Canoes and Root Beer

Edit: I tried to make a quick recap of this weekend's events, but it has sprawled into two vast topics that deserve their own separate post. Alas, I'm too lazy to separate them now, so be warned, this is a long-winded report. This post has also developed into a giant thread of photos. If your internet connection is less-than-speedy, go get yourself some popcorn and a comfortable chair. Okay.

Last year, I joined the Kids Club canoe trip down the Iowa River. Several male leaders and I took some of the oldest boys and spent a day out in the sun, paddling down the Iowa river. It was a great trip, but I told myself I would NOT do it again because of how ridiculously exhausting it was. We spent half of last year's trip dragging the canoes over sandbars and obstructions, thanks to the intense drought Iowa experienced.

My brain obviously decided to misplace all the memories of that trip when I signed up to go again this year. Instead of a one-day trip, we went two days and slept a night out on a sandbar.

This year, we had six leaders, six youth, and six canoes laden with sleeping bags, snacks, drinks, and meals.

 Malik and Jaylen, goofing around before we left the Hills river access.

The weather was spectacular. I made sure to apply suntan lotion to myself because my brain allowed me to remember that I burned my kneecaps last year.

Jaylen was in my canoe, and we had a lot of fun. He's a good paddler, but he liked to visit the banks of the river much like a ping-pong ball in a blender. I had to keep a steady hand on my paddle to navigate us through the rocks and brambles strewn everywhere.

You may be thinking to yourself, "Why is Matthew lounging around and making T'Kius do all the work?!" Well that's a good question. I was a model example for hard work and dedication...

Sometime Saturday afternoon, we stopped at a sandbar to snack and rest our arms by...swimming? It turned out to be a fantastic idea. We felt refreshed after splashing around for 30 minutes and then were on our way. The river was far kinder to us this year, and although there were still shallow spots that required getting out of the canoe and pulling, we experienced far fewer hangups in comparison with last year's trip.

Jaylen is a rabble-rouser, but God worked in both of us during the trip. I wasn't necessarily looking forward to being stuck with a kid in a tippy metal container for two days, but he made the trip really enjoyable.

T'Kius, showing off the biceps he earned through vigorous canoe paddling. This is the sandbar we camped the night on. It was the size of Rhode Island, which had benefits. Hauling everything 300 yards from the canoes to the camping spot was not one of them.

We found stuff that has possibly never been discovered by mankind, so we called it "narky". Stretches of the river are lined with rubber tires, a huge environmental project that went horribly wrong and strew tires through the river. (Which has actually spawned environmental projects of its own) This bacteria/fungus grows inside the submerged tires. It was cold and incredibly slimy, with the consistency of jello and the faint stench of raw sewage. We had a lot of fun throwing it at each other, until I found tiny little red worms wiggling around inside it, at which I instantly dropped all the narky, disinfected my hands, and considered burning the entire bank of tires.

Remove the marshmallows from the blazing hot stick before eating them? Ain't nobody got time for that! Especially Daquan.

Darryl packed several incredible meals. For Sunday breakfast, we had scrambled eggs (pictured), bacon, hash browns, sausage, and orange juice. 

T'Kius introduced me to Jolly Rancher pop. How did I not know of its existence?! He wouldn't let me try any though. It is evidently too delicious to share.

As it got dark on the sandbar, the kids became restless and agitated. They started fighting and kicking sand and causing all sorts of confusion, so we staff began to pray for God's peace to flood their hearts. The boys decided to run to the canoes and try to escape with them, until they realized how a) heavy the canoes are without the leaders helping and b) how much work it is to paddle a 12' canoe alone. We kept praying for God to visit our sandbar and defeat the spiritual enemies fighting us, as well as the physical enemies. A thick, heavy cloud of mosquitoes rushed out of the woods to devour us. We were getting eaten alive, even though we had a fresh application of Bug Soother, pretty much the best bug spray ever invented. Since this bug spray never fails to send bugs high-tailing it in retreat, I recognized that there was a spiritual facet to their attack. We continued to pray and hide in our sleeping bags, and eventually the kids returned and began to sing Kum Ba Yah quietly around the campfire. I was shocked. I should have expected to see God work in their hearts, after all we were praying for it! But to see the complete change was astonishing. I asked them if they knew what "Kum Ba Yah" means. When they shrugged, I told them it means "Come by here" and it's a song asking God to visit us. Darryl sat them down and had a discussion on the Spirits of Darkness and of Light. Although my prayers didn't quite stop the insect horde, there was a definite slack in the intensity of their attacks.

We went to sleep, but I was restless. Nothing was comfortable, I was itchy and sandy and tired and wide awake all at once, so I took a walk by the river and talked with God for a while. It was a beautiful night with thousands of stars visible, and the weather had cooled nicely.

After I returned to the camp, I stayed up for a while and stoked the fire. Earlier in the evening when the kids had been making Mountain Pies, I wasn't hungry. But now my walk had given me quite the appetite so I sat down and made one. I buttered two pieces of gluten-free bread and placed them inside the pie clamps. Then I placed cherry pie filling inside the pieces of bread and roasted it over the coals. I had great hopes for the snack, and when it came out golden and crispy and oozing hot cherry filling, I couldn't wait to dive in. I waited though, because the sandwich was hot enough to melt a hole in my Styrofoam plate. I bit into it once it had cooled a fraction and received a great disappointment: it tasted like a grilled cheese sandwich, except without delicious cheese and with a lot more cherry. I ate the rest of the sandwich but it needed something. What that something was, I couldn't place. Whipped cream? Ice cream? Less sand, perhaps?

Sunday morning we ate and had a worship service on the sandbar, and Darryl gave a message about Game Changing Moments in History. He started with accounts of incredible sports plays that the boys were familiar with, and then moved into the story of David and Goliath. The Israelites were psychologically defeated by the fearsome Goliath until David killed him. At that game-changing moment, the Israelites regained their chutzpah and routed the Philistines.

We packed up, shipped out, stopped for another 1-hour swimming break at the midway point. Along the trip, we saw several bald eagles soaring over the river. I had hoped that they would come swooping down and snatch up a naughty child some fish but they kept their distance from our noisy bunch. While paddling, I began to notice the angry red bumps on my feet, arms, and legs from all the mosquitoes in the night. I estimated that I had north of 40 bites. BUT my knees were only the tiniest bit burnt, unlike poor Jonathan and Sam, who had knees the color of a freshly-painted fire hydrant.

Around 4pm Sunday afternoon, we arrived at the pickup location near Columbus Junction. We had journeyed 24 miles by river in two days, averaging 2mph. The kids commented several times that it would be nice to have a motor boat. "Posh!" I replied. "Paddling builds character AND muscle!" But after 12 hours of it, I was secretly wishing I was had packed along an Evinrude outboard motor.

The six leaders from left to right: Shawn, Wendell, Darryl, Sam, Jonathan, and Matthew.
The six youth from left to right: Jaylen, Dijon, Daquan, Devion, Malik, and T'Kius. 

A pickup with the canoe trailer and one of the Kids Club vans met us at the rendezvous. The van was not prepared for 12 exhausted canoeists and all their gear, and it let us know so by leaking all the air out of its left rear tire. We put on the spare, which (unknown to us) was also flat. So Pickup-driver Darrin ran and filled the spare with air, and we were soon on our way back home.

I got back home and sat in the shower for a good, long soak. Then I responded to the texts and calls I had missed during the trip, since the staff decided not to take phones along. My manfriends wanted to host their long-planned Root Beer Tasting at my place. I told them to come right on over. I wasn't planning to drive anywhere.

"Root beer tasting, wot? Whatever do you mean, old chap?" you would ask, if you were British.

Jordan and Tyler had a dream. A dream where all root beer varieties would be assembled and tasted, judged by their flavor, aftertaste, and emblem art. Brooks, Jordan, Harlan, Christian, Kendal, and myself gathered 37 distinct varieties and began the difficult judging process. Before we cracked open the bottles, Kendal made a fantastic chip dip and cleaned my kitchen. I promptly told him he could visit anytime.

"Thirty Seven varieties?! Surely you jest, old boy."

I don't jest in the slightest! Here are the titles, listed alphabetically, separated by periods.

A&W.  AJ Stephan's.  Always Ask for Avery's.  Baumeister's.  Berghoff.  Boylan.  Blumer's.  Capone.  Dad's.  Dog n Suds.  Frostie.  Frostop.  Goose Island.  Gray's.  Great Dane.  Hansen's (Diet).  IBC.  JC Gray.  Jack Black's.  Jackson Hole.  Jones.  Kutztown.  Mason's.  Millstream.  Mug.  Old Faithful.  Point.  Rat Bastard.  Sam's Choice.  Sea Dog.  Sioux City (Diet).  Sparky's.  Sprecher.  Stewart's.  Triple XXX.  Virgil's.  Zevia.

(Interestingly, the Last was definitely the Least. Despite being brightly packaged and filled with Stevia, Zevia was abominable.)

Various tiny drinking vessels and shot glasses were procured, and we all would taste together and then discuss the flavor and aftertaste. Between flavors, the guys ate a cracker to clean their palate. I ate tortilla chips.

Only a handful of these drinks were sugar free, so I was given smaller portions than the others. But as the taste-testing progressed and the mixture of root beers started causing toxic results, everyone quickly adopted Shawn-sized portions.

 We had to take a break around flavor #20. The combination of so many rooted drinks was causing great distress in our stomachs. Poor Kendal politely excused himself from the table, walked outside, and threw up. We began to question if we were drinking ROOT beer or the real thing. The things we do for Science. Initially we thought that 37 varieties was not NEAR enough to do justice to the vast world of Root Beer, but after we started, we were extremely grateful that we did not have more.

 Although Jordan originally wanted a blind taste test with silent votes, we decided to make it more of a review panel. We conversed about the flavors after each test. Each of us had our own individual tastes, which became obvious as we agreed and disagreed on the varieties. But several flavors were downright delicious on all accounts. Here is a sampling of the notes:

Boylans: Very unique. Perhaps the yucca extract?
Dad's: Worst? Tastes like soap.
Goose Island: "Tastes like mouthwash." -Kendal. Top 5?
Great Dane's: Unique aftertaste, in a good way.
Zevia: "Worse than Dad's." "Like burning diarrhea from a buffalo"
Virgil's: Brooks loves it, everyone else dislikes.
Point: Smooth. Chemically?
Sam's Choice: Best-tasting cheap root beer.
Sprechers: Smooth and creamy, no aftertaste.
Capone: VERY sharp. Canned farts?
Sparky's: Root beer hard candies, in a bottle.
Rat Bastard: Uh, spunky?
Sioux City Sarsaparilla: Best diet Root Beer tested.
Millstream: Good vanilla taste, top contender.
Frosty: Aftertaste dies on tongue?
Mason's: Punch to the tonsils.
AJ Stephans: Entirely different than all the other root beers, alright.
"They all taste the same to me." -Christian.

We narrowed it down to the top seven flavors, pictured above. This photo was taken just after the final round of testing, before the scores were calculated. Therefore, they are not in any particular order. From left to right, Frostop, Goose Island, Sprecher, Great Dane, Baumeister's, Jackson Hole, and Millstream. From there, we wrote down our votes for the top three. Each 3rd place nomination received 1 point, 2nd received 2, and 1st received 3.

In 7th place with 0 points, Jackson Hole. (It's very good stuff, but wasn't quite as tasty as the others)
Millstream and Baumeister tied for 5th with 2 points.
Goose Island received 4 points, giving it 4th place.
3rd place was given to Sprecher, with 9 points.
Frostop earned second place with 12 points. Frostop was my personal favorite.
First place was awarded to Great Dane, which earned 13 points. Overall, a delicious, delicious flavor that we couldn't argue about.

The contest was very close and the results surprised Jordan and Tyler, who thought Great Dane was going to completely plaster the competition.



Afterward, we all laid down in the living room and recuperated for a while. I iced my shoulders, which were starting to ache from all the paddling.

Nothing feels quite so wonderful as your own bed after a long week, so after we finished watching the Count of Monte Cristo, I conked out around 2am. What would have been fitful sleep caused by the dread of work in the morning, I slept like a little old lady until 10am.

Thank you, Lord, for Labor Day.

A Plethora of Activities

Ack!

A lot has been happening lately. I suppose that's not uncommon. The electronic silence between my posts should convey that I'm off somewhere doing important things, like having campfires and working and watching friends get married. But the key here, is that the "a lot has been happening" refers to a pile of things I don't do very often.

On Sunday my good manfriend Nate got himself a bride. I was fortunate enough to be one of his groomsmen. I got to spend a good deal of time with him, which was awesome. You can most often find your single friends. They're just hanging out. You also can find your married friends easily. But the dating/engaged friends are like rumors and whisperings. You hear that they exist, but you don't see any evidence.

Sunday weddings work just fine, if you were wondering. They have a different feel to them versus a Saturday wedding, to be sure, but you can't argue that it seems slightly silly that a Saturday wedding is twice the expense of an identical wedding staged on Sunday. At the reception, I caught the garter, which is supposedly a traditional memento that foretells who will get married next (amongst the single men trying for the garter). But I just see it as an opportunity for the husband to reach up his wife's dress and pull off a lacy article of clothing, in public.

I taught story time at Kids Club Monday evening and tried to explain faith to a pile of eager, energetic inner city kids. The kids are divided into three groups: the youngest boys and girls, the older girls, and the older boys. I have to tailor the story to be relevant to each group, which is the hardest part for me. For the story, I grabbed up some horrendously expensive-yet-plain-Jane helium balloons and took my cinder block with the two sequoia saplings growing inside it.

Granted, party decorations don't grow on trees. But at the cost of a gallon of gasoline per balloon, I think I may need to get a piece of this lucrative Helium Balloon racket.

I told the kids that faith is "complete trust in something or someone that we can't see." I gave them examples of this by telling them to all take a deep breath. "We trust that there is oxygen to breathe, right? Even though we can't see it." But that practical example was free so I knew it wouldn't leave a lasting impression. I showed them the balloons and asked if they knew what was inside. Several kids piped up "Helium!"

I tore a small slit in the neck of the balloon to let out some helium. I asked if the kids could see the gas escaping. "No?" They said in a panicked voice, like perhaps they missed an obvious puff of gas escaping the balloon. "That's right, you can't see helium. It's clear, like oxygen. So we can't see it but we can see that it does something, right?" At this point I inhaled the helium and talked in a squeaky little chipmunk voice, which certainly left a bigger impression on the kids than inhaling plain 'ol oxygen. (I wanted to geek out about how oxygen is contained in our atmosphere and distributed over the surface of the earth so that we can breathe wherever we go ohmygoodnesshowcoolisthat! but evidently kids aren't wired like I am.)

I then used my sturdy little saplings to show the relation between "faith" and "works". I related faith to sunlight and works to water, both of which are necessary for a good little sequoia to grow.

On Tuesday I bought a plane ticket to Oregon. More accurately, I paid Mom for the ticket she found me after analyzing dozens of flight companies for several weeks. I'm flying out of Omaha, which is 4 hours away, but that's not even a tribulation because a) I'll get to visit my awesome cousin Kyle who lives near Omaha and b) I'm flying with Southwest, my most favorite airline.

I'm headed to be a groomsman in my friend Jamison's wedding this October, and I'm pretty thrilled about it. I dearly miss Jamie and I have only seen him a few times since he moved to Oregon 2 years ago, but we grew up together so it'll be awesome to see him again. While I'm out there, I'll spend time with my sisters and brother and nephews and nieces and brothers-in-law.

On Wednesday I spoke in chapel at Pathway Christian. Wednesday mornings are for the fathers of the students to give chapel. I'm not a father of any child, much less a child old enough to attend Pathway. But they enlisted several alumni to give messages, and I was glad to pitch in. I taught about the name of God and what the modern church is doing to it, and I was pretty nervous I'd forget something so I wrote the entire message down and more-or-less read it to the students. I want to share that message with all of you, but I'll do that some other time because it's long.

This Thursday I get to help teach a friend how to properly use firearms, and I'm excited. What's not to get excited about? Firearms are a wonderful hobby. Now, the media would have you believe that gun owners are crazy yahoos living on the edge of sanity, with no regard for physical hygiene or safety. Well, I can't speak for every gun owner in the world, but I don't know of anyone like that. Proper firearms training is something I get excited about because an innocent kid with no knowledge of guns is more dangerous with a firearm (and often more lethal) than an armed criminal. I'm not joking. If you ever find yourself in the vicinity of a firearm, ALWAYS carefully follow the Four Gun Commandments.

I went on a one-day canoe trip last year with the oldest Kids Club boys. We had a leader for every two boys, and I'm thinking there were a dozen kids. The trip was awesome but I was so exhausted and sore at the end, I thought I'd never put myself through something like that again. Well, nostalgia is that horrible condition in which strenuous exercises are remembered with fondness. On Saturday several of us guys leave with some of the older boys from Kids Club on a two-day canoe trip. This time, the leader-kid ratio will be one-to-one. We're leaving our phones behind, taking sleeping bags to camp the night...I'm excited to see how it turns out.

Upcoming in September is my roommate Shane's wedding. I won't be a groomsman in his wedding, but I've been asked to be the emcee. I'm looking forward to it because I'm good friends with Shane AND Alaynna.

Last on my "Plate of Upcoming Activities" is the trip to Ghana. I have not found my Yellow Fever vaccination card, but I'm no longer worried about it. I don't have the paperwork to prove it, but my body is capable of defending itself against brightly-colored fevers.

I told a friend that I was pretty frazzled with all of these events swirling around in an ominous cloud of responsibility. She wisely pointed me to Psalm 29:11, which states "May the LORD give strength to his people! May the LORD bless his people with peace!"

Thank you, Father. Help me to take things one day at a time.

Returning to Ghana

I remember the clinic very clearly. Our team sat on metal folding chairs, waiting our turn to get injected. Our imaginations ran wild wondering what kind of horrible device would be used to administer our Yellow Fever vaccine. Did this little medical clinic tucked into a shopping mall have clean needles? Competent staff? As Mennonites, we had all jumped at getting $17 shots instead of spending $100 at a medical clinic in America, but now, sitting in the waiting room, eyeballing each other, we began to have doubts.

I have no problem with insulin injections. In the past 15 years, I've given myself literally thousands of shots. I once started doing the math but I stopped because the numbers went too high.

I've had north of a dozen vaccines in my life. Polio, mumps, measles, rubella, tetanus, various influenza vaccines, chicken pox, etc. I don't necessarily like vaccines. Not because I fear they'll turn me into a vegetable or that my offspring will be the focus of the next Xmen movie, but because they get injected into muscle and hurt like crazy for a few days.

I jumped up and followed the nurse back to a small examination room, which was clean and organized. She prepared my arm for the injection, administered the vaccine, and gave me a bandage. It was all over before I could worry about HIV or tarantulas. The nurse was well-trained and very competent.

We were given a Yellow Fever card that showed us the date and location of our vaccination.

Fast forward 18 months. I need that card, and I can't find it.

I'm headed back to Ghana, Africa on a ministry trip with Crusades for Christ this Fall. God has really opened a lot of doors, starting with changing the date of the entire trip so I wouldn't have to miss my roommate Shane's wedding. God is so good! I've been running through all of these open doors until I tripped over giant piece of furniture labeled "Yellow Fever Vaccination Booklet".

I am not organized. I lose important things all the time. Once I angrily called my car insurance provider, telling them that they neglected to send me an updated Proof of Insurance card (which got me in trouble when I was pulled over and didn't have it with me). The insurance provider promised to send out a copy as soon as possible. When it arrived, I ran inside and set it down on the counter, which is where I found the original copies that I accused them of neglecting to send me.

I have no idea where that Yellow Fever booklet is. Please pray that I find it. Worst case scenario is I can't find the card and will have to take the shot again.


How this trip to Ghana will be the same: 

-The trip is under the same organization: Crusades for Christ. 

-God will be present in our work. Is that conceited? God provided in so many ways on the last trip, and I believe He can and will do that again.


-I'll be going for two weeks, which is the same duration as the last trip. I could certainly tolerate longer trips (Two weeks on a foreign continent is like ordering a salad at a steakhouse.) but shorter trips work with my job schedule far better.

-I'm going to be staying with the same Missionary family, Jon & Sarah Sauder, who are living just outside of Accra, the capital of Ghana.

-I'm going to consume large quantities of delicious fruit.

-I will be traveling with a wonderful group of like-minded believers. I can't wait to meet the whole team! 

-I will be purchasing a machete like the one I got last year.

This one has seen rigorous use in the woods around my trailer, as evidenced by the battle scars and dents. 

How this trip to Ghana will be different: 

-Ron & Audrey Bontrager, a dear missionary family I met last trip, will not be in Ghana. Their three-year term has come to an end. They're being replaced by Leon & Barb Geigley and their daughter Carissa. I was blessed to work under them at Prairie Camp in Indiana, and I'm looking forward to seeing them again.

-Last trip, I helped put up rafters on the Crusade for Christ Bible Institute building. This trip is a Missions Crusade, where we'll be working in clinics and spreading the life-giving words of Jesus. These are things I had hoped to get involved in the last trip, but there simply wasn't enough time.

-Last year, I traveled with a friend from my church and a pile of Pennsylvanians. This year, I'll be the sole Iowa team member lost in a sea of energetic Indianans. Indians? Indiananites? 

-Instead of just one, I'm going to buy multiple machetes. I really like them.


Our group will be catching the very beginning stages of the yearly Harmattan, which is a nasty sandstorm that whips through West Africa from November til March. I was smack dab in the middle of the storm when I went in February 2012. The sand that blows from the Sahara desert just hangs in the air like a gritty smog.


The trip dates are October 27th to November 8th. Please keep my team and I in your prayers as we prepare for the upcoming trip.

You can download my account of the first trip here:
http://www.cfcint.com/images/Africa_Trip_Report.pdf

The Crusades for Christ International Bible School is still being constructed. Teachers and students meet in portions of the building that are already completed. There are all sorts of lovely photos of the project here:
http://www.cfcint.com/cfcilanddevelopment/2012pictures.html

For comparative reference, this is what the building looked like when we got done with our portion of the project.

Parked out front is the trusty 15-passenger van we used. No, I didn't make a mistake. It held 15 people regularly. Sometimes more, when we completely surrendered all personal space.

Lord, thank You for the opportunity to serve in a foreign land. Please use our small group for Your honor and glory.

Graber Family Reunion

Last weekend I blasted out to Middlebury, Indiana for an afternoon reunion with my Graber ancestors.

Once upon a time, there was a man named Abraham Graber. He married a sweet young lady named Rabena (whom everyone from then on referred to as "Beena"). This reunion that takes place each year is the gathering of the Abraham & Bena Graber Family. They had 12 children, three of which died in infancy due to pneumonia and other now-curable maladies. The oldest child that survived was my Great-Grandfather, Daniel Graber. He was followed by Allen, Ezra, Joseph, Ervin, Sam, Floyd, Esther, and Ruby.

Each year we get together for an afternoon just to see who's still around and kicking. My Great-Grandfather Dan passed away in 1993. Had he been present at this year's reunion, he would have been a ripe 102 years old. The others are in their 80's and 90's. The distance in age from Dan to Ruby was 24 years, so many of Abe's kids are still alive.

A reunion that takes all of 5 hours from beginning to end would seem simple enough, no? Well perhaps in theory, but this is Grabers we're talking about here, so the trip was fairly involved.

My cousin Ryan informed me that we should all make the effort of going to this year's reunion. I had wanted to go, especially once I heard that Ryan, a first-cousin my age, would be present. But general lack of interest from my family members was putting a soggy blanket on my proverbial reunion fire. The lack of interest was understandable, I guess. The reunion is held yearly in Indiana on a Sunday afternoon. A potluck meal is followed by lively conversation for a few hours, with a roll-call of sorts to see who's still alive, and then everyone heads home. It's difficult to travel 6 hours one way in order to spend a handful of hours with relatives. To compound the problem, many of the Indiana relatives (that have hardly any distance to travel) were absent from previous reunions.

I asked my grandparents, Lynn & Ruth Graber, if they were going. Grandma replied that she would like to, but Grandpa would go only if a really good bus trip didn't interfere.

In the meantime, I planned my birthday party for August 2nd, the Friday before the reunion. Without even trying, I picked one of the busiest Fridays of the year, and many of my guests couldn't make it. I then changed the date to Saturday, the 3rd. 45 minutes after changing the time, Grandma informed me that Grandpa and her would be taking a busload of IMS students partway to Washington D.C., and then driving a shuttle car to the reunion. Would I like to join?

I canceled my birthday party with a hasty promise to my guests that I'd reschedule it down the road, eventually, sometime. We left Friday around 11am, and to my dismay I found out that Grandma had developed a nasty cough and was too sick to go along. I hopped in the pickup with Grandpa, and our adventure began.

We drove his pickup to Cedar Rapids, signed in at the Windstar Bus Company office, and grabbed a shuttle car. Or minivan. A loaded, everything-but-the-kitchen-sink minivan.

 We drove out to the Iowa 80 Truckstop to grab some food. Grandpa and I solved some puzzles (the ones Grandma gave me for my birthday), ate some lunch, and moseyed around the giant truck oasis. You can find all sorts of sweet chrome-plated accessories for your rig there, with many of them proudly displayed on THREE SEMIS SITTING INSIDE THE ROOM. One entire semi tractor sat on a slowly-revolving turntable, so that you could admire every angle of its shiny goodness.

You won't defeat me, Level 3 riddle. I've got a secret weapon. "Grandpa, what do you think this means?"

We then traveled to a gas station to rendezvous with the bus. Upon its arrival, Grandpa and I hopped on. I recognized maybe three of the thirty IMS seniors. Eventually they figured out that I was Shane's older brother, whom they were friends with. A busload of Shane's friends with the audacity to call themselves High School seniors made me feel especially ancient.

Grandpa drove the bus to North Lima, Ohio, which is on the far East end of the state near the Pennsylvania border. It was such a blessing to travel with Grandpa Lynn. He is a wealth of stories and wisdom. During the trip we talked about a thousand different topics. Many of them focused on Grandpa's thousands of miles traveled on the roads in buses and semis.* A sampling of the topics were: Semi weight loads. Risking money on the stock market. Hitting things on the road while driving a bus. Semi drivers that would rearrange semi cargo with a creative tap of the brakes, in order to pass inspections at weigh stations. Traveling 300,000 miles with Grandma on a motorcycle, visiting all 48 contiguous states, Canada and Mexico, in the 12 years spanning 1980-1992.


*"Wait 42 seconds! Didn't your Grandpa own and operate Graber Heating & A/C? What's all this about driving trucks and buses?" Grandpa worked at Graber Heating for decades, but found time to drive semi for Twin County Dairy (AKA the Cheese Factory). After "retiring" from GHI, he started driving tour buses.

Grandpa quoted many memorable things, and I wish I had thought to bring a tape recorder along to preserve them all. 

"Once your [great-great] Uncle Sam bought a town in Alaska."

"I witnessed the drag run where Connie Kalitta went 300mph in a quarter mile. He was the first man to go that fast in the quarter."

"Most TV channels have the most idiotic drivel nowadays. They must think the viewers have the IQ of a snail."

"It's nice driving a bus in heavy traffic. When you use your turn signals, people get out of your way."

Grandpa told me about some of the complex hoops truck drivers have to jump through. Every mile in each individual state traveled has to be recorded for tax purposes. At the end of the year, each state gets paid a certain amount of tax for the use of their roads. "But isn't there road tax in fuel?" I asked. "Of course, but if we fuel up in Iowa and travel to New York on one tank, that's not fair. Or at least the states don't think its fair." So I helped him log the miles in each state driven.

By 2am Saturday morning, a relief bus driver met us and took the bus. We grabbed the shuttle car and drove to our hotel.

Windstar relies heavily on Toyota's for their shuttle vehicles, and they've got quite the track record. Several of the cars have 300,000 miles on them with nary a problem. This one was a relative baby in comparison, with only 200,000 miles on it.

We slept in til 9am and then back-tracked to Indiana. We spend the afternoon browsing through shops in Shipshewana and visiting points of interest tied to our Graber ancestry. I had wanted to go to the giant Auction & Flea Market but they only operate on Tuesdays and Wednesdays or some nonsense like that. While driving down one street in Middlebury, we were denied access. Four police cars, a fire truck, and an ambulance had cordoned off the street. We were just sightseeing, so we turned around. I noticed some news vans and told Grandpa we'd have to watch the news later to see what happened. We watched the news, and we found out. But firstly, how can you Indiana residents tolerate waiting til' 11pm to watch your news?! What happened was an older woman got out of her car to help an injured groundhog on the street. While helping the poor critter out, she was struck and killed by an oncoming car. It sounded like something that happens in immature comedies.

Serious-Type News Release

Sentimental-Type News Release

Grandpa and I visited the house located on Jayco property. This home belonged to Great-Great-Great grandma Bena, before she sold the farmland to somebody who then sold it to Jayco, I think.

Someone carved a giant bird (a bluejay, perhaps?) into a tree stump. The house is now a welcome center for Jayco, and I think it also contains a "History of the Area" museum, but I'm not sure. They were closed on Saturday. Grandpa and I quickly developed a habit of visiting places based on whether there were vehicles in the parking lot, because everything else was inexplicably closed.

If you've met me more than one time, you know that I'm awful at remembering names. That evening, Grandpa and I ate a delicious meal at the Blue Gate restaurant. While we were there, I wrote out the family tree on the back of the paper place mat, so I wouldn't be as blind about my ancestors' names. I hadn't even known all the names of Great Grandpa Dan's siblings before that. I carried this paper with me the entire reunion, asking people which family line they came from. The paper quickly became priceless to me, and I got a lot more out of this reunion (and felt way less foolish).

I wrote out the family lines of Great Grandpa Dan, Grandpa Lynn, Great Grandma Mildred, and Grandma Ruth. Joseph's children added their family lines while I wasn't looking, but that was alright. Then Ezra or Ervin signed my paper. I think he thought it was an attendance sheet. 


Sunday morning I went to Greiner for church and met a lot of wonderful friends. I really should travel to Indiana more often so I can spend more time with those lovely folks.

After church, Grandpa and I went to the reunion, where we were surprised by Grandma Ruth. Lynn's sister Nancy drove out for the reunion and Grandma tagged along, even though she still felt a little under the weather.

Grandma and my cousin Ryan. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that Ryan said he couldn't come, and I was sad, and then he came, and I was glad.

Great-Great Uncle Joseph. Just look at this troublemaker. 

"Uncle Joe! My little brother Shaylon has your name for his middle name."
"What! I didn't know I lost my name."

My great-great uncles are still sharp as tacks. Ezra came in slowly and stiffly. When we commented about it and asked if he was feeling old, he replied that he had just got done with a couple of rounds of BOWLING and was feeling pretty sore from that. He had bowled a 190 or something ridiculous.

Uncle Sam (the leprechaun in the white shirt) just cracked me up. After hearing countless stories about him and his stock market dealings, I had expected to meet a stern, severe old man with a permanent scowl etched on his face. I was never more mistaken in my life. I shouldn't be surprised that he turned out to be more Graberish than I could ever have wished for. He told some stories of our Graber ancestry during the sharing time. I could sit and listen to him tell stories for a WEEK, but his brothers didn't share that same sentiment.

"We shoulda never let Sam get the mic. We're gonna be here until 6pm!" Joseph said, with a twinkle in his eye.

Ezra began to tell a story, sans microphone. Nobody could hear him. "Hold on," Sheldon said, "Some Grabers are hard of hearing." A voice from the back piped up "Tell me one Graber who aint!"

I had heard rumors about Uncle Sam's wealth and was told that at the previous reunion, he handed out cash to each family member that showed up. But when Sam stood up and announced that every person present over the age of 16 would be getting a voucher for $500 toward any Christian non-profit organization of their choice, I was still speechless. He gave everyone under 16 a $100 voucher, to be donated with their parents assistance. Grandpa Lynn and I did some quick math: the 108 Grabers present in that room walked out with a little more than $42,000 in vouchers.

Sam informed us that he had set up an Abe Graber Heritage Fund, with the express purpose of blessing others in thanks for the way God has blessed us. The money he handed out wasn't even keeping up with the accrued interest of that fund. Grandpa and I did some more math to figure out how much principal would be required to make interest like that, and we came up with some skin-tingling figures."Now this isn't to bribe you to come to family reunions or anything..." Sam said with a laugh.

Joseph gave me a sweet family ancestry book, but with one stipulation. "I'm on my third Lennox furnace. The first one lasted 25 years, the second lasted 20 years, and this third one is new. But when it quits in 20 years, I expect you to come replace it for me!"

All Graber Heating furnaces have magical properties that allow them to work for 40 years at least, possibly because of our expert installations. Those Indiana contractors must be inferior workmen.

We ate large quantities of food and had many fantastic conversations. It was not a dull roar in that room of 108 Grabers. It was a full-out audio onslaught. It was wonderful.

Ezra, talking to Robert Reigsecker, who is the pastor at Greiner. I found out that Robert is a first-cousin to my Grandpa Lynn.

Some kids lining up for their $100 vouchers.

After things died down and the elderly Grabers called it a day, Grandpa and Grandma and I headed out. We drove the shuttle car back home and arrived late Sunday night. We had truly Mennonited our way out there, what with a free bus ride, free shuttle car and fuel, and a free hotel on Friday night.

 I took a quick attendance poll while we were at the reunion. The bottom, if you can't read it, says "Abraham & Bena had 9 children, 40 grand-children, 117 great-grandchildren, 128 great-great grandchildren, and 9 great-great-great grandchildren. (Not counting in-laws)"

Because I was furiously scribbling down stories and quotes and taking photos, several of the relatives thought I should write a book or something like that. If it allows me to hang out with my Graber relatives and hear more of their stories, I'm all for it.

Getting Older and All It Entails.

It is my birthday today. I'm turning 24.

If I lived in China, today I'd be turning 25. In some Eastern territories, I'd be 25 years and 9 months old. The Chinese begin counting the age of a child at conception, declaring the child to be 1 year old at birth, and 2 years old on their following birthday. I think that they're just trying to give their children a head start on other countries.

I have had a wonderful, wonderful birthday today. I started celebrating at 12am by firing 24 rapid shots into the woods, which seemed like the proper thing to do. I went in and slept until 7am, when I was awoken by my cell phone. A friend was calling me to wish me a happy birthday and apologize for waking me. Perhaps there are those of you out there thinking, "How could you possibly still be asleep at 7am?!" Well, I'm certainly an evening person. If you were to stage a 5am Bible study and an 11pm Bible study, I'd far prefer 11pm. Nevertheless, the birthday wake-up call was a nice start to a really nice day.

My sisters Shannon and Shelley called to wish me a wonderful day, and it was good to chat with them and their children. Carita was bawling in the background as Shannon fed her children lunch and Jocelyn was running away with Shelley's phone while she was trying to talk to me, which made it even more special, because I realized that both of my sisters were exceedingly busy and had their hands full but took the time to call me anyway.


It was beautiful weather today, so we were working on the roof. Dad asked me to help him install a sweet solar light through the kitchen ceiling, which required crawling through piles of attic insulation. I had just poked my head through the hole to hear my mother ask my father if we all could eat lunch in Kalona, and he looked up and said, "What! It's your birthday today? Oh. Happy birthday, Shawn!"

 

The Solar Light companies do not advertise that you will have to crawl through deep, musty insulation in order to install their magical mirror tube.


So Dad, Mom, Shane, Sheryl, Shaylon and I ate together at the Kalona Family Restaurant and had a wonderful time.

After we returned from lunch, Dad was really easy on me and I didn't have to crawl through attics anymore.

I'm going to include a few extra photos of myself smiling, because my mother would have you believe that I hardly ever smile "normally" in photographs.

After work, I went out with some manfriends for supper. We normally have Bible study on Thursday evenings, but this evening we decided to socialize and eat large hamburgers at Short's Burgers & Shine in Iowa City.

Nevin, showing us that marriage doesn't always mean you have to surrender to polite table manners. 

Jordan, showing us the hypnotic power of these delicious hamburgery morsels. 

Shane canceled three prior obligations to spend time with us, and I was grateful.

Kendal just got back from a long trip to Florida, which evidently prevented him from having enough patience to fully assemble his hamburger prior to devouring it.

Nevin took one glance at my delicious bunless burger and decided it looked way tastier than his burger.

The company was hilarious. The food was tremendous. This was the first time I ate at that wonderful burger joint, but it will not be the last. We had a wonderful server so I left her a note.

I had been using a napkin to illustrate a story I was telling, which is a tactic I've inherited from the three generations of men before me. The boys told me to leave the napkin there, preferably with my number on it for the waitress. Instead, I wrote a thank-you note. 

Jordan and Nevin fought over paying for my meal. If fighting was always like that, I think I would be a lot less Non-Resistant. Jordan won, which was wonderful because I was afraid it would be a draw and default back to me. Thank you for supper, Jordan! Nevin, not to be outdone, paid for parking. Nevin also drove all of us to Iowa City, using his precious fuel and blasting through yellow lights with the new turbo he put in his Subaru.

As if mountains of delicious hamburgers and fries weren't enough, Nevin decided that we were all craving ice cream from Dairy Queen. Kendal bought me a delicious Peanut Butter Cup Blizzard, and it filled all the tiny cracks that the hamburger and fries didn't fill.

The sweet young woman at Dairy Queen consented to taking our photo through the order window.

After food and more food, we journeyed to Christian's to watch The Great Race, which is a hilarious classic that everyone should watch at least one time, preferably with good friends at a late hour.

Oh Hezekiah, you sneaky man.

I got home past midnight, which was fitting. 24 hours of birthday celebration with a little bit of sleep and work tossed in there.

Grandma and Grandpa gave me a bunch of fruit and a Page-a-Day calendar of Mind Benders and Brain Teasers. The calendar is for 2013, and since 2013 has gotten quite a head-start on me, I've got the considerable job of catching up. But Grandma thinks I'm smart and thought I needed the extra challenge. ;)

Frank and Ada, a sweet elderly couple from my church, gave me a set of Skip-Bo cards for my birthday because they remembered me saying I could use a deck of Skip-Bo cards when we were playing games at church last New Years Eve. It blew my socks off, because even though I had forgotten to get myself a deck, they hadn't forgotten. 

My brothers Shelby and Shane said wonderfully nice things about me on my Facebook. Shelley wrote a sweet blog about me. I received calls, texts, cards, and messages on my Facebook. Many people went out of their way to wish me a happy birthday, and I'm extremely grateful. I'm afraid they've all got me confused with some incredible-yet-charming identity thief, and I would love to meet the man they're talking about. :)

Overall, a lot of people had a lot of nice things to say to me, and I feel very blessed. Thank you, friends and family, for making this day so nice.

24, I'm stuck with you for a year. But so far you've been pretty swell. I guess I'll let you stick around.

Glorious Bachelorious.

Thursday night, Jordan and I worked diligently, attempting to resurrect my grandpa's faulty computer. The software kept crashing, so we saved his information, formatted the hard drive, and reinstalled the software. The problem still wasn't fixed, but by then we were too tired to keep working so we called it a night. It was 12:10am and my bed was singing sweet love songs to me. Jordan bid me farewell and headed out to his car. A few minutes later, he called to inform me that his car was entrenched in thick, nasty mud in my driveway. I went out to help him escape the clay prison, and we finally succeeded. At 12:30, I jumped into my bed.

I awoke Friday morning to find my driveway had not dried out, as I had hoped, but looked even worse than it had at 12:15. 

I buried my car five inches into the soupy clay before changing tactics and using pieces of wood to provide traction. I finally got to high ground and drove to work.

The cool weather we've had this week has meant the business phones have been quiet, giving us a welcome break from service. But no rest for the weary! We tore off more shingles on my dad's house today. Yesterday we tore off shingles, and Wednesday we poured cement at Pathway Christian School.

After work, I headed out to check on my sequoias. I'm not entirely sure if I've mentioned this already, but several of my beautiful little saplings have died. Horace and Amaya struggled and survived two floods, but the third flood proved to be too much, and they gave up. Douglas is looking pretty sickly, but I'm hoping he'll pull through. But all is not lost! Sherman is leaping skyward each week. He's a stout, vibrant 12" at least. Kermit and Hugo are still snug in their concrete cinder block, but they're growing quickly so I'll be transplanting them back in the yard soonish.

But I didn't stop for long to admire the trees. I was headed to the riverbank to send a few Easter eggs to their watery grave with a new rifle I just picked up. After a long week of work, sinking little plastic toys is very therapeutic.

The upper rifle is my IWI Tavor SAR, which fires .223 cartridges. The lower rifle is my brother Shane's Hi-Point 9mm carbine. Both guns have a 16.5" barrel, but the Tavor is much shorter because it is a bullpup. (NOTE: Men, that link contains incredible, amazing, interesting information on a revolutionary weapon design that has slowly but surely changed the way we think about firearms. Women, that link is incredibly boring and has nothing to do with male cows or little dogs.)

I then swooped up my lovely grandma Ruth on a gluten-free date to Monica's Italian Bistro, and we had a splendid time eating salads and pizza while Grandma told me stories about growing up. Grandma is always a joy to be with, and since Grandpa is currently on a long bus trip (he drives tour buses with Windstar), I seized the opportunity to spend some time with Grandma.

Earlier this week, I made a wax bomb. Well, it was more of a giant fireball than it was an explosion. All that you require is a kettle or pot that you wouldn't miss if it suddenly disappeared/became mangled. Toss some old candles in there, and then place the whole thing over some blazing coals. Once the wax has melted and begins to bubble, pour a small amount of water on the wax. FWOOOOOOM! No more eyebrows! Unless, of course, you thought ahead and poured the water from a distance by means of a measuring cup duct-taped to a rake handle.


You! Yes you there, young teenaged man reading my blog. I know that our culture places a lot of emphasis on dating, or at the very least, relationships with females. But let me be the rebellious naysayer in the crowd and tell you to enjoy the freedoms God grants only to bachelors. Yes, there is a time for dating, a time for relationships and marriage. But until that time, delight in the plans God has for you! Fill your days with exploring, inventing, discovering, and conquering! I'm not saying that you'll lose all of those things when you begin to date, but there's a certain dynamic that changes alongside the change in your relationship status.

Enjoy the precious, fleeting days of single-hood. I sure am!



P.S. I thought about starting this blog with the disclaimer, "Do not try this at home." but quickly realized that it would be hypocritical. So I'll make my own disclaimer:

Please do not injure yourself with hot wax, firearms, kidnapping grandmothers, pushing cars out of swampy driveways, pouring concrete, tearing computers apart, or stabbing shingles off a steep roof with a pitchfork.

How to Make Delicious Pizza When You Have Zero Pizza Ingredients

Truly, bachelors are champions of improvisation, especially when it comes to cooking.

One evening, I wanted pizza in a bad way. My roommate Shane was of the same mindset. So, we set out to craft some, but then realized we didn't want to wait TWO STANKIN' HOURS for my gluten-free pizza crust to rise. So we flew by the seat of our pants and crafted a never-before-attempted culinary masterpiece! We subsequently videoed the eating of our masterpiece and I put that video on Facebook. This blog post is a response to a friend commenting the following:

"I want to try that pizza!!! Recipe now!! I mean it!!!!!" 

When a woman uses 10 exclamation points to emphasize something, she really means whatever she's trying to emphasize. So here I reveal the secret formula behind the Ultimate Bachelor Pizza.

Start with the crust. 

First determine you want pizza. Then look at the pizza crust. Look at the ridiculous amount of time it takes to make gluten-free pizza crust. Toss the idea of a normal pizza. It's time for speedy pizza.

 Take a gluten-free pancake mix (I used Pamela's Pancake Mix) and try to make the largest pancakes you can. Before they're completely done, place them on a cookie sheet. They'll be baking in the oven eventually, so that's why you don't want them completely done. They should be large and square, because you're going to place them side-by-side on the cookie sheet to make an unconventional crust.

Get you some sauce. 

Will pizza sauce taste normal on slightly-golden, fluffy pancakes? Who knows? We certainly don't, because we didn't have any pizza sauce on hand. But we had Ranch dressing, and that obviously makes everything better (unlike butter). So put some of that on. Experiment with your sauce! We placed Ranch on one half, mayonnaise and mustard on the other half. We threw some mild salsa in there as well, because it was the closest thing we had to pizza sauce.

Toppin's all over that bidness. 

You're getting somewhere. But now you've hit a tiny hitch in your plans. There's hardly any cheese. No pepperoni, sausage, peppers, or mushrooms to be found. But now is not time for retreat. The oven is already preheatin' away at three-hundred-and-fifty thundering degrees! Grab whatever is on hand and toss it on! We liberally added bacon, onions, and pepper jack cheese to both sides.

Heat it all up, son. 

Place the bizarre-topping-smothered pancakes into the oven and bake them until the cheese melts. The bacon was fried until slightly crispy and then cut, just in case you were beginning to think that bachelors are mentally retarded and eat pork products raw. Well, maybe sometimes when we don't think about it, but NOT THIS TIME.

When I witnessed the ingredients going into this onion-bacon-mustard pizza cake (Onbacmuspizcake?), I was interested in tasting the results only for Science. And curiosity. But that foodstuff came out with an undeniably delicious smell. Shane dove in first, trying some of the mustard/mayo side. I tried the Ranch side.

It was so good.

IT WAS SO. GOOD.

The crust had a sweet aftertaste. After giving it some considerable thought, Shane and I concluded the sweetness was because the crust started its life out as a pancake. You would think the contrast of sweet, delicious pancake and strong oniony-mustardness would be awful but it brought out a fantastic blend of superior flavors. Also, we were pretty hungry when we finally ate.

The pizza-like material was tested by several visitors, who all gave high regards to its unique taste. Alaynna's brother, Alex, quoted that he was half-starved and hadn't eaten much of anything for an entire day, but a cold slice (slab? flap?) of our pizza was so tasty, he'd prefer it to most other leftovers.

When we went for seconds, Shane tried the ranch, while I tried the mustard/mayo. I think we both decided the mustard half was the better half, even though both sides tasted unreasonably good, considering the lackadaisical construction with whatever we had on hand carefully-selected ingredients.

So there you have it, Pizza a la Bachelor. I don't have any measurements. That's half the fun, making it up as you go! But for you less-creative types that want a more concrete recipe, I'll throw in some numbers.

YOU WILL NEED:

One serving of pancake batter. It will make either 6 normal pancakes or three large pancakes/tiny pizza crusts.

Half of a large white onion. I don't think we used the ENTIRE half, but we used quite a bit.

Five slices of thick-cut, smoked bacon, fried and chopped.

Half a pound of pepper jack cheese.

1/4 jar of mild salsa. You could probably use more (and it would be even more delicious) but that's all we had on hand.

Mustard and mayonnaise to taste.

A thin layer of ranch, as a pizza sauce. So 3/4 of a bottle of Ranch should be adequate. :)

Preheat oven to 350 degrees, make sure to grease the cookie sheet before adding the pancake crust, since gluten-free stuff bakes on to pans easily. Bake pizza until cheese melts. That took our pizza roughly 10-12 minutes.


As my mind drifts back to that brainstormy evening, the taste of that pizza grows in my mind, becoming this legendary phenomenon that begs to be revisited. Perhaps my next one will be more breakfast-themed. Pancakes with cream cheese, sausage and bacon, cheddar cheese and a little maple syrup, perhaps. A side of scrambled eggs and some hashbrowns? Yes.

What is the strangest pizza you've ever made and/or eaten?