Column: Woods & Water, by Dick Herfindahl

The cold weather last week brought back memories from my days as a youth growing up north of town. Looking back to those early days, I still get a warm feeling when thinking about spending time in our cozy little house on those cold winter days.

Recently as I arrived home from work, I was in the stairs landing taking off my coat and boots, and one of those memories came back to me. I could see my dad coming in the door after he had finished work and shoveled snow so he could get the car in the driveway. In the winter time, he always seemed to have an endless supply of moisture dripping off the end of his nose. I can remember how happy I would be when I knew that he would be in for the night. He would take his coveralls, jacket and boots off in the basement landing and set his boots on the first step going down. I guess this memory came to me when I found myself doing the exact same thing all these years later.

As far back as I can remember, Dad always kept a horse or two. When we first moved to Bridge Avenue, there were hardly any houses. Ours sat on the north side of what is now Glenview Drive, and my aunt and uncle lived on the south side. It was barely more than a field road at the time, and it ended at the pasture fence at the back of our lot.

When my grandpa’s barn burned down, we got the old milkhouse and moved it to the back of our lot, and my dad soon converted it to a horse barn. We kept horses there for many years until the land around us started to be developed and more and more houses started popping up.

My dad had two registered American Saddle-bred horses he was mighty proud of: One was named Champion — after Gene Autry’s, no doubt — and the other was Easter Ann. I can remember my dad feeding Champion carrots and apples out of his hand. That horse would pull a cigarette out of his shirt pocket and a handkerchief out of his back pocket if he left it hanging out. There were a few times when the folks would take horseback rides down some of the back roads in the area. I recall one such time when Elmer and Mary — some family friends — took me along in the car as they followed along behind. Suddenly, a car came over the hill and spooked my mom’s horse, causing it to take off running, throwing Mom into the ditch. Dad immediately rode off after Easter Ann catching her a little way down the road. That story was repeated many times over the years whenever Mom wanted to remind Dad that he seemed more worried about the horse than he did my mother. Luckily she wasn’t hurt, but I really can’t say I remember seeing her ride again.

When my sister Judy was born, Dad had to sell Easter Ann to pay for the hospital bill, and I don’t think it was long after that that he had to find another place to keep his horse. I was never very interested in horseback riding, so it was kind of ironic that my sister Judy eventually became the horseman that I knew he’d wanted me to be. Over the years, he’d owned many horses that he had kept in various locations. The one place that I liked best was the old Joe Juve farm that stood where the football fieldhouse is now. I would ride with Dad on many winter nights to help him with chores after he’d come home from a long day at work. Some nights went fast, but most of the time it would take way too long for my liking. He was meticulous in currying them and brushing their mane and tail. Dad always talked to the horses because he said if they recognized your voice they would feel comfortable. He was particularly patient with a horse he named Pedro, which was a beautiful gelding that was a registered Tennessee Walker. The previous owner beat and abused the horse, so dad would spend hours working with it, and he eventually taught it to trust man once again.

Yes, the cold weather reminds me of those cold winter nights spent in the barn waiting while Dad took care of the horses. There was something cozy about that, too, because the barn actually seemed warm to me when that cold, wintry wind was busily whirling snow about outside.

I’ve heard mixed reports on area fishing, but the one thing that seems constant is the number of small walleye that are being caught in the channel. This is a good sign for the years ahead. I’ve heard mixed reports coming from some who fished Pickerel Lake. Everyone agrees there are good numbers of panfish, perch and northern, but not everyone has been able to entice them to bite. Outside of the channel, the fishing has been slow on Albert Lea Lake and Fountain Lake has been doing pretty well for panfish and perch by the beach.

Until next time, don’t let a little cold weather keep from enjoying a little hard-water fishing.

Please remember to keep our troops in your thoughts and prayers in the New Year because they are the reason we are able to enjoy all the freedoms that we have today.

Dick Herfindahl’s column appears in the Tribune each Sunday.