AG AG AG AG AG!!!!!!! (say it real fast)

One morning as I was trying to get out of bed,thoughts raced through my head...upcoming store promotion...have to do special orders...these people need to be called...don't have enough Scentsy parties scheduled yet....how am I going to pay property taxes...I should get up and exercise....what am I going to have for dinner...I can't keep eating chocolate for lunch...Finally I remembered a phrase my dad used to use...AG AG AG AG AG!!! When he yelled that, you would stop immediately. No matter what you were doing or where you were going, you stopped. You didn't have to wonder what he meant. There was no question. The race track thoughts stopped, but then I started thinking about how I missed being with my dad.

I moved to Minnesota with my family in the fall of 1982. For the next few years, I worked with my dad daily cutting firewood to sell. We would haul trees out of the woods with a tractor or snowmobile, cut into stove lengths, split..first by hand, later with a power splitter, then load into the truck to deliver to customers. It was extremely hard work, but probably the best job I have ever had. We got to know the trees personally. I could tell the species of the tree just by looking at the bark. A valuable skill if you are working during the fall or winter. Daddy would never cut a birch tree. There was something special about them. Oaks were our favorite since the wood burned long and hot. The smell of fresh split oak is close to that of a barnyard, but it became something we looked forward to each season. Maples were more valuable to us for the sap to turn into maple syrup, so we would only cut those that were obviously past their use as a sap tree. Aspen, or Popple as he would call them, were always a part of the mix since then burn fast and hot, great for starting a fire before you add the hard oak. Then there would be the trees that were so far gone we would leave for the birds and squirrels.

I remember one hot day in the woods. We worked all morning then broke for lunch. Mom always had an amazing lunch ready for us at the house. When we got in, she was already feeding Brekke in the highchair before taking her upstairs for her afternoon nap. After lunch we went back into the woods. At the end of the day, deep in the woods, we sat on the tailgate of the pickup and drank really cold, really cheap beer. It was the best tasting beer ever. We didn't have to talk. We didn't even have to mention how good the beer tasted. Caught in the same moment, in the same quiet thought.

I miss the simplicity of those days. I miss the way just being with my dad would help all things make sense.