In amongst these piles of sacks
There lives a tiny mouse
And hidden far from human’s view
He has an unseen house.
To him it is a palace
No bricks nor mortar there
But just the softest remnants
He chewed and placed with care.
He has a little family
Cuddled deep amongst the down
And when they get enough to eat
He’s the happiest mouse in town.
His wants are very simple
His needs are being met
By the God all powerful
Who never does forget.
May I, in all my splendor
Living in a human’s house
Remember that God cares for me
Just as He does that mouse.
Lucy M. Peterson of Amery
July 18, 1977
Written while sitting in a pickup at the feed mill in Amery, waiting for her husband to buy feed.
Dear Iola and Jubal,
What a lovely wedding, what a beautiful day, what a wonderful meal we all got to enjoy on your wedding day. The Port of Call looked wonderful that evening.
Charmaine and I had a great time, and we hope all is well with you both. But, I have a simple request. I hope you and Iola don’t mind.
The screaming and squealing was like nothing I’d heard before. The frightened sounds of terror on B-grade horror movies couldn’t match the noise from that hog. The reluctant pig had to be moved across the barnyard to its final destiny, several men pulling a rope tied to its front leg. For an 8-year-old, it became a once in a lifetime experience.
We lived 3 miles west of Amery at this time. Our Holz neighbor to the north, basic farmers, invited Dad to this Saturday afternoon ritual, and he brought me along. Lots of men, a few kids, and lots of commotion.
The scalding barrel ready, all it needed was a dead pig. At first the scene was confusing, but the screaming, reluctant pig focused me in the direction of the men pulling the rope. I asked Dad what was going on.