My mother's parents are Olaf and Ingeborg Norbye.
They lived on a farm 12 miles South of Last Chance, about 70 miles East of
Denver, in the Eastern Colorado 'desert'. Many of my most meaningful life
experiences took place on that farm and in the town of Limon, 30 miles South of
the farm.
I remember vividly the day I stood on the Northwest corner of
the farmstead, 4 years old, staring at the setting sun for the first time in my
life. I, of course, became blinded and disoriented. The image of the sun was burned into my retinas so deeply
that It looked like there were a hundred suns. From the West they
came. Up and down the rolling hills of the pasture, at a high rate of
speed, one right behind the other like a big, fiery, headless snake from
hell. I frantically ran back to the house but still, they came behind
me. I really thought I was a goner! It was so frightening that I told no one. Until now.
I learned how to drive in my Grandpa's 1940's
Ford pick-up. The old green beast had long been retired from regular duty
but kept on the roster as a water truck equipped with a large tank in the
back. The day that you were mature enough to take the wheel of the Old
Green Ford was an important and anticipated day indeed. Off to the freshly
cut wheat field I went with my mom and my aunt, bouncing up and down on the
ripped bench seat. Finally, when no obstacles were in near sight, I slid
into the driver's seat and showed my stuff. I can't help but think now
that my mom and her sister were probably giggling their heads off, though at 9
years old this was very important to me. Of course my older cousins had
already taught me how to peel out and power-shift the Ford on our countless dry
runs in the truck sitting stationary at the East edge of the house.
I used to stay on the farm in the summers even though we had
moved to Nebraska. My grandparents needed help during the summer months
and I was usually willing to volunteer. My cousins on my dad's side lived
4 miles away and I would spend some time with them when I could. I was 15
years old and they were old enough to drive. They always had really fast
muscle cars (mostly hopped up 60's Mustangs) and a lot of beer. A recipe
for disaster, but fortunately we all survived.
So many things happened on that farm that I couldn't begin to
write them all down. The character that was built there is part of what
gets me through every day.
My uncle Peder still lives on the farm and much of it is as
it has been for 50 years. I know because I was just there the other
day. I think I need to get back there again soon.
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Walk's Camp Church, a few miles from the farm, was the church my parent's families attended. |
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My cousin's wife, Dianne Parker drew this picture of the old grain truck on the farm. |
