My old friend Harold Aardema used to talk about Beloit, Iowa, a tiny burg right on the Big Sioux River, where once upon a time there stood an orphanage for kids, some of whom died there, he said, and we're buried in a small local cemetery. Occasionally, on a trip to Sioux Falls, we'd pass that way just to see the most beautiful land in the whole of northwest Iowa, the gentle hills along the river.
Then, a student told me about the place, reminded me of the stories Aardema used to tell, the hills where an immigrant family set down roots. One of the kids, a bachelor gardener, tended Sioux Center's flower beds as assiduously as he did the scholars at Sioux Center Christian School, a man, a stern principal named only A. J. Boersma.
I have a xerox copy of his life story I still would like to publish someday, even though its potential for sales is, sadly, even lower than a book of mine I'd like to publish. It's a grand story of rags-to-riches, Dutch Reformed style. I don't know that he ever made a million, but that doesn't mean he wasn't, in his own special way, fabulously wealthy.
Anyway, I thought I'd go out and find that cemetery, and I did. But more than that, I found myself in the middle of caramel omniscience, gently breaking morning skies in a light fog that could not have been more tastefully drawn.
So, here's the catch I made the Saturday morning, one day in early June when I hit things just right.
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5 comments:
14 years later and the pictures still tell a beautiful story. Thank you
Mr. Boersma taught me a significant quantity of eclogy and stewardship before I walked through the front door of Dordt.
Thank you. It was one of Iowa's gorgeous summer mornings. I'm priviliged to have been there.
I'm not fibbing. His life was immensely memorable.
Those are some amazing pictures!
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