of this phenomenon.

Maybe we missed a freeze at some critical stage of the plants' lives.

Or maybe it's just the end of a long, drawn-out winter, a season in which I covered hundreds of miles and didn't see anything other than a television screen. While I'm thankful for a treadmill, I miss the days of walking along my dirt roads, enjoying the sounds of the birds, the colors of the season and the time to think and pray.

But then a tragedy happened in our little town. And the quote's meaning evolved for me.

Before the tragedy, I was thinking about the daffodils outside my front door. For a few days, they were colorful and beautiful, lifting their yellow heads and stretching toward the sun. A few days ago, I noticed their beauty had faded. The beauty was still there under the surface, but their days in the Kansas sun and wind had given them the "wrinkles" of an older lady, still grand but somewhat faded.

The forsythia bush that provided a beautiful backdrop for our Easter photos has faded like a vibrant yellow shirt that's been washed too many times.

It's the season of life, I guess.

But some seasons are way too short. Such was the case of a beautiful girl named Melody. She was killed in a car accident on Saturday, just two days after celebrating her 17th birthday.

Melody spent all those 17 years living in Stafford. She was a junior at Stafford High School and like most students at a small school, she dabbled in lots of things. She was a good student, and she was involved in everything from sports to music to drama activities. She worked part-time at the local Duckwall's, where she always flashed her trademark smile as she rang up my purchases.

She was also an active member of our church's youth group. Each February, the UMYF hosts an Italian dinner and Sweet Tooth Auction on the Sunday nearest Valentine's Day.

I'm the newsletter editor for our little church, and I try to take photos of the activities. So I knew I had photos of Melody from past years' events.

(Lauren, Shawna, Jo & Melody at the 2008 event)

(Jo & Melody in 2009)

It's not that I can't remember Melody in my mind's eye. But photos provide a picture of a "moment" in time. I know her family is going through this process, remembering the many moments that made Melody the unique and special person she was. Her friends have posted memories and photos on a Facebook page that has grown to 379 followers since Saturday. It's a new way to grieve in this new age of social media like Facebook.

My words are so small for such a big loss.

Words - some of my very favorite things - fail miserably when I try to express my sadness and empathy for Mel's parents, her siblings, extended family and her friends.

This death is like a ripple on a smooth pond. It radiates outward to envelop a whole community.

My Sunday School class talked about it yesterday. The Bible tells us that "to everything there is a season," but we cry out that Melody's season was much too short. In our humanness, we want to understand the "why" of this death that came too soon for us.

The song that was Melody's life has ended long before all the verses were complete.

After the church service yesterday, we gathered and linked hands, forming an unbroken circle in our sanctuary. We joined as one in offering our thanks for Melody's life and our prayers for comfort and peace for her family.

And my mind returned to the words of the anthem the choir had sung earlier in the service:

"We are standing on holy ground,

And I know there are angels all around.

Let us praise Jesus now,

For we are standing in His presence on holy ground.

In His presence I know there is joy

Beyond all measure.

And at His feet sweet peace of mind

Can still be found.

For when we have a need,

He is still the answer,

Oh, reach out and claim it.

For we are standing on holy ground.

Copyright © 1983 Meadowngreen Music

I have to believe that Melody is now one of those angels we sang about.