The Power of Prayer

My father taught me an important life and spiritual lesson one day, and I wonder if he even realized he was doing it.

When I was around eight or nine years old, we got a new female puppy.  She was more or less a heinz 57 (or so my father would say).  She was just basically a mutt, short-haired dog.  We named her Snoopy.

Now, I am an animal lover, and I used to love spending time with puppies.   I sort of claimed Snoopy as my own.  I would carry her around on my shoulders, and just wile away my time playing with her.  In some ways, it seemed to me it was sort of an unconditional love.  I mean, I have ADHD, but did not know or understand even what that was until my oldest son was in first grade.  I used to do a lot of acting out, and be obnoxious to friends of my brothers and sisters.  I could not sit still, and could not concentrate on one thing for very long.  Sitting the long days in school was especially hard for me.  I remember daydreaming a lot.  So, having a puppy was some comfort when it seemed (to me) that everyone else looked down at me.

So, all my acting out, and not thinking about many of the things I would do, often caused me to get into trouble.  I used to think my parents didn't love me, or that others were just out to get me.  I never connected the two until I became an adult with my own children.

Having animals to spend time with gave me some sort of comfort from the outside world that "didn't like me so much."  Animals always liked me.  I have always taken comfort spending time with them.

Snoopy and I were best pals.  One day I was carrying her over my shoulder, and for some reason she slipped and fell to the ground.  She must have hit her head or something, because suddenly she was paralyzed.  I was very scared, and did not know what to do.  It must have been a Saturday, or an early evening, because my father was home.

I went directly to my father, and explained to him that I did not know what happened, but that Snoopy fell and was now not able to move.  I was very scared, and thought I had permanently injured her.

I was surprised that dad did not yell, or run out to see what had happened.  Maybe he didn't think I was serious, or didn't know what I was talking about.  Maybe, since I had eight or nine other siblings at the time, he was just preoccupied with keeping the peace.  He simply looked at me, and calmly said something to the effect, "I guess you better pray, and ask Heavenly Father for help."  A bit surprised I didn't think of that myself, I figured that if anyone could help Snoopy Heavenly Father could.

I went back outside where I had left her, then found a spot in the yard where I could be alone for a few minutes, and prayed my heart out.  I do not know what I said, other than to ask Heavenly Father to help my little friend.  I am sure I told Him that I was sorry, but did not mean her any harm.

Anyone reading this is going to think I simply made this up, but I tell you within a few minutes Snoopy began to move her limbs.  She stood up, and was finally back to her jovial puppy self.  And I was a humbled little boy who has believed strongly in the power of prayer ever since.  It was a powerful lesson with a tangible result.

Snoopy went on to live another 13 or 14 years, having had numerous litters of puppies, having had numerous run-ins with porcupines and skunks, and just living out the life of a country dog.  She finally succumbed to something that caused her to have tumors all over her body.  I suspect it was a form of cancer.

I'll always be grateful to that little puppy, and to my father for reminding me of what I could do about any situation in my life.  I have a firm testimony of prayer, and that God truly does answer them - when we are humble, and sincere.  I have many more examples of answers to prayer that I may someday share.

The "Expert" Novice Skier

I could write volumes about my snow skiing exploits. My mother was born and raised in Park City, UT. However, it was not a ski town when she was growing up in the 30's and 40's. She did manage to obtain skis and hike up the mountains and catch the ski bug at a young age.

So, when I was 10 years old, my mother obtained some old ski equipment and helped us get into the sport ourselves. It was one of the most fun things she ever instilled in me. I loved it from the first day, albeit I got a bit too cocky. Fortunately, there weren't many there to witness that event.

It was during the winter of '68/'69. My oldest brother, Kevin had already gone skiing a few times before, so he was "an old hat" at it. He was going to hit the slopes of a tiny hill near Eagle River called the Chanticleer. He was going with his friend Mike Gough (I believe). I asked if I could tag along.

I got outfitted with some old wooden skis, with "hanging in the straps" bindings (meaning they had long leather thongs that wrapped around the old leather boots in a crisscross fashion to hold the skis on - it also meant they didn't come off when you fell, very dangerous for a leg bone). They were straight out of the 30's or 40's. The boots were leather lace-ups, with a squared toe to fit into the metal toe piece. They resembled hiking boots of today - well sort of. The poles were made of bamboo with metal points, leather straps for the wrists, and a basket made of leather and a metal ring. (The ski pole basket is to keep the pole from driving down deep into the snow when planting the pole for turning.)

So, here I am going with my brother and his friend for this big day of skiing. Now, the Chanticleer Inn has been around Eagle River for years and years. The ski hill was just a large hill on the property that was maybe 50 feet vertical to the top, and maybe 200 feet run off. It was really dinky, but was good enough for me to have fun. It was actually perfect for a beginner. Well, except for the rope tow to get us up the hill.

Rope tows are not the easiest things to learn, because you have to put your poles in one hand, pick up the wet moving rope (a rope that is about 1 1/2 inch in diameter that drags along the snow when no one is using it), then try and grab it slow enough that it doesn't jerk you forward and right off balance. Years later, when I became a professional ski instructor, it was always difficult teaching beginners how to use the rope. Usually children learned it quicker than adults.

We arrive at the hill excited to get the day started. To our delight there is no one else there! Kevin helped me get my equipment squared away, and we were off to tackle the terrain. He gave me pointers on how to use the rope to get to the top. He explained that there was a safety rope that would shut the tow off should I get caught, or be unable to release myself soon enough. It was a fairly simple concept, but just took some coordination to get used to.

I made it to the top of the hill (it seemed giant to me, being from the midwest and all). Kevin also gave me a few pointers on how to go down straight, and how to turn. At first I just went down straight until I stopped. I would go to about the parking lot and stop. Then back up for another go at it. I found it exhilirating to say the least! I mean, I can go fast without tons of effort. What could be more fun than that, right?

Soon, I experimented with wedging my skis out to stop, and putting more pressure on one than the other to turn one way or the other. I began to get quite confident. I was becoming an "expert" skier (at least I thought I was). I was getting so confident, that I started going over the snowbank that was between the ski run and the parking lot. Then, I started lifting up while going over and found I could get some air! My confidence was building. Each time I went over I landed better and better. I was also beginning to get quite a bit of air.

By this time, Kevin and his friend were oblivious of me. I was having so much fun riding up and skiing down, that I didn't care if anyone else was there or not. Finally, having jumped several times with success, I determined that I was going to try a trick. What trick would one postulate that a 10 yr old would come up with (I mean never having watched skiing before)? Of course, it would have to be an attempt at a full forward flip in the air. After all, I was good at what I was doing. Why not go for the hard stuff right away?

I'm at the top of the hill, staring down the path to my most excellent jump. I'm determined to get up as much speed as I can muster to obtain the lift I need for the flip. I push with my poles, and I'm off. Pushing harder and harder to get up speed. Then I tuck my arms in, and crouch down for optimum speed. I hit the approach to the jump, and suddenly I'm airborne. A quick tuck of my head, and I'm dreaming of flipping all the way around. THWACK!!! I come crashing down on my head, and the rest of me crumples down in the hard snow of the parking lot. Did I just break my neck? It sure felt like I did - well, at least at first it felt like it. I gathered my composure, and it looked like my brother and his friend never even saw what I just did. Whew! What a relief to be spared the ribbing I would get.

To quote a famous cliché, I had to jump back on the horse and ride it again. I finished out skiing the rest of the day (and loving it), but not trying any more flips. Even with that awful crash landing (and subsequent scraped forehead), I was exhilirated and excited to find what would become my favored sport of all time. I recounted the experience of my first day skiing many times over the years.

P.S. I didn't succeed with flips and other tricks until years later when I had had many ski runs under my belt - oh, and much better equipment conducive to that type of abuse.

Toadstools, or What to do with Fungi

Extreme and excitement were the key words when we were looking for something to do around our homestead. A few of us had ADD (Attention Deficit Disorder), including Mom, so we got bored easily.

Now, our property ran along the Wisconsin River approximately a quarter of a mile or so. Most of the property had a high hill you had to descend before reaching the river. It made for some fantastic views - especially in the winter when all the leaves were off the trees.

The property consisted of a large open field surrounded by wooded areas which met up with the road running along the property to the West and South. There were pockets of pine trees where nothing would grow on the ground but mushrooms. We had an especially fun grove of pine trees that lined the driveway leading up to the house. On the South side of the driveway it was almost like walking into another world blanketed by tree canopies. We spent a lot of time playing in and amongst those trees. On hot summer days, it was always so much cooler in there that we tried to linger and play as long as possible.

In our quest for something fun and exciting to do, one day Kory, Angé, and I (I don't remember if anyone else was involved) decided it would be a great time to gather up some of the rather large mushrooms that grew in and amongst the pine trees. The idea, then, was to ride our bikes around and throw them at each other to see who could last the longest. Far be it for us to ever check to see if the mushrooms were edible. We were pretty much certain they weren't. We didn't like eating mushrooms anyway.

We gathered our ammo and were soon riding willy-nilly around the property attempting to land a good one on each other. Well, as it usually goes with children, things got a bit heated. Then suddenly, Kory landed one big mushroom right in Angé's face and mouth! She likely would have died! I mean, it plastered her from one side of the face to the other, and a big chunk of it was in her mouth. It was a sight to behold.

I'm not sure if her biggest fear was that she thought she was poisoned, because of getting that non-edible mushroom in the mouth, or that her ego was just damaged for getting hit (and in the face) in the first place. We were a bit scared for her, although I believe Kory and I had a pretty good laugh over it. Nevertheless, it calmed us down, and Mom didn't have to worry about us rough-housing for the rest of that day. Funny how a good scare would do that to a person.

I haven't checked with any of my brothers and sisters lately, so I don't know if Angé ever lived that one down. It made for a great memory, though.

Wagons Ho!

Radio Flyers have been around for ages, haven't they? We certainly had our share in my day. These wagons had to be nearly indestructible, because we were so hard on them. I mean, they had to take an impact from rolling down the hill, on the road near our house, at full speed - without any means of stopping other than just plain crashing into the embankment. They had to be able to handle loads of dirt, rocks, wood, animals, or any other thing we could think to haul in them. Our wagons were veritable utility vehicles for us.

We did find time to use these wagons for fun as well. In fact, we loved to put on a wagon train periodically. Now this was no ordinary train. It usually ended up being a circus train where we would literally tie wagons, tricycles, bicyles, and any other object that would roll, together in a train and see how well we could roll the whole thing around our driveway.

Now, up until the late '60's it was more difficult to do since our driveway was made of gravel. However, sometime in the late '60's my father decided he had had enough of the constant puddles and potholes that formed in the gravel (sometimes by our doing), and he had the whole thing covered in blacktop. We thought it was the neatest thing since sliced bread. I mean, such a smooth surface for riding bikes, roller skates, or unicycles. The best was the surface it created for our pogostick marathons.

So, back to our wagon train...we loved to see how elaborate we could make our "cars" of the train. Sometimes a wagon would be a conestoga wagon; sometimes it would be a cage car carrying tigers or lions. The key was to avoid being the engine car, because that person had to pull the whole shabang - usually from a bicycle that had everything tied to it. Needless to say it didn't usually go too far.

I think the most joy from making our wagon train was the actual process of making it. Making it go was always short lived, because what we loved best was the creative part of making it as elaborate as possible (in our own way). Our parents tried to get us to do activities other than to sit around and watch television. My mother would regularly tell us, "Go outside and do that!" Of course, since we loved any opportunity to play outside, we would jump at that one as well.

That type of creativity is lost on youth today. With more television programming all the time, video games, computers, and so much more, it's no wonder our youth are going into adulthood with little to no creative juices flowing.

Stilts and the Polecat

Ever wonder what makes children tick? I mean, we know they are human beings, and we know what generally motivates the natural man, but sometimes one can wonder what really motivates children to be as creative as they are.

Growing up in the boonies of Northern Wisconsin gave us plenty of time to be creative. I mean, even though I had 9 other siblings, we did not have other friends around much. So, we felt the need to figure out things that would help us get thrills and chills. One such activity that the older of us siblings used to like to do was to make our own stilts. I don't know why we thought we could do this, but we played around cutting down young poplar saplings, then stripping off the bark, nailing a couple of 2" X 4" wedges to them and figuring out how to walk on them.

Of course, like anything, we were not very good at it immediately, but it did not take long to figure the things out and walk around on the short ones. We would use the picnic table as our platform to start off from. The foot rests were usually at that height. We would cut the spars long enough to fit into our arms to support them as we walked. I always wondered how stilt walkers in circuses and parades were able to walk around without that type of support for their stilts. Later on, I saw their type of stilts - ones that went up the calf and were supported by a strap around the top of the calf. Once I tried them they were actually quite easy to manipulate.

Well, never satisfied with just the usual routine things, we always had to take things to the limit. We wanted EXTREME thrills! So, we sort of broke up into teams to see who could make the tallest stilts to walk on. I think Kevin and Kory got the most bold on this effort. They made a pair of stilts that were at least eight feet tall for the foot rests! These things were monstrous and heavy, so only the older siblings were able to even attempt them. The good thing was that they were so large at the bottom that they helped the person steady his/herself.

For these tall stilts, we had to use the garage roof to start off from. Kevin and Kory got to using them pretty well. I don't much recall if I ever mastered them. I do recall walking on taller stilts, but don't recall if they were these giant ones. We spent countless hours playing with our stilts. The thrills we got from going taller and taller were eventually satisfying for us.

On one particular nice summer evening, we had been out walking around on our stilts. It was getting towards dusk. The cool evening air began rolling in, and the sky was quite clear. The moon was nearly full, and we could see quite plainly without the aid of any artificial light - albeit not as plainly as during the daylight. The back yard extended east from the house towards an expansive field. we mowed the yard a ways into the field, then the tall grass jutted out. We always had all sorts of critters roaming about the place since we were out in the woods. We even saw a bear from time to time. Of course, stray cats would often wander near the place. We usually had a cat or two of our own roaming the place. We never really believed in having to tie our animals up. Since there was so much room to roam, they knew where home was.

On this particular evening, Kory had been walking around on some stilts when out towards the field, just beyond the sand pit we used for a sandbox, Kevin spotted a cat. It just sat there looking at us. He walked up to the animal wanting to pet it. When he got close, the cat rolled a bit and suddenly Kevin saw the white stripe going down its back. He knew in an instant he was completely mistaken about what the animal was. He flew from there like a rocket ship! I think it startled the skunk as much as it startled Kevin! We had the most uproarious laugh from that experience. I think Kevin learned to always check and see what he was approaching from that time on. We never let him forget how he almost became a skunk perfume bag that night - how he so wanted to be kind to his polecat pet!

Humble Beginnings

In this modern day of technology, fast-paced lifestyles, and never-ending schedules, many people long for the laidback life of the country along a lazy river. It just so happens that more than 50 years ago, my parents were able to provide just that for their soon to be brood of 10 children.

Somewhere around 1955 or 1956 my parents moved into a large house along the Wisconsin River just a few miles west of Eagle River, WI. It had once been a sort of bunk house for the workers of Wisconsin Public Service Corporation, because it was built right across the road from a power dam that had served as the main power source for the entire area in the early 1900's. My mother affectionally named it "Branham's Damsite". The house was of adequate size for a growing family, but what made the place a goldmine was that it had nearly 21 acres of land running along the river on the high side of the dam. What that meant was that you could start by boat from our place and be linked to a chain of 28 lakes which dotted the landscape all around the area. The land also bordered on hundreds of acres of County land that we had free access to. It would have been a virtual Eden for most people. There was ample fishing, hunting, trapping, tree climbing, trail riding, and so much more just from our place.

Our neighbors across the street, the Gough's, were friendly. My oldest brothers were friends with their boys. Somewhere in the mid '60's the Public Service Corporation bought them out of their land. They decided to move their house just about 1/2 mile up the road along State Highway 70. However, the dam was in the way of moving the house the short way, so they had to go about 3 miles around the other way to get the house onto the property where it now stands. With our nearest neighbors, the Glembin's, about 1/4 mile away we had loads of room to roam.

This blog is going to serve as the catalyst to recount the exploits of my brothers, sisters and I as we grew up in that little slice of heaven. Since we were so isolated from town and everywhere else we had to use our imaginations to wile away our time when we weren't going to school, studying, playing sports, etc. We found numerous ways to be creative - sometimes funny, sometimes dangerous, but almost always fun (to us, anyway).

Here is a brief introduction to the cast of characters:
Arnold H. Branham - Dad, a product of the Northwoods of Wisconsin as well. 6' tall, slender build, a mostly serious and religious man with a dry sense of humor.
LaRae M. Branham - Mom, born and raised in Park City, UT. A petite woman - about 5' 2" and 98 lbs soaking wet. She had a zest for life and health, was sometimes on the neurotic side, but was always the ultimate hostess.
Kevin R. Branham - Eldest brother, always full of ideas, somewhat eccentric, but way intelligent. He would always come up with ideas that challenged us to think.
Korin (Kory) A. Branham - Second oldest, an adventurer and all-around jock. He was one of the most popular people in school. He is also highly intelligent, having been selected Salutatorian behind younger sister, Angé.
Angé (pronounced Angie) Branham Workman - Oldest sister. Since she was the only girl amongst 6 brothers she had to fend for herself. She held her own in the roughest of circumstances. She is highly athletic, and loves the outdoors. She is also highly intelligent, graduating from High School a year early, and being selected Valedictorian at that!
Kerry I. Branham - Me, myself, and I. I was always the tag-along. My older brothers and sister were always doing things that I was too little for, but I always wanted to tag along. They were my heros, and I truly looked up to them. I sort of had a chip on my shoulder for much of my early life, which caused me to feel more of a black sheep in the family. I have always been adventuresome - mainly because my older siblings were.
Kurt C. Branham - Fifth sibling - a middle child. Kurt was always into hunting, fishing, trapping, and the outdoor arena. He didn't focus as much on academics. He could tell you anything about guns. He also loved motorcycles.
Kirby L. Branham - The other middle child. He had deep red, curly hair, and hated it all while growing up. He's the tallest of the clan, and was always into guns, hunting, fishing, trapping, motorcycles along with Kurt. Kirby is another intelligent, but humble soul - he's a thinker. He always tries to do what was just and right.
Karson M. Branham - Youngest boy. I think that sometimes comes as a curse, because you are oftentimes too young to do things with your older brothers. Karson is a mechanical minded person. He learned to fix cars, motorcycles, guns, airplanes, etc. He loved shooting with his two older brothers.
Amber Branham Anderson - The tallest of the sisters. Amber is a sweet, sensitive soul. She took things very personal, and thus was not necessarily always happy with her childhood. Her three next older brothers (and sometimes myself) would tease her and her younger sisters to no end. She always loved babies, and never wanted to disappoint our Heavenly Father. She is also very musically inclined.
Apryll Branham Walker - The redhead sister - well more redhead than the others. Apryll was always very happy and popular while growing up. I hate to admit it, but she seemed to be the favorite of my younger sisters. I always cut her more slack than the others. She used to make me laugh a lot. She has a lot of musical talent.
Aurora Branham Brandaris - The blond sister. What can I say about the baby of the family. We spoiled Aurora (at least I think we did), because she was always a cute child. She has a bubbly personality, and loves children. She is also very musically talented. She was only about 16 or 17 when Mom passed away. I'm sure that was difficult on her.

Through it all, my siblings and I have all grown to have a deep love for the Savior, and for following God's plan for us on this earth. We will be ever so grateful that our parents raised us in the true Gospel of Jesus Christ.